As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over Dronacharya's ashram, the air buzzed with the sounds of diligent students. The students, a mix of princes, kings, and nobles, scurried about, each engaged in their daily chores.

Laughter and camaraderie echoed as some boys gathered sticks and branches, expertly balancing their loads of firewood on their shoulders. Others swept the courtyard, their brooms made from twigs, creating neat piles of fallen leaves. In one corner, a group hammered at anvils, shaping weapons under the watchful eye of a senior student, sparks flying like tiny stars in the dimming light.

The scent of the earth, mixed with the faint aroma of woodsmoke, enveloped the ashram. Inside his humble hut, Dronacharya sat cross-legged, surrounded by scrolls. His brow furrowed in concentration, he examined the accounts detailing the ever-increasing expenses of his growing student body.

Each scroll revealed a stark reality—princes from distant kingdoms flocked to learn under his esteemed tutelage, but with them came the burdens of feeding and maintaining the ashram. But Dron was not burdened with worry. The generous patronage from the royal family ensured that all needs were met, allowing him to focus on imparting wisdom and martial skills to the next generation.

With each calculation of expenses, Dron felt a swell of gratitude. Just years prior, he had toiled in obscurity, driven by ambition to gather riches. Now, thanks to the support from Hastinapur, his desires were manifesting. The steady stream of students from various kingdoms not only filled his ashram with vibrant energy but also enriched his coffers.

He paused, looking through the open doorway at the bustling students of his ashram. The sounds of laughter and chatter floated in from outside, mingling with the crackling of firewood. But amidst the chaos, his gaze settled on one figure—Arjun. Seated away from the group, Arjun was absorbed in ancient texts, a frown of concentration etching his brow.

Dron’s heart swelled with pride, recognizing the exceptional potential of his star pupil. In that moment, he envisioned Arjun as a great hero, destined for glory. Yet, a shadow crept into his heart. The thought of his own son, Ashwathama, flashed through his mind. The insecurities gnawed at him, whispers of doubt about whether Ashwathama would ever shine as brightly as Arjun.

Dron had initially focused all his attention on Ashwathama, ensuring he mastered the secret weapons that would make him the best. Yet, as he began sharing these secrets with Arjun, the undeniable truth emerged: Arjun was excelling, surpassing his own son’s prowess. Dron's heart ached with the duality of a mentor's pride and a father's concern.

A distant call rang out, announcing that food was ready. Instantly, the atmosphere shifted; princes and aspiring warriors set aside their tasks, their faces lighting up with anticipation. They hurried toward the dining area, the scent of cooked grains and lentils wafting through the air.

Arjun, however, lingered a moment longer, engrossed in his texts. He could see the other students rushing ahead, their vibrant energy palpable, but he remained rooted in his pursuit of knowledge. Eventually, he set aside his texts and made his way to the dining area.

The familiar scent of savory spices filled the air, awakening his appetites. The dining area was alive with chatter, several students seated cross-legged on the ground, their banana leaves spread wide like vibrant plates awaiting the evening feast. Arjun slid into a spot beside his brothers, and sat down to eat as the servants began to serve food to every student.

Soon Dronacharya stepped into the dining area, the flickering torchlight illuminating his presence with an aura of authority. His gaze swept over the students, lingering on Arjun. Dron knew the truth; Arjun’s fervor and skill rendered him the true recipient of his deepest teachings. Yet, the thought was bittersweet, as the weight of ambition and paternal love collided within him. In that moment, the duality of his role as a Guru and the love of a father clashed fiercely within him, threatening to taint his teachings.

Each day, Arjun seemed to eclipse Ashwathama, his prowess in archery and divine weapons elevating him to a position of growing admiration among peers. Dronacharya’s heart was heavy with a mix of pride and concern. He had nurtured Ashwathama, hoping to mold him into the finest warrior of his time. But watching Arjun, the spark of brilliance in his eyes, made Dronacharya anxious.

It was evident to Dron that Arjun's potential far surpassed that of any student. He knew, deep down, that Arjun deserved every secret weapon and technique he had to offer. This was a boy destined for greatness, and Dron felt an unrelenting urge to nurture that brilliance. This boy, with his unyielding spirit and unmatched skills, was undoubtedly the finest warrior he had ever encountered.

Yet, as a father, duty gnawed at him. He had wished to mold Ashwathama into the best, to ensure his legacy would shine. Dronacharya's instinct urged him to intervene, to protect ensure his son’s supremacy.

As servants bustled past, Dronacharya halted one, a flicker of authority in his gaze. "Suno."

"Ji Acharya ?" The aged worker inquired, bowing slightly.

Dronacharya's voice was firm, almost cold. "Arjun ko kabhi suryast ke baad bhojan mat dena."

The servant blinked in confusion, but the intensity in Dronacharya's eyes left no room for questioning. The directive wasn’t just about food; it was a protective measure against the divine potential Arjun wielded.

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A/N

Guruvar Guruvar.... Arjun ka samarthya ek dahadti nadi ke bhaati hai, jisko baandh banakar bhi roka nahi jaa sakta 🌝