Friends will be Foes

महाभरत

Mahābharata

As retold by

Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi

Drona and Drupada part 3

Boys become Men

As time passed, Drona remembered the advice of his father. He sought out Kripa who was a brahmana warrior and asked for the hand of his sister, Kṛpi, the daughter of  Saradwata, in marriage.  Kripa, the Acharya, had become the teacher of the Paṇḍus, and was doing quite well. 

By and by,  Droṇa married Kṛpi.  And in the hermitage of Droṇa she maintained his simple hut of bamboo under the palm trees by the Ganges. There were few students in the ashram since the passing of the great sage Bharadwaja. The hut was empty of furniture save for a palm mat on the floor. Drona and Kripi lived in very humble circumstances. They did their best to be happy with what little they had.

 

His brother-in-law, Kripa had become a great success: he was the teacher of the famous Pandava brothers in the court of Hastinapura. Drona's boyhood friend Drupada ruled the kingdom of Panchala from his mighty throne of gold. But the humble Droṇa lived simply with Kripi in a tiny hut. It didn’t seem right. Kripi was a good and faithful wife who kept the sacrificial fire burning in the hearth. She could live as simply as any yogi. But as time passed, she gave birth to a child. The little boy brayed at childbirth, and so he was called Aśvatthāmā, or "one who neighs like a horse."

"Drona did his best to raise the child"

 Droṇa did his best to raise the child. As Aśvatthāmā  took his first steps, Drona went on teaching, studying and following his practice, but he felt the sting of his poverty keenly. He didn’t mind living on herbs and berries and air if need be, but his wife Kṛpi gradually became tired and thin, exhausted from bearing the strong child who bore his father’s looks. Her son, Aśvatthāmā, the son of Drona was the self-same warrior who would cause so much grief and bloodshed to you all later on in this terrible Kurukṣetra war.

Well, Droṇa could see he wouldn’t last long as a teacher; the few students he took on were distracted; they neglected their studies or didn't stay in his ashram. He taught some of the promising students for free. 

"He taught students for free."

Others barely brought any alms at all. In the end, Drona’s earnings from charity were barely enough rice to feed his family. Kṛpi was so thin her breasts had no milk for little Aśvatthāma. The child was crying all the time or sleeping, he was so hungry. Sometimes they mixed a bit of rice powder with water and gave it to him. He was happy for this. He stood up and celebrated. "I have drunk milk!" he said. 

This mortified Droṇa. He couldn’t understand why he suffered in such terrible poverty while his friend Drupada enjoyed the riches and throne of a king. The class distinction between them  was merely a question of birth. He remembered how when the played on the banks of the Ganges they were equals. They were equals when they competed for honor in the ashram of his father. And wasn’t he every bit the warrior that Drupada was? It was all a question of birth and caste. Drupada was a Kshatriya and had a right to rule. While Drona had been born a Brahmana and had the right to starve. It was all so unfair.

Had Droṇa been born king, he wouldn’t have seen his wife starve and his child drink rice water. Finally he wrote a letter to his old friend Drupada, reminding them of their friendship. The winter moons came and went, but there was no answer to his letter. In spring he tried again.  In this way, he sent many messages to his old friend Drupada, the King of Panchala, but they all went unanswered.

One day Droṇa decided it was time to visit his old boyhood friend. He set out for the royal city of Panchala,  he bidding goodbye to his wife and child.

Drona walked down the banks of the river Ganges, past the forest of tamarind trees, across the dusty plains where the rice no longer grew until he arrived at the long path through the tall wheat which was now being harvested on the orders of the king. He rested at night and slept under the stars, dreaming of the great friendship between himself and Drupada. He could see his old friend embracing him. They would laugh at his poverty. Drupada would give him some position at court, perhaps, training the young men to be kings. They would laugh and talk about the old times and mourn the loss of their fathers. He rose with the sun and walked on. And after walking for days he came to the main road which led to the Palace of Panchala.

