by Unknown
"Perhaps he is even smarter than Aswathama," Yudhishtra said.
That put an end to all conflict in the Guru's mind. He too did not believe anyone could acquire such skill by observation alone. His son Aswathama was good; Arjuna was better; but both of them got sufficient training from him. This dirty, black urchin could not be more intelligent than either the Prince or his own son.
"Son, if what you say is true, it is indeed a remarkable achievement. I feel proud and you have all my blessings," the Guru told Ekalavya.
There was a collective sucking in of air from the Princes. Ekalavya could not believe his ears. At last, all his hard work had paid off. The hours of practice while ignoring hunger and thirst, the countless mornings watching - it had all been worth it just for this moment. He fell at the Guru's feet, his body shivering with emotion. He wanted to kiss the great man's feet but held himself back as he did not wish to pollute the Brahmin. He kissed the black earth instead and felt lucky to be born in this blessed land.
The Nishada's gesture touched a sore spot in the Guru's mind. Drona saw his son nursing the puppy. How would his son manage in this world once he was gone? Despite all his skills, poverty had been Drona's constant companion until he got the job of teaching the Hastinapura Princes. He owed his position to the kindness of Kunti. This job was the only way he could ensure a proper education for his son. And the idiot chose the wrong Prince to befriend. 'My duty is to do what the sons of Kunti want. But this Nishada is also like my son-in-arms,' thought Drona. He cursed himself for feeling admiration and pity for the Untouchable lying prostrate at his feet. Guru Parashurama's angry face flashed into his mind and he moored his wavering thoughts to that solid rock. Everything became clear suddenly. This Nishada was challenging not only his favourite disciple and his son, but also the entire concept of dharma. He ought to show no sympathy towards such upstarts. The Guru took a deep breath as he recalled that glorious day when he had won the Dharmaveera title all those years ago. Had he not taken a vow that day to protect dharma, cows, Brahmins, and the eternal religion? How could he be foolish enough to think of encouraging a Nishada, even for a second?
"As per custom, you must now give me my gurudakshina."
Ekalavya scampered up to stand with bowed head. "Command me, Swami," he said. The Nishada's mind rippled with waves of ecstasy. It was official - he was a disciple of the greatest warrior of Hastinapura now. His dream had come true. 'Shankara, oh Lord of the Universe, you are too kind to this Untouchable,' he thought in silent gratitude.
"I want your right thumb as my fee."
A shocked silence followed Drona's words. Even Arjuna flinched when he heard it. Only Bhima looked confused and asked his twin brothers what the cranky Guru was going to do with a thumb.
The world came crashing down upon Ekalavya. His mind and body became numb. He knew it was the end of his dreams. As a lefthander, his right thumb was important. He would never again be able to grip the heavy Indian bow without the thumb of his right hand. The cunning Brahmin had finished the archer in him with one move. Ekalavya stood erect, his head held high. He looked at the faces of the Princes around him and wondered at the privileges of being born into luxury and wealth. Then he gazed at his calloused black hands. A beast cried in the jungle, as if to beckon him back to the world where he belonged. He looked up at Arjuna and saw the Prince avert his gaze. Then Ekalavya took the sharp hunting knife from his waist and bowed to the great Guru one last time. He knelt and firmly spread his right palm on the earth.
Yudhishtra went pale at the thought of what he was about to witness and looked away. Suyodhana turned from the task of tending the puppy to look at the Princes behind him, surprised at their sudden silence. He sensed something horrible was about to happen and ran towards them, leaving the arrows he had extricated from the puppy's eyes, on the ground. Aswathama and Sushasana followed.
Suyodhana saw the flashing arc of the falling blade and shouted out. The razor sharp hunting knife severed Ekalavya's thumb and it fell away. Blood spurted from the open wound, spattering the Guru's white dhoti. Drona did not bother to look down; his eyes remained on the setting sun. Suyodhana shouted at the Guru but his fury did not touch Drona. Instead, Bhima shoved the Prince and soon the Pandavas and the Kauravas were fighting like mad dogs around the Guru. Drona could not have cared less. As the black Nishada boy lay prostrate at his feet and his students were busy trying to murder each other, the learned man wracked his brains to scan through the holy books for the words that would tell him he had done the right thing. But all he heard was silence.
