The cousins as children

Told in English, Telugu.

Long, long ago, in the great city of Hastinapura, there lived a very big family. In the palace lived old grandfather Bhishma, with his white beard and his kind, strong hands. There lived King Dhritarashtra, who could not see with his eyes, and his queen Gandhari. And there lived their sons. How many sons do you think they had? One hundred! Can you imagine a hundred brothers at the dinner table? The eldest of them was called Duryodhana.

One day, a new family came to the palace. It was Queen Kunti with her five sons. Their father, King Pandu, had passed away in the forest, and so they came home to Hastinapura to live with their uncle and their grandfather. Grandfather Bhishma held each little boy close and said, "This is your home now. You are safe here."

The five brothers were called the Pandavas. Yudhishthira was the eldest, calm and truthful. Then came Bhima, big and strong and always hungry. Then Arjuna, quick and clever. And last came the twins, Nakula and Sahadeva. The hundred brothers were called the Kauravas. So now there were one hundred and five cousins all living together in one palace. What fun they could have!

And they did play, all day long. They ran races in the gardens. They swam in the river. They climbed the tall mango trees. But there was one little trouble, and his name was Bhima.

Bhima was so strong that no one could ever beat him. When they ran races, Bhima won. When they wrestled, Bhima won. When the Kaurava boys climbed a mango tree to pick fruit, Bhima would laugh, wrap his arms around the trunk, and shake it. Down tumbled the mangoes, and down tumbled the boys too, landing on the soft grass with a bump.

"Bhima!" they shouted. "That is not fair!"

Bhima only meant it as a game. He was laughing, not being cruel. But Duryodhana did not laugh. Every time Bhima won, a little cold feeling grew inside Duryodhana's heart. He was jealous. "Why should this new boy be the strongest?" he grumbled. "This is my palace." Have you ever felt like that, when someone else always seemed to win? It is not a nice feeling, is it?

The princes had a teacher, a wise man named Kripacharya, who taught them how to hold a bow and ride a horse. But they were still children, and after their lessons, they always ran outside to play.

One sunny afternoon, all the princes went to a field just outside the city to play a game with a small wooden ball. Arjuna hit it, Duryodhana chased it, the twins ran after it, and everyone was shouting and laughing. Then someone hit the ball very hard. Up it flew, high in the air, and down it came, right into an old, deep well.

Plop!

The boys rushed to the edge and peered in. Far, far down, in the dark, they could just see the little ball floating on the water.

"Oh no," said Nakula. "How will we get it out?"

"I will climb down," said Bhima.

"You can't," said Yudhishthira. "The walls are too smooth and slippery. It is too dangerous."

Duryodhana tried reaching in with a stick. Too short. Arjuna looked around for a rope. There was none. One hundred and five princes stood around one small well, and not one of them knew what to do. What would you have done?

Just then, a quiet voice spoke behind them. "What is the matter, children?"

They turned around. There stood a thin man with dark skin and grey hair, holding a bow. He wore simple clothes, like a poor brahmin, but his eyes were bright and sharp.

"Our ball fell into the well," said Yudhishthira politely, "and we cannot get it out."

The stranger smiled. "You are princes of the great Kuru family, and you have learned some archery, yet you cannot take a ball out of a well? Watch."

He bent down and picked a handful of long, stiff blades of grass. The boys looked at one another. Grass? What could anyone do with grass?

The stranger whispered a few words, held up one blade of grass, and threw it into the well like a tiny arrow. It struck the ball. Then he threw a second blade, and it struck the end of the first one and stuck fast. Then a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, each one joining the one before, until there was a long green chain of grass reaching all the way up from the water to his hand.

The boys held their breath. Gently, gently, the stranger pulled. And up came the ball, dripping wet, right into his palm.

"Wah!" cried Bhima. "How did you do that?"

Even Duryodhana forgot to be grumpy. His mouth hung open in wonder.

The stranger handed back the ball. Then he slipped a ring from his finger and dropped it into the well too. Plink! He took his bow, fitted an arrow, and let it fly down into the water. A moment later, the arrow came back up, and there was his ring, caught right on its tip.

"Please, sir," said Arjuna, his eyes shining, "who are you?"

The stranger said, "Go and tell your grandfather Bhishma what you saw. He will know who I am."

The boys ran all the way back to the palace, all talking at once. Grandfather Bhishma listened and smiled a big, slow smile. "Grass that flies like arrows? That can only be Drona, the greatest teacher of archery in all the land."

Bhishma went out himself to welcome the stranger, bowed to him with respect, and asked, "Will you stay in Hastinapura and teach my grandsons?"

And Drona said yes.

From that day on, all one hundred and five cousins became students of Dronacharya. They learned to aim, to wait, and to keep their minds steady. Arjuna practised so hard that he became Drona's favourite pupil. And all the boys remembered that afternoon at the well, when strong arms could not solve the problem, but a calm, clever mind could.

The cousins would grow up, and their story would have many more twists and turns. But that is a tale for another night. For now, close your eyes and think of that little green chain of grass, reaching all the way up from the bottom of the well. Good night.