 

At night he rested in a grove of mango trees. As the sun went down he could see the tall spires of the palace in the distance. When the sun rose in the morning, he walked again through the dark forest and finally reached the Palace of the king.  His friend would be surprised to see him again. Oh, what times they would have, remembering their childhoods and how they used to swim and play in the cold waters of the river Ganges. The king would probably offer him a fine sitting place, refreshing drinks, and exotic fruits.

That morning was market day. Throngs of people gathered on the roads outside the palace, selling everything from fine silk and woven baskets to toy chariots and captured monkeys.

 Drona moved through the mob and approached the palace itself. Many other brahmanas came and went. Drona walked up the marble steps to the great palace behind a group of renunciants dressed in ragged red cloth, bearing staffs. A military guard watched him as he threaded his way through the throng.

 And as he passed through the cool marble halls of the royal palace of the Kings of Panchala, Drona was astonished. He had lived all his life in a hut on the banks of the river, surrounded by bamboo and tamarind trees. He had never seen such splendor. So this is how kings lived. The great palace of Panchala with its stone gates and high walls, seemed like a great wonder of the world. 

The walls were encrusted with jewels and decorated with gold leaf. Ladies passed by on the second floor, darted in and out of view coquettishly. He could smell their fragrance, a light aroma of sandal. He had never before seen such riches. When his father read him the epic stories of India like the Ramayana, he had heard of castles like this but was astounded at the sight of such wealth.

Court of the Maharaja, traditional Indian miniature painting

Seeing such an opulent court was overwhelming as its grandeur was beyond anything he had ever dreamed.  Drona was now well within the inner chambers of the palace. He had left the beggars and tradespeople behind. He found himself in a solitary corridor whose marble walls were lit from above by a skylight.

He heard a sound. A guard approached. A tall soldier with a stern and weathered face, his mustaches carefully waxed. A scar ran across his face from eyebrow to chin. He frowned.  His fine silk turban was embroidered with silver threads in the form of a royal eagle. His powerful arms held a sharp saber with golden hilt. The guard’s deep voice startled him from his reverie.

"Who goes there?"

“Who goes there?” said the guard, as Drona kept walking.

A detail of three more armed guards appeared from around a corner, barring Drona’s path.

“Stop, you!” they said, with drawn sabers.

Drona was unafraid. After all, his father had been the teacher of King Pishada, the ruler of Panchala. And Drupada himself was his playmate.

He smiled.

“Gentlemen. God’s blessing upon you. Allow me to introduce myself. It is I, Droṇa, son of Bharadwaja the sage, teacher to King Pishada. I wish to speak with my childhood friend, Drupada.”

The mustached guard with the scar said, “You wish to have audience with Maharaja Drupada? He smiled, baring his teeth and held his sword at the ready, “You dare call our Lord and King, the ruler of Panchala, a child, boy?”

The guards laughed a hearty laugh and drew their sharpened sabers.

“Yes,” said, Drona, “With Drupada. Is he at home?”

The guard looked at the young man in rags before him and corrected him:

 “You mean Drupada Maharaja.” He said. “What is your business with the king?”

"What is your business with the king?"

“I have only come to visit an old friend.” said Droṇa.

“Kings have no friends, boy, only subjects. Do you swear your allegiance to the royal throne and the king of all Panchala?”

Drupada from Hindi TV Series

“I come as a friend,” said Drona, not quite sure why they were treating him so poorly.

Just then an old court minister passed them in the corridor. Seeing the fuss, he looked at Drona. “Let him pass,” he said. “This boy is harmless. The king doesn’t mind giving charity to starving brahmaṇas.”The palace guards took him before the king. They entered the vast throne room of the Panchalas. There on an elevated dais, decorated with fine silk throne, sat the king.

The guards shoved Drona into the room. He practically fell to his knees. “All hail the king! “ they shouted. “Maharaja Drupada ki Jai. Maharaja Drupada ki Jai!!”

Drona tried to catch his balance, but the guards shoved him down to the ground.

“Kneel and offer your obeisances to the King of Panchala.” they said. “Maharaja Drupada ki Jai ho!” they said.