Aswathama's angry words finally pierced the Guru's numb mind. As the sun disappeared behind the tall trees, leaving a few idiots to fight over silly things like the broken dreams of an Untouchable, the Guru remained standing with his hands crossed across his broad chest. A dusty black thumb lay at his feet, mocking all his learning and greatness. 'My son, why are you so blind to your father's love? Can you not see that it is all for your future? You may think I did this for Arjuna, but it was really for you, Aswathama.' The Guru's tears finally found release and streamed down his grizzled face.
***
The Nishada slowly awakened to consciousness at the feet of the Brahmin Guru. He had no eyes for the fight the Crown Prince was putting up for him against his cousins. Nor had he ears for the angry words a Brahmin boy was showering on his great father. He had not sought anything extraordinary. All he needed was a little space to grow and a word of recognition from the man he admired, for all his dedication and hard work. He had paid the required fee with shattered ambition, for the knowledge he had stolen. Ekalavya ran into the welcoming arms of the jungle, far from civilized Hastinapura and the holy men who inhabited it. He ran until he was sure he was safe in the embrace of nature and then he collapsed onto the moist earth. The forest was unusually warm and humid and he felt as safe as a baby in the womb. He had not wept when he severed his own thumb and buried his dreams, but now, with the trees as his only witnesses and a crescent moon leering from the sky above, the son of the forest broke into wracking sobs.
Two pairs of eyes, hidden behind the entwined vines of a crooked tree looked at the shaking form of the Nishada. As his agonized sobs grew into animal howls, the two Nagas who had been trailing him for the past few days, rushed through the forest canopy like a couple of monkeys, with a message for Takshaka. Later that night, the Naga leader said to his faithful aide Kaliya that the time for revolution was near. The severed thumb of a black man would spark the fire.
***
The Guru continued standing alone for a long time after everyone else had left. The dark night cloaked him. He did not see Ekalavya leave. Nor did he care when Vidhura, who had come to investigate the ruckus, herded the Princes and the Guru's son, towards the palace after breaking up the fight. Drona merely stood with downcast face, looking at the lifeless thumb of the Untouchable, wondering what he had done.
Had he turned, he would have seen the wounded dog slowly get to its feet and sniff the air as if unable to decide whether it should trust the forest with its lurking beasts or the city. It foolishly continued to believe men were less dangerous than the beasts of the jungle. On tottering feet, it found its way to the teeming streets of Hastinapura. By a miracle, no carriages ran it over. A few hurrying pedestrians did indeed kick it away, but the dog kept walking blindly. When it smelt food, it stopped. A human hand brought the inviting smell close to its muzzle. The dog hesitated, afraid of this sudden kindness. Then hunger overcame fear and it grabbed the food from the dark hand that offered it.
Drona returned home at midnight. He did not see the man asleep on the footpath or the blind puppy lying curled in Jara's arms. Not that he would have cared, but had he bothered to look, he would have seen true happiness in the peaceful face of the homeless man.
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15 DHARMA
ARJUNA WOKE WITH A START, SWEATING PROFUSELY. He gazed into the pitch darkness outside. Not even a leaf stirre
d. He could hear the soft breathing of his brothers and mother. What a nightmare! He quietly opened the door and stood gripping the balustrade of the balcony. However hard he tried to shake off the image of the bloody black finger lying lifeless in the mud, it kept returning to haunt him. What had he done? Why had the Guru done such an unspeakable thing? He tried to recall the Nishada's face but the only thing that came to mind was the severed thumb at the Guru's feet.
