Guru Dakshina

Guru Dakshina

Shilpi, Sheetal, Lakki, and Satyam walk to their English-medium school in the neighbourhood. Their parents, school drop-outs from vernacular village schools, and migrant workers at Bhopal, pay a hefty fee for their kids, but have little idea of the abysmal quality of education provided by the school, which is another education-shop.

Last Sunday, my four students sat in our porch on a chatai and opened their notebooks. I dictated a few words for them to write and checked their spelling. Shilpi, the youngest is five, and is still struggling with alphabet writing from A to Z, and hence I asked her to practice that.

My students particularly enjoyed when I gave them a bowl of unshelled groundnuts, and asked them to make as many personal heaps of ten each as fast as they could. Mental math, based on the nuts in their possession, made addition and subtraction fun for them. When the session ended, Shilpi asked, ‘Next Sunday, will we again count with these nuts?’

‘I will get a bundle of straw, we will light a fire, roast the shells, and eat it, but only after the counting lessons,’ I said.

Sheetal is 7 and in Class 1, Lakki is 9 and in Class 3, and Swayam is 11 and in Class 2 since he had dropped out of school when he had gone away for a few years to his village in Bihar.

After the one-hour ‘study,’ I told them a story. A little reward for their mindfulness during the study hour!

Do you know any story from Mahabharat, I asked? They did not. No TV at home, though they are fond of watching cartoons and playing games on their father’s smart phone.

I told them briefly about the great war between the Pandavas and the Kauravas. They were incredulous when I told them of the 100 sons of Dhritarastra. No one asked for details, but I guess they had much difficulty in believing that a single set of parents could have one hundred kids.

Today, I will tell you a story from Mahabharat. It is about Guru Dakshina.

‘What is guru dakshina?’ asked Sheetal.

‘You pay fees to your school. Swayam and Shilpi go for private coaching in the evening, and they pay a monthly fee to the tutor. That is Guru Dakshina.’

Guru Drona taught the royal kids – both Kauravas and Pandavas – the art of war including archery, wrestling, and fighting with a mace. Arjun, his best student in archery, never missed a target, and no one else could defeat him when he had on his hands Gandeeva, his famous bow, and the powerful arrows.

One day, Guru Drona spotted a young boy peeping from behind a thick grove at the far end of the open field where he held his classes. He ordered the boy to come near him.

Why are you snooping when I am teaching the secret art of war to my royal students?

Guru Ji, I live in a small hut far inside the forest, but come every day to watch you teach your students. I, too, wish to learn from you. Please take me in as your student.

Are you stupid? How dare you join the school meant only for royal kids? Go off, and never again come anywhere near my school.

Ekalavya was very disappointed, but nodded, and went away into the forest, never to be seen again.

A few years later, Guru Drona completed his lessons for his students, and took them into the forest for a test. Each student was assigned a specific task and target, and most of his students demonstrated that they had learnt well from the Guru. Arjun could not only shoot any target, however small, but also a target without looking at it, merely by listening to a bird’s call, for example.

Deep in the forest, Drona and his students heard a dog barking furiously. All on a sudden, the barking stopped and a dog came running out of a thick grove with seven arrows pinned into its open mouth.

Who could shoot arrows with such precision, they wondered? Soon, they spotted Ekalavya, now a full-grown sturdy youth, with his rustic bow and arrow. Ekalavya offered prostrate salutations to Drona.

Who taught you archery, asked an astonished Drona?

Who else but you, Sir? You are the best teacher in the world in the art of war.

But I never enrolled you in my school!

I made your idol in clay, worshipped it daily with flowers and fruits, and then practised archery. You are my Guru.

Drona realised that Ekalavya, though never trained by him, was a better archer than Arjun. That would be a humiliation not only for Arjun, but for the Guru himself!

He asked Ekalavya, ‘How about my Guru Dakshina?’

Sir, every day I offer you fruits and roots. May I fetch the freshest collection of the day for you?

No, I don’t need that.

Please tell me what would please you, Sir. But you know I have no gold or silver coin or any other expensive gift.

‘Give me your right thumb. That would be your Guru Dakshina to me.’

Without any hesitation Ekalavya took his knife, chopped off his right thumb, and not even wincing from the pain and regardless of blood streaming from his wound, he placed the severed thumb on the Guru’s feet, and offered his salutations.

My students were appalled. Their faces fell. Why would a guru ever be so cruel, they could not comprehend?

I explained why Drona had asked for the right thumb. Ekalavya would never again be able to shoot an arrow without his right thumb.

Did you like the story, I asked?

They kept quiet. Evidently, they were still trying to make sense of this unusual story of a mean, cruel teacher; the gory picture of a severed thumb dripping with blood; and the unhappy ending. So, I asked, ‘Was it right for Dronacharya to demand a Guru Dakshina from Ekalavya?

‘No,’ all the kids shook their little heads vigorously to condemn the Guru’s pettiness.

I had taught them a few words, and no moral lessons. But these small kids were already aware of an unequal, unjust world, and had formed their view of right and wrong.

Sunday School, 20/11/22: Front Row-L to R- Shilpi & Sheetal,

Back Row-L to R- Swayam & Lakki.

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Note: 

• Author's profile may be seen at http://amazon.com/author/pkdash
• Books by this author are available on Amazon.in, Kindle eBook, Flipkart, and Notion Press, Chennai.

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