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.
Back Row-L
to R- Swayam & Lakki.
***
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.