"Why are you standing here, Arjuna?" His mother's voice shook him out of his reverie. "Why are you sweating? Do you have a fever?" Kunti approached her son with concern and put a cool hand on his burning brow.
"Mother, I want to ask you something. Is it so important that I should win every time? Is it necessary that I should be the greatest archer?"
"Arjuna, you know we are all alone. We have no one to support us, except perhaps Dhaumya. I am a widow but I want the best for my children. No one can say Kunti has not brought you up well."
"But mother, today I was responsible for a heinous thing. Is it right to deny someone knowledge just because he is of low caste? For a moment, I despised my Guru for what he did. I feel ashamed I was responsible for his action."
"Do not let a Nishada worry you, Arjuna. I heard about the incident from Yudhishtra. Though I may not agree with the way Guru Drona dealt with the Nishada, please do not judge him by this one incident. He has your best interests at heart. Who knows, that Nishada might have become a member of Takshaka's army. It was for everyone's good that Drona did what he did. Everyone has their own dharma. As a Kshatriya, your dharma is to be a great warrior. As Yudhishtra's brother, your dharma is also to help him gain the throne. He has to have your support. Not only him, but..."
"Mother, I know all that. Yet that Nishada's thumb refuses to leave my mind. He was such a fine archer. Better than me. I have begun doubting our definition of dharma."
"The path of dharma is never going to be easy, son. Tomorrow you may have to raise your hand against your loved ones for its sake. The reward of dharma is dharma itself."
"Even at the cost of human suffering? Even at the cost of death?"
Kunti sighed. She wondered how to explain something, which she herself did not understand properly. She moved towards her son and lifted his chin. "Arjuna, promise me you will fight for your brother, and for your mother, who has seen only misery in her life. Promise me that you will behave like a Kshatriya and defeat that evil son of Gandhari."
Arjuna remained silent for a long time, while Kunti waited anxiously. Then he said, "I do not know anything about dharma. I am not even sure my cousin Suyodhana is evil. But how can I deny my mother anything she asks? Even at the cost of my own happiness, I will do whatever is possible to make my brother King. I only hope when the time comes, my hand will remain steady."
Arjuna did not wait to hear his mother sigh in relief. He disappeared into the darkness. Kunti stood staring at a faint light emanating from a home far away. 'If only Pandu had been older than Dhritarashtra,' she thought wistfully. Then there would have been no confusion regarding Yudhishtra being King. There would have been no need for this cold war with Gandhari. She often wondered who was the more unlucky one, Gandhari or her? 'I have suffered enough. I will not rest till my firstborn becomes Emperor of India,' Kunti thought with grim determination. She felt the old familiar pain for which there was no cure. Firstborn! Where was her firstborn? Perhaps everything would change if he came back. Then there would be no question of who was the elder. Neither Suyodhana nor Yudhishtra would be the legitimate heir. Kunti wondered for the millionth time whether he was alive and how he looked. The faint light in the distance burnt bright for a moment and died. She remained in still silence as darkness enveloped her.
***
In the home where the last light had gone out, a Brahmin lay shivering as fever burned his body. "Kripi, has he come back?"
"Not yet." She had answered the same question many times since her husband had returned.
Suddenly, Drona sat up. "He has come. Open the door, woman."
Kripi rushed to the front door and opened it. Aswathama entered and walked to his room in silence. "Son, come and have your food," Kripi called. But her son slammed the door shut without answering her. Kripi looked at her husband who sat with his eyes fixed on the spot where his son had been. She closed the front door and gently pushed her husband down on the bed. She resumed wiping his forehead with a wet cloth.
"Kripi, shall we go back?" he asked her softly. She did not reply. "I did something today that no human being should have done." Drona turned his head away from his wife and stared at the blank wall.
Kripi rose to light the lamp, but he caught her wrist and made her sit down near him. Drona told her how he had claimed his fee from the poor Nishada. She was shocked, thankful for the darkness that hid her face.
