At the time that the Pandava princes were growing up in Hastinapura, a young boy called Eklavya lived in the distant forests of what is now southern India.

Eklavya’s father was king of the Nishadas, a mountain people who lived in the forests that covered the Vindhya mountains in those days. The Nishadas made their living through hunting and fishing and gathering food in the forest.

Eklavya would often go hunting in the forest with his father and the other men of the tribe. He was very skilled with his weapons, especially with the bow and arrow. But he was not content. He wanted to learn the art of warfare as a true warrior would, but there was no one among the Nishadas who could teach him.

One day Eklavya heard about the princes of Hastinapura and their great teacher Drona. It was said that Drona had learnt archery from the gods themselves, and that there was no teacher more skilled or more able than he. Eklavya decided to go to Drona and ask him to become his teacher as well.

Eklavya left his home in the mountain forests, and after a long and weary journey north, reached the city of Hastinapura. He found his way to the royal palace. There, in the royal gardens, he saw a short, dark man teaching the use of weapons to the Pandavas and the Kauravas. He hid himself behind a bush and watched. The princes were very able, but more than their skill, it was their teacher who caught Eklavya’s attention. He realised that this must be the great Dronacharya himself.

Eklavya came out from behind the bush, and went up to Dronacharya and greeted him with respect. Drona stopped his lesson and politely returning Eklavya’s greeting, asked him what he wanted.

Eklavya told him his story – how he would hunt with his father in the forest, how he wanted to learn the use of arms from the greatest teacher on earth, how he had heard of Dronacharya, and travelled hundreds of weary miles to reach him. Drona was very pleased with the boy’s desire to learn. “It will be a pleasure to teach him,” thought Drona to himself. He smiled at Eklavya. “What is your name, my son?” he asked. “Who is your father? Where do you come from?”

“I am Eklavya, sir,” answered the boy. “My father is king of the Nishadas. We are a mountain tribe and we live far far south in the forests that cover the Vindhyas.”

“What! A child of the Nishadas!” cried Drona in horror. “I cannot teach you, a lowly tribal boy! Go away at once!”

Eklavya, confused and shaken by Drona’s outburst, could only stare at him.

Drona drew himself up haughtily. “Did you not know,” he asked, “that I teach only those boys who belong to the warrior caste? The royal princes of Hastinapura are Kshatriyas, proud and noble warriors each, and worthy of my attention.  Go away! I will not teach you!”

Slowly, Eklavya walked away from Drona. Hurt and disappointed, he returned to the forests he had come from.

But Eklavya could not stop thinking of Dronacharya and the lesson he had seen him giving the princes in Hastinapura. More than ever, Eklavya became convinced that Drona was the greatest teacher in the world, and the one from whom he must learn the art of war.

So Eklavya took a lump of clay and made from it an image of Drona. He set the image up in the middle of the forest, and treated it with all the respect and reverence he felt for the real Drona. Eklavya then taught himself archery and the use of weapons. He studied and practiced in front of the clay image every day, just as he would have done had the real Drona been his teacher. Many years passed, and Eklavya, all alone in the forest, mastered all the skills of warfare that the royal princes were being taught by Drona in Hastinapura.

One day, Drona took the Pandavas and the Kauravas to the forest to practice hunting. As it happened, this was the same forest in which Eklavya lived, and where he had set up his shrine to Drona. But Drona did not know this. In fact, he had forgotten all about the little boy who had walked so far to learn from him, and whom he had turned away for not being a Kshatriya, so many years ago.

As Drona led the princes through the forest, he noticed arrows stuck in several trees. “It is almost as though someone has been practicing archery here,” thought Drona to himself. He led the princes deeper into the forest, curious to see the person who had shot the arrows. Suddenly, one of Drona’s hunting dogs began to bark. Flying out of the air came seven silver arrows that filled the dog’s mouth and stopped its barking, yet did not hurt the dog. Drona stopped in wonder. “Who are you who shoots so well?” called Drona. “Come, show yourself. We come in peace.”

Out of the bushes stepped Eklavya. He had grown into a tall and athletic young man. Drona did not recognize him.

"Who is your teacher, young man?” asked Drona. “I would like to meet him. He has taught you well.”

Eklavya invited Drona to follow him to his forest shrine. He led Drona to the clay image he had made. “This is my teacher,” he said, “the great Dronacharya himself.”

Drona was astounded to see his own likeness. He turned to look at the young man, who bowed and touched his feet in reverence. “I am Eklavya,” he said. “You turned me away because I was not a Kshatriya, but I have kept your image before me, and learnt my art here in the forest.”

Drona was flattered by Eklavya’s devotion, but also unhappy at the young man’s skill. He did not like the thought that Eklavya might be better, or even as good as, the royal princes Drona was teaching. He pretended to be overjoyed at Eklavya’s prowess. “Now that I am here in person, let me test your skill,” he said to Eklavya.

Drona then asked Eklavya to compete against the princes. Yudhishthira, Bhima, Duryodhana, Duhsasana, all came up and tested their skill against Eklavya’s. But Eklavya beat them all. Finally it was Arjuna’s turn. Arjuna was Drona’s favourite, and the prince most skilled in archery. But Eklavya beat him as easily as he had beaten the rest.

Arjuna’s defeat was unacceptable to Drona. Arjuna had to be the best, by whatever means. Drona determined to disable Eklavya once and for all.

“You have learnt well under your teacher,” he said to Eklavya, pretending to praise him. “Will you now give your teacher his guru-dakshina, his gift to demand by right in return for the learning that he has given you?”

Eklavya knelt before him. “Ask, and it is yours, my teacher,” he said.

“Give me then your right thumb,” said Drona.

Eklavya looked at him. He understood Drona’s plan. By demanding Eklavya’s right thumb, Drona was making sure that Eklavya could never again lift bow and arrow to shoot straight and true. Once again, Arjuna would be the best archer of them all, and Eklavya a mere tribal without the right to know the Kshatriya art of war.

Eklavya took out his knife, and, without flinching, cut off his right thumb. He handed it without another word to Drona, the great teacher.

Drona and the princes returned to Hastinapur, secure in the knowledge that a potential rival to Arjuna was gone forever. Eklavya returned to his people in the forest.

This happened many thousands of years ago. We remember Eklavya for his dedication to learning and his devotion to the person he had acknowledged as his teacher.

But what of Drona? Was he really a great teacher?