Friends will be Foes

महाभरत

Mahābharata

As retold by

Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi

Drupada and Drona: friends will be foes

Drupada from Hindi TV series.

The king looked down from his throne. He had risen with the sun, early, and practiced his martial arts with his sword-master. The sword-master had bested him again. His arm still smarted from the razor-cut. He squinted at the man who lay prostrate before him. Another beggar. Ragged cloth, matted hair, dirty feet. Ever since he had returned from his latest campaign in East Panchala it seemed the flow of mendicants never ceased. They came from all directions to beg for rice, milk, a cow, a job. Drupada's generosity never failed: he was always ready to help someone less fortunate.

But it occurred to him that he had never needed charity; he had never asked anyone for anything. While it's true he was the child of a king, Pishada had left him a principality; by the force of his powerful right arm he had converted it into a kingdom with flourishing cities. 

Wheat was harvested, cows were protected, the people lived in harmony. Whatever one wanted could be found in the marketplace. But there were always a few, mostly brahmanas, who refused to work. 

They hoped to live by their teachings. But the teachings weren't enough to live on. The brahmanas were always poor and later ended by coming to him for charity. Why couldn't they be more productive?

The stream of mendicants had turned into a river of late. It seemed that they never stopped coming to beg. And now another. Why was he bowing so low?

"Arise!" said the king. "What do you want?" The beggar got to his feet, helped by the guards. He looked familiar, but then all the mendicants had an air of prophecy about them. This one was no different: skinny, bearded, and in rags, with burning eyes.

"Don't you recognize me? Drupada? It's me!" the beggar cried, almost hysterically. 

"Why, yes of course," said the young and proud ruler of Panchala. "You are a humble brahmana come to beg alms from Drupada."

"It's me, Drona."

"What do you need? A bag of rice to make it through the winter? A cow? I understand that brahmanas are wise. Why are they always so poor? In any case, why are you coming to me? Are the kitchens closed today? If you really need a cow, you can make your petition by the Go-shala. Why the constant need for donations? Aren't the brahmanas supposed to be hunble about asking charity? Why barge into the royal chambers like this? Speak man."

"It's me, Drupada, Drona. Your friend from the ashram of Bharadwaja. Surely you haven't forgotten?"

Drupda looked closely at the man in rags. He did look familiar. Bharadwaja's ashram. It was so long ago. Since he left that little school he had become a man. He had conquered other lands, married a princess, assumed the rule of a kingdom. His father, the great Pishata, had passed away. Now he presided over armies, elephants, soldiers, ministers. Drupada scratched his head. This man did not seem familiar to him at all.

"Perhaps we went to school together. What of that? Schoolboys are in the same class together and they seem equals. But one excels and another falls behind. They are friends together in the primary school. They share the same teacher, the same schoolbooks. They eat and play together. But one pays attention to the lesson, another dawdles and daydreams. One student applies himself and goes on to greatness. Another forgets his lessons and sleeps in class. The good student gains success, the poor student failure. Years later one is a king, the other a beggar. "

"You look at me and what do you see? A schoolboy or a king? You see not a playmate, but King Drupada, Lord of Panchala. I look at you and what do I see? A ragged man in ragged clothes begging for rice. You speak of lessons. What is your lesson for today? Greatness comes from hard work. Now get out. Find a worthwile occupation so that you don't have to beg money like a mendicant. Remember this: Only equals can be friends. You may have been my equal once when we were harmless boys. No longer. Now you are a worthless beggar who begs for rice and I am a powerful king who can send you to death with a harsh word. Go now and leave my court. My men will give you something to eat."

The words of his old friend cut Drona's heart like sharpened iron. 

Drona shouted out to the arrogant young king sitting on his throne of gold in the royal palace, 

“Drupada! Don’t you know me? It's me. Spare me the lecture. I’m your  friend. It’s Drona. I have  come a long way to visit you.”

Hearing this, Drupada, King of the Panchala, frowned coldly from his throne, his eyes red with rage. “Bow before your King!” he said, as the guards pushed Drona to the floor. “Offer your respects to the throne of Panchala.” The imperious Drupada stood up from his throne and saw his childhood friend for the first time in years.

He laughed. “Fool. You haven't been listening. You think you are wise, but you haven't paid attention to the lesson. I know very well who you are, son of Bharadwaja. You think yourself a great brahmana and pride yourself on your learning. And now, you think you are my equal. You and I can never be equals. You should consider the wisdom of calling the king, your lord, a friend or equal. You think yourself wise, but you are a fool. Only equals can be friends. Rich and poor can never be friends. Wise and foolish can never be friends."

“Hero and coward can never be friends. If we were friends as children that time has passed. I am no child. I am both man and king. If you come to me as a man and a poor brahmaṇa I will offer you charity, for I am a great and generous King."

“Kneel and beg charity, you fool, not friendship. Now beg. If you like I may give you a cow, so that your wretched family might have milk to drink. Beg! Kneel and beg!” he demanded.

But Drona did not beg. He stood and shook off the guards. As they laughed at the wretched beggar who would befriend a king, Drona left the court of the king of Panchala. Their  laughter rang in the halls and burned his ears.

"Their laughter rang in the halls and burned his ears."