Drona's heart was heavy. He had promised Arjuna that no one would equal him. Now the rules of dharma stood before him like a mountain.
"Give me your right thumb."
Drona walked to the Nishada boy. "Ekalavya, who is your guru?"
"Ekalavya," Drona said, his voice cracking, "if I am your guru, then give me guru dakshina."
The dog ran back to Drona. The princes followed.
Ekalavya smiled. Without a tear, without a tremble, he took his sharpest arrow, placed his thumb on a stone, and cut it clean.
One day, he saw Dronacharya teaching the Kuru princes in Hastinapura. From behind the bushes, Ekalavya watched every move, every breath, every release of the arrow.
One afternoon, the Kauravas and Pandavas were hunting in the forest. A dog strayed near Ekalavya's ashram. Before the dog could bark, Ekalavya sealed its mouth with seven arrows – without drawing blood.
Drona blessed him and left. But the gods in heaven wept. For on that day, dharma wore a crown, but justice wore a wound that would never heal.
So Ekalavya made a clay statue of Drona, placed it under a banyan tree, and worshipped it as his teacher. For years, he practiced. His arrows could part water, silence a deer's heartbeat, and pluck a flower without shaking the stem.
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The forest fell silent. Even the wind stopped. The Kaurava princes gasped. Arjuna looked away.
"Dronacharya is the greatest guru," he whispered to himself. "But he will never teach me. I am a hunter's son."