Story: Shoot for the Moon

“This is magnificent,” a voice breathed, and I instantly snapped towards it.

I would recognize that voice anywhere.

“How did they do that?” another voice said.  I didn’t know this one, but it sounded like a young boy’s.

I peered through the tree branches and saw them, the sage and his pupil, marveling at my work of art.

Hours and hours of practice had paid off finally, and the dog whined piteously as they stood around it for its mouth was completely shot full of arrows.

None of them hurt the dog in any way, but he had lost his ability to bark or close his mouth at all.

Taking a deep breath, I emerged from the bushes and stood before them proudly.

“Are you the one who produced this miracle?” the man asked.  His student stared in awe, and I swelled with pride.

“Yes, I am,” I said.  “Do you not remember me, teacher?”

The man started and squinted at me.  “I would remember a pupil as talented as this.  Tell me the meaning of what you said.”

“Come,” I said, gesturing towards my hut.  I showed them the statue I had carved of the famed sage, Drona.

“You rejected me before when I asked to be your pupil.  Now look how far I have come.  Your statue has been here the whole time, watching me and guiding me to be the best archer in the world.”

I felt my heart beat like a drum in my chest.  This was the moment I had been waiting for, all these long years alone in the forest, practicing day and night.

“Will you take me as your pupil now?  I would do anything to be your student!”

To my surprise, he burst out laughing.  “You?  Be my pupil?  I could not possibly teach you.  I only teach Kshatriyas, ones who are worthy of being taught the martial arts.  I do not know what fluke caused this miracle to be created by you, but it is no indication of your worth.

You must prove yourself to me through a greater sacrifice.  I demand that you cut off the thumb of your right hand.  If you can do this for me, I will teach you everything I know.”

I felt all my breath rush out of my lungs.  If I cut off my right thumb, his teachings would be useless to me.  Without the thumb on my right hand, I could not steady my bow.  My aim would be ruined.

“B-But that will . . .” the boy beside Drona stammered.

Drona nodded grimly.  “Sacrifices must always be hard.  Or they are not true sacrifices.”

White hot anger ran through my veins.  He knew exactly what he was doing to me, to my talent, to my potential.  This was not a sacrifice.  It was my death.

“No,” I whispered.  And then again, louder, “No, I will not do it.  I will not cut off my thumb to please your cruel whim.”

He smirked derisively.  “I thought you said you would do anything to be my student.  See what your promises are worth.”

“I will not do something so blatantly meant to destroy me.  If I cut off my thumb, I would be useless as your student.  No, I did not need your help to create this, and I will not need it now.”

Without another word, I turned around and stalked away before they could see the tears that dripped down my face.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Every arrow I shot hit its target.  I had set up a practice dummy made of an old log with branches lashed to it and I shot arrows at it furiously.

Within minutes, it had fallen to pieces from the onslaught and I stood there panting, wanting something more to kill.

Suddenly, I heard the sound of approaching footsteps through the trees and I spun around and nocked an arrow.

“Who goes there?” I snarled.  “Answer, or I will shoot!”

“Please, I only came to see you,” a voice called, and the boy from earlier emerged from the bushes.

I didn’t lower my bow.  “Who are you?  Why do you want to see me?”

He stood awkwardly, but I noticed the only part of his body at ease was the arm holding his bow.

“I don’t think it’s fair what Drona did to you.  I know you wanted to train with him, but I was wondering if you would train with me instead.”

“And who are you that I should want to train with you?” I said contemptuously, but inside I was already wondering what it would be like to practice against someone other than myself.

“I am Prince Arjuna of Hastinapura, son of Indra,” he proclaimed proudly.  “I thought I was the best archer in the world, but you have shown me my arrogance.  Please, teach me!”

I breathed and relaxed, finally lowering my bow.

“You would really want to train with me?  I’m not a Kshatriya, you know.  I would barely be worthy to clean your feet.”

“I don’t care!  I will never be the best if I don’t practice with those better than I am.  I want to know how you did that.”

“You want to know how I did the trick with the dog?  It will take you months of practice at least, if not years.  I’ll work you harder than Drona ever did,” I warned, hoping against hope.

His eyes gleamed with ambition, and I knew I needn’t have worried.

“Show me.”

Arjuna.  Web Source.

Author's Note:  I was really saddened by the story in the Epified Mahabharata about Drona's cruel treatment of Ekalavya so I wanted to rewrite the story into what I thought should have happened.  In the original, Ekalavya does cut his own thumb off and is prevented from becoming the legend he should have been.  Obviously, I did not do that in my version, and I also made Arjuna more sympathetic toward Ekalavya's plight.

Bibliography:  Epified Mahabharata.  Ekalavya's Story.  Web Source.