Many, many years ago, King Pandu ruled Hastinapur, a small kingdom in what is now northern India. King Pandu was a good and wise king. Under his rule, Hastinapur prospered and grew rich and powerful. But King Pandu was not a very strong man. For the sake of his health, he retired to the forest with his two queens, Kunti and Madri. He left his kingdom in charge of his brother, the blind Dhritarashtra.

While in the forest, Pandu’s queens bore him five sons. These princes were known as the Pandavas, or the sons of Pandu. Kunti was the mother of the three older sons – Yudhishthira, Bhima, and Arjuna. Madri was the mother of the two youngest Pandavas, the twins Nakula and Sahadeva.

Soon after, while the princes were still small children, King Pandu died. Madri, the younger queen, left her two little sons in Kunti’s care, and ended her life by throwing herself into the flames of Pandu’s funeral pyre. Kunti was left all alone, without Pandu and without Madri, with five little boys to bring up and look after.

Kunti returned to Hastinapura with the children. Dhritarashtra had now become king after his brother’s death. He and his queen, Gandhari, welcomed Kunti and the children warmly and lovingly into the royal household. Bhishma, the children’s great-uncle and head of the royal family, welcomed the Pandavas as though they were his own sons. So did Vidura, the children’s uncle, half-brother to Pandu and Dhritarashtra.

Dhritarashtra and Gandhari had a hundred sons, known as the Kauravas, and one daughter Duhsala.

The five Pandavas and the hundred Kaurava princes grew up together in the royal palace at Hastinapura. Duryodhana, the oldest of the Kauravas, hated the Pandava princes. He would plot and scheme against them, and Kunti would worry constantly about the safety of her children. But Bhishma, wise and just, ensured the wellbeing of the Pandava princes.

One day, the Kauravas and the Pandavas were playing ball outside the city walls of Hastinapur. An old well stood just where they were playing. During their game, their ball, as well as Yudhishthira’s ring, fell into the well.

“Now what shall we do?” said the princes in annoyance. They gathered round the well and peered in, trying to think of ways and means to get the ball out.

“What’s the matter?” asked a voice. The princes looked up to see a short, dark man looking at them. He was a Brahmin, they could tell, because of the sacred thread he wore. But they had never seen him before. He was a complete stranger to all of them.

“We’ve lost our ball,” explained Yudhishthira. “And we don’t know how to get it out.”

The Brahmin smiled. “Why, that should be no problem for princes like you,” said the Brahmin laughing. ‘Anyone as skilled in arms as the princes of Hastinapura should know how to take a mere ball out of a well!”

“What does skill in arms have to do with it?” asked the princes.

“Everything!” said the Brahmin. “Give me an arrow, and I will show you.”

But the princes had no arrows with them that day.

“Never mind,” said the Brahmin. He pointed to a nearby field and said,  “Pick me some strong, straights blades of the kusha grass growing in that field. The grass will do as well.”

By now the princes were completely mystified and very curious to see what the Brahmin would do. They ran to pick the blades of grass for the dark stranger.

The Brahmin chose the longest and strongest of the blades, and uttering a prayer over it, shot it into the well like an arrow. The blade of grass went flew straight at the ball, and struck it with such force and at such an angle that the ball flew out of the water, bounced against the wall of the well and jumped straight into the Brahmin’s hand.

The princes were amazed. They had never seen anything like it before.

“My ring has also fallen into the well. You can see it shining at the bottom there,” said Yudhishthira, pointing to the bottom of the well. “Can you get that out as well?”

“Nothing could be easier,” said the stranger.

He again took up a blade of grass, and cut a notch into it. Then, once again saying a prayer over the blade of grass, the unknown Brahmin shot it into the well. The blade of grass hit the ring so that the ring stuck firmly in the notch. The Brahmin then shot several more blades of grass into the well, so that they stuck, one into the other, forming a long chain. When the chain was long enough, the Brahmin took hold of it and drew the ring out of the well.

Once again, the princes were astonished. “You are a great archer,” they cried. “What is your name?”

But the stranger smiled and refused to tell them his name.

“Go,” he said. “Go and tell the great Bhishma what you have seen here today.”

The princes ran to tell Bhishma all that had happened.

Bhishma realised that this strange Brahmin could be no other than Drona, the son of Bharadwaja and the greatest archer of all. It was said that Drona had learnt archery from the gods themselves.

Bhishma hurried down to the city gates and welcomed Drona into Hastinapura. He felt Drona was the best person to teach the princes the use of arms. He appointed Drona teacher to the princes. Henceforth, Drona was known as ‘acharya’, or ‘great teacher’.

A True Archer

One day, Dronacharya gathered his royal pupils around him for a lesson in archery. He pointed to a bird sitting on a tree in the garden, and said, “I want you to shoot that bird through the eye.”

He asked Yudhishthira, the eldest prince, to try first. Yudhishthira stepped forward and drew his bow.

“Wait,” commanded Drona. “First tell me, what do you see?”

“I see the bird, and the branch it is sitting on, the tree and all its leaves. I see the sky, the earth, my brothers, and you, my teacher,” answered Yudhishthir.

“Put down your bow,” said Dronacharya to Yudhishthira. “You have much to learn still.”

Next came Duryodhana, the second oldest of the princes. “What do you see?” asked Drona.

“I see the bird, the tree, the sky, the earth, and my brothers,” answered Duryodhana.

Dronacharya asked him to stand aside as well.

Next, he called Bhima. Bhima’s answer was similar to those given by the two older princes, and he too was asked to move aside.

Then came Arjuna’s turn.

“What do you see, Arjuna?” asked Dronacharya.

“I see the bird,” said Arjuna.

“What else do you see?” asked Dronacharya.

“Nothing else. I see only the bird,” said Arjuna.

“Do you not see the tree and the sky and the earth?” asked Dronacharya. “Do you not see me, your teacher? Do you not see your brothers?”

“No,” said Arjuna. “I see only the bird.”

“What part of the bird do you see, Arjuna?” asked Dronacharya.

“Only the eye,” said Arjuna.

“And that is what you should see!” exclaimed Dronacharya. “You have proved yourself a true archer, Arjuna. For if your eye sees only the target and nothing else around it, your arrow is sure to find its mark!”

Arjuna became Dronacharya’s favourite pupil. He grew up to be one of the greatest archers of his age.