Ekalavya and Drona

Long ago, in the days of the great Kuru kingdom, the teacher Drona taught archery and the arts of war to the young princes of the royal family. Of all his pupils, the one who worked hardest was Arjuna, the son of Pandu.

One night Arjuna was eating his supper when the wind blew out the lamp. He went on eating in the dark, and he noticed that his hand still found its way to his mouth, simply out of habit. That set him thinking. If practice could teach his hand to find his mouth without light, then practice could teach him to shoot without light too. So from then on, he practised with his bow at night.

Drona heard the twang of a bowstring in the darkness and went to see who it was. When he found Arjuna, he hugged him and said, “I promise you this truly: I will teach you so well that there will be no archer in the world equal to you.”

After that, Drona taught Arjuna to fight on horseback, on the backs of elephants, from a chariot and on foot. He taught him to use the mace, the sword, the lance, the spear and the dart, and how to handle many weapons and fight many enemies at once. News of Drona’s skill as a teacher spread far and wide, and kings and princes came by the thousand, hoping to learn from him.

Among them came a young prince named Ekalavya, the son of Hiranyadhanus, king of the Nishadas, a forest people. But Drona refused to take him as a pupil in archery. Ekalavya was a Nishada, and Drona thought that if he taught him, the forest boy might one day become better than all his high-born pupils.

Ekalavya did not argue. He bowed his head, touched Drona’s feet in respect and walked away into the forest. There he shaped a statue of Drona out of clay. He honoured it as though it were his real teacher, and every day, without fail, he practised his archery in front of it. Because he respected his teacher so deeply and was so set on his goal, he soon found it easy to fit an arrow to the string, to take aim and to let it fly.

One day the Kuru and Pandava princes, with Drona’s permission, rode out in their chariots to hunt. A servant followed them at his own pace, carrying the hunting gear, and with him came a dog. While the princes wandered through the woods looking for game, the dog wandered off on its own and came upon Ekalavya. Ekalavya was dusty from his practice, dressed in black, with his hair in long matted locks. When the dog saw this unfamiliar person, it began to bark loudly.

Ekalavya wanted to show how quick his hands were. Before the dog could close its mouth, he shot seven arrows into it, one after another. The dog ran back to the princes with the seven arrows stuck in its mouth.

The princes stared in amazement. Not one of them could have shot so fast or aimed so well, and they felt ashamed of their own skill. They praised the unknown archer who could aim so truly just by following a sound, and they set off through the woods to find him. Before long they came upon him, still shooting arrow after arrow from his bow. He was a stern-looking man whom none of them had ever seen before.

“Who are you?” they asked. “Whose son are you?”

“Heroes,” he answered, “I am the son of Hiranyadhanus, king of the Nishadas. You may also know me as a pupil of Drona, working to master the art of arms.”

The princes learned all they could about him, then rode back to the city and told Drona about the wonderful archer they had met in the woods. Arjuna could think of nothing but Ekalavya. Trusting in his teacher’s love for him, he went to see Drona alone.

“You once hugged me and told me lovingly that no pupil of yours would ever be my equal,” he said. “Then why is there a pupil of yours, the mighty son of the Nishada king, who is better than I am?”

Drona thought for a moment and made up his mind what to do. He took Arjuna with him into the forest to find the Nishada prince. There he saw Ekalavya, his body dusty, his hair matted, dressed in rags, bow in hand, shooting arrow after arrow without a pause.

When Ekalavya saw Drona coming, he hurried a few steps forward, touched the teacher’s feet and bowed down to the ground. He greeted Drona as his teacher, told him that he was his pupil and stood before him with his palms pressed together, waiting to be told what to do.

“If you are truly my pupil, hero,” said Drona, “then pay me my teacher’s fee.”

Ekalavya was delighted. “Honoured teacher,” he said, “what shall I give you? Only tell me. There is nothing I would not give to my teacher.”

“Ekalavya,” said Drona, “if you really mean to give me a gift, then I would like the thumb of your right hand.”

It was a cruel thing to ask. But Ekalavya had always been devoted to the truth, and he wanted to keep his promise. He cut off his thumb and gave it to Drona, permanently harming the ability he had worked to develop.

After that, when the Nishada prince tried to shoot with the fingers that were left to him, he found that his hands had lost their old quickness. And at this Arjuna became happy, for the fever of jealousy had left him.

About this telling

This story comes from the Adi Parva, the first book of the Mahabharata, in section CXXXIV of Kisari Mohan Ganguli’s English translation, first published in Calcutta between 1883 and 1896. In the epic, the sage Vaisampayana tells it to King Janamejaya as part of the long story of the Kuru and Pandava princes.

Ganguli’s translation describes the Nishadas as one of the lowest groups in the old caste order, and the epic makes clear that this is why Drona would not teach Ekalavya. Ganguli’s translation calls Drona’s demand “cruel”. The cutting of the thumb is told simply here, without any extra detail, and the story ends where the passage ends.

Read the original: Ganguli, The Mahabharata, Volume 1: Adi Parva (Project Gutenberg #15474, section CXXXIV)

Reading guidance: Older teen and adult readers, or a carefully facilitated mature classroom discussion; includes caste-based exclusion, injury to a dog and a teacher’s coercive demand for self-mutilation.

A closer reading

Ekalavya’s practice challenges the idea that access to elite instruction determines who can become skilled. The clay image gives his work a focus, but Drona has not taught him. That distinction makes the later demand for a teacher’s fee especially troubling: Drona invokes a relationship he initially refused when it can protect his favoured pupil.

Arjuna seeks to preserve a promise of being unequalled, while Ekalavya’s achievement shows that other people can learn beyond that promise. Drona answers the conflict by diminishing the rival’s capacity rather than developing Arjuna’s skill. The final happiness is Arjuna’s, and the narrative places it beside Ekalavya’s loss; the juxtaposition invites an ethical judgment rather than uncomplicated celebration.

The dog episode demonstrates extraordinary speed through an act that also injures an animal. Admiring the feat need not erase that suffering. Likewise, Ekalavya’s devotion should not turn his self-injury into an ideal for pupils: respect for a teacher does not require surrendering bodily safety.

The exclusion is tied to the social standing assigned to the Nishadas in this translation. That hierarchy is a condition of the conflict, not a valid measure of intelligence, skill or entitlement to education. A careful reading can honour Ekalavya’s achievement while questioning the structures and decisions that restrict it.

Try this with the story

Compare Drona’s two statements: his refusal to teach and his later claim to a teacher’s fee. List what changes between them. Then write an alternative response Drona could make to Arjuna that preserves both students’ opportunity to learn, identifying it as a proposed ethical response rather than the epic’s ending.

Think about it

• What teaching did Drona actually provide to Ekalavya?
• Why does Arjuna see another archer’s skill as a threat?
• How does the final sentence place Arjuna’s happiness beside Ekalavya’s loss?
• How could Drona respond without harming either student’s opportunity?
• Why is admiration for skill different from approval of the harm done to the dog?

More stories like this

• The Birth of Lord Krishna — another story from the great Hindu sacred tales
• The Faithful Prince — another Indian story about keeping a promise at great cost
• Raja Rasalu — another Indian hero famous for his skill with the bow