"I did it for him, Kripi, and he won't even look at my face. He keeps company with that evil Prince. He has spoilt our boy. He is doomed, that Suyodhana. He has unleashed forces that will consume everything we cherish and destroy the social order. I do not have anything against Nishadas, or anyone for that matter. But our forefathers made rules for a purpose. Everyone should know their place. See what your brother Kripa's preaching has done. See what Bhishma's odd ideas have done to our society. There is no order to anything. Shudras become Prime Ministers and Nishadas aspire to become Kshatriyas. The social order is collapsing."
"We are Brahmins. What is our dharma?" Kripi asked.
"To teach, to know the truth, to learn, to think and guide..." Drona stopped mid-sentence and turned angrily towards his wife. "Are you accusing me of not following my caste dharma?"
"Ask yourself," Kripi said, as she picked up the bowl with the water and rag cloth, and moved towards the kitchen.
A crescent moon had escaped the clutches of the clouds and sneaked into the dark house. Drona stood up, angered by his wife's words and went into the puja room. He saw the idol of the dancing Nataraja shining resplendent in the moonlight. Impulsively, he fell to the floor in obeisance and began reciting the 108 names of Shiva to calm his turbulent mind. When he felt his mind calm and become silent, he slowly raised his head to gaze at his God... and shouted in horror!
Kripi rushed in from the kitchen, toppling vessels and utensils. Aswathama came running, almost colliding with his mother.
"Aswathama, look... look... the Lord has only four fingers.... His thumb is missing. See his face... it is that Nishada... it is he.... What have I done, Kripi?"
Mother and son looked at each other in dismay. They could see the bronze idol of the dancing Shiva they had brought with them from the South. It was perfectly crafted.
"Kripi, can't you see... I have sinned. The Lord came to test me and I failed. I failed as a Guru, as a Brahmin, as a human.... What have I done?" he cried in agony.
There was a sudden banging on the door. Aswathama hurried to open it as Kripi tried to calm her husband.
"What is this ruckus?" Dhaumya and a group of Brahmins entered.
"Come with me, Guru. Let me explain," he said, going to sit near Drona, who was still kneeling on the floor. "Let us discuss this between us so things become clear. It is sad, but you did what was required. Come with me."
Drona finally stood up and nodded at the Priest.
"You are not taking my father anywhere," Aswathama moved to cut off their exit. Dhaumya and Aswathama stood glaring at each other.
"Let him go, son," Kripi told her son. Reluctantly Aswathama turned away. As mother and son watched, Guru Drona walked to the banks of the Ganga with his fellow Brahmins.
***
Jara arrived in Durjaya's dangerous world a few months after he had run away from Ekalavya. He walked the whole night and found himself on the Royal highway. By morning, he was starving and he was desperately in need of rest. The angry stares of strangers did not bother him at first. He was an illiterate, without any knowledge of the smritis. He was unaware that he was breaking caste rules by walking through streets forbidden
to people like him. As there were guards on the streets and no official rule against Untouchables, no one dared stop him. The Priests knew overt discrimination would invite the wrath of Lord Bhishma himself, so they merely seethed at the sight of an Untouchable polluting the avenues of Hastinapura and waited for the urchin to break a written law.
The opportunity came sooner than they expected. The Priests had underestimated the desperation of the hungry boy. For them, hunger was an abstract concept, maya, an illusion, but for Jara it was a harsh reality. The Untouchable walked into the temple. The Priests gasped in horror. Jara did not see Shiva smiling broadly at him, for his eyes was fixed on the sweets piled on a silver platter for the god of stone to eat. The Nishada grabbed the sweets with both hands and then felt a sharp sting on his back. The glowering Head Priest held a whip. The next lash cut open Jara's face. But the boy still would not let go of the sweets. He stuffed the food into his hungry mouth and grabbed more, not bothering to wipe the blood flowing down his cheeks. Someone kicked away the platter and the sweets scattered over the temple floor. It was no longer a divine offering fit for God. It was now filth, polluted by dirty black hands.
