A Heart of Gold

Chapter 7: Learning

If any of the innumerable corrupt officials of the Imperial Court would have seen the six children seated on the banks of the mighty Ganga in the sweltering midday heat, they would have thought that the kids were having a picnic in a famine. If they found out what they were actually up to, they would have thought of them as fools. If Bhishma, the keeper of the kingdom, had seen them, he would have turned away with moist eyes and an affectionate heart. As it was, the only witnesses to the scene were a parakeet, a ladybug and the surrounding vegetation. As such, the sight of four boys and two girls seated around what appeared to be a communal pot and licking curry drenched fingers did not bother them. The rationing plan worked out well for the six friends. They assembled at morning and at noon to share their meals though no one could gather at night, trapped as they were under their parent's watchful eyes. Ashwatthama managed to sneak away the most rice, even though he did not eat with them. "If I were to eat out every day, my father would be very suspicious," he explained. Eklavya, who lacked supply of cereals or pulses instead brought meat which they would, with great joy, roast over a tiny fire and relish the ill-cooked, nearly burnt meal. Ashwatthama also helped out Radheya, teaching him simple things like grip and stance in archery.

The house however, was a disaster. For a long time, they could not even make the planks of wood stand erect, much less assemble them together in a wall. Despite Eklavya's mockery and the twins' anger, stubborn Radheya refused to give up. Then one day Shon saw a few labourers setting up a temporary camp by digging holes in the ground and pushing bamboo poles in them. He hastened as fast as his legs could carry him, arriving breathless and disheveled, and recounted the scene to his brother in vivid detail. The idea stuck and Radheya woke everyone up before daybreak the next day, made several unconvincing excuses about a hike in the woods and arriving at their chosen 'construction site', proceeded to moisten the ground with precious drops of water and dig a foot deep trench between the eucalyptus trees. When Eklavya and Ashwatthama arrived, they were greeted with the sight of a sweaty Radheya, a panting Shon, exasperated Vrishali and her bored sister. Nevertheless, the good work continued, and after another couple of failed attempts, they were triumphantly standing before a rickety, crooked shack that looked like it would collapse any minute. Vaishali clapped her hand over her head as Shon cautiously opened the door, half afraid the walls would collapse again. As they stepped into the palace built by childish hands, the first drops of rain dripped onto the parched, cracked earth after almost three years as though celebrating their success.

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That night Radheya tentatively broached the topic of archery at dinner. No sooner had he finished presenting his case than his mother jerked up, an indecipherable expression on her face. His father lifted his head, stared at him for a long time and returned to his meal in silence. Shon squeezed his hand reassuringly and gave him a small smile. The subject was not referred to for the rest of the week. Radheya kept praying that his father would agree. Finally, one day he said, in his usual stern manner, "Get ready and make yourself presentable. We are going to see if you can be any good at arms."

Radheya practically fainted from joy. He somehow managed to put on a respectable dhoti i.e., one that did not have mud stains or grass clinging onto it, patted his hair and dashed outside. His father could barely keep up with him dancing like a colt on its first venture to the meadows. Adhirath had to repeatedly tell his son to slow down and wait for him. When they reached the aashram and stepped in through the arched gate, Adhirath took Radheya's hand to keep him from dashing across the place. But he need not have done so. Either out of shyness or fear Radheya himself stopped and pressed to his father's side. Together they went up to an apprentice and requested audience from Kripa, Drona's brother-in-law and the royal priest, who maintained the aashram in his stead. They waited for a long time, till their shadows grew short and started getting long again. Finally, Kripa came out and looked them over with a bored glance.

"What do you want, suta?"

Adhirath bowed deeply, reverently. Radheya followed suit.

"I have a young boy, achaarya, ardent in body and eager to learn. I brought him to you seeking to temper his youthfulness by introducing him to vocational work. I would be blessed swami, if you take him as a student in your aashram."

Kripa did not even deign to reply and instead looked at Radheya and asked, "What do you want to learn, boy? And why?"

Without thinking of the consequences or his hasty response, Radheya blurted out, "I want to learn archery, the art of stringing the bow and shooting arrows to the target."

Adhirath bit his lip.

Kripa bent down, "Why do you want to know it?"

Radheya had no answer to that. Why did he want to learn? "Because I love it?" It came out more a question than a statement.

Kripa laughed. "So be it," he said and without waiting for a response strutted away, leaving them standing foolishly in the middle of the aashram.

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Initially, Radheya's happiness knew no bounds. He went to the aashram every day, with an open mind and eager heart, and watched with open-jawed enthusiasm as the Gurus taught them the basics of wielding arms. They swung wooden swords in graceful arcs and threw headless javelins and lances like they were apples. Radheya watched, listened, and learnt. He always arrived earlier than the norm, and hung out with Ashwatthama. Sitting on the fence that cordoned off the normal aashram from the princes' one, they talked of everything under the sun. For the first time, Radheya was astonished to find a boy as young as him, who was as interested in learning and knowing as he was. Ashwatthama told him tales he heard from his father and the morals Drona shared with the princes in class. He told him about the princes and their lives, about the poverty of his own family before his father became the Royal Teacher and about everything else in nature. He told him of the water cycle, of the moons and stars, of gods and goddess and heroes of yore. And Radheya listened rapturously. In return, he told him secrets of horses and livestock, of woodwork and folklore, and of friendship and brotherhood.

It was during one such discussion about Maitreyi's discourse at Janak's court that a boy, at least four years younger than him, with curly black hair and terrified expression, bounded up to them, and tugging at Ashwatthama's dhoti said with a childish lisp, "Athu! Athu! Come fath! Bheem ith hitting Durjaya again!!"

[Ashu! Ashu! Come fast! Bheem is hitting Durjaya again!!"]

A/N: I apologise thoroughly for the delay. I thought since the exams are over, I might relax for a day or two [read: procrastinate] and then next thing I know, we're being saddled with projects. On another note: Happy [belated] Teacher's Day to everyone. You all taught at least someone something in your life, however meager that might be. And if there is anyone reading this who is actually a teacher by profession, my humblest greetings and respects to you. I really appreciate the good work you do and I'm sure your students are blessed to have someone such as yourself guiding them.

If you like it, vote and leave a review. I love hearing your ideas. Have a good day. Bye!