Drona did not flinch at the king's tone.
Instead, his face changed, and for the first time since he had entered the hall, his calm cracked. A deep bitterness rose in his eyes, the kind that did not belong to a teacher, but to a man who had swallowed humiliation for years and never let it dissolve.
"Maharaj," Drona said, voice quieter now, "there is a reason behind my demand."
He paused, as though choosing whether to reveal something sacred or shameful. Then he spoke, and the entire court listened as if a curtain was being pulled aside.
He spoke of his youth.
Of his father, Bharadwaja, the great sage whose name was respected in every corner of Bharatavarsha.
He spoke of the life of a brahmin, where knowledge was wealth and pride was carried not in ornaments but in discipline.
He spoke of how, as a young man, he had studied alongside Drupada, prince of Panchala, in the same ashram, eating the same food, drinking from the same river, sharing the same guru.
"In those days," Drona said, "Drupada and I were not prince and brahmin. We were best friends who promised each other to treat one another like brothers for life."
His lips tightened, and the bitterness deepened as he continued. "Drupada promised me that when he became king, he would share his kingdom with me. He swore in the name of our friendship, our brotherhood.
Drona's fists then clenched. "Years later, a time came when I had nothing. We were in a deep state of poverty. My son was small, and I couldn't even afford to bring milk to him. Kripacharya, my brother-in-law, offered his help, but I refused, because I don't want to beg others for charity. Then I remembered my friend who even promised me half of his kingdom. I hoped to get one simple cow in the name of our friendship. I went to remind him of his words."
His voice trembled slightly, not with sadness, but with rage restrained so tightly that it threatened to tear him apart.
"But Drupada laughed at me," Drona said. "He humiliated me in his court. He called me a beggar. He said friendship exists only between equals. And A king and a poor brahmin can never be equals. And he humiliated me, stating that if I want charity, he will give me even a hundred cows, but if in the name of friendship, then I will get punishment for daring to think that I was friends with a King."
Drona's eyes darkened.
"He threw my words back at my face," he continued. "He made me stand like a clown in front of his nobles. He made me feel small. Not just me… but my father's teachings. My entire lineage."
The hall felt colder.
Drona's voice sharpened.
"And that day," he said, "I vowed that Drupada would kneel. That he would be dragged to my feet and forced to remember what he once promised."
When he finished, his chest rose with a harsh breath. His eyes burned like coals, and his jaw tightened as if he was biting down on years of insult.
"I vowed revenge," Drona said.
"But with the weapons I got in possession at a later date, I could have ended the entire panchala and forcefully brought him to my feet, but it wasn't me he humiliated, Maharaj. It was my father's teachings. It was my friendship. It was my sincerity. I decided that my disciples would one day bring him to his knees."
Then he looked down at the princes, his gaze sweeping across them like a blade.
"Tell me," he demanded with almost a roar, "is there any disciple of mine who has the capability to give me such guru dakshina?"
The entire hall fell silent, and e shocked, some filled with pity, and some with hatred.
Karna narrowed his eyes further, in a bit of wonder… "Is it really the justice he was looking for, or is it the revenge? His words stated justice, but his emotions felt vengeful… For a Brahmin, it was quite..."
At this time, Dhritarashtra's face tightened immediately.
"No," the king said firmly and aloud. "What you ask is impossible. Acharya Drona, you want my children to go to war with Panchala? They have just returned from Gurukula. They have not even assumed their responsibilities. And you want to send them into war?"
He leaned forward on his throne, voice rising.
"Your guru dakshina is unreasonable! Ask for something else. Wealth, land, position. Even if you want part of the Kuru kingdom, I will give it to you and your son. If you insist on revenge, I will send Uncle Bhishma and our army. But I cannot send my children to death. It is not possible."
The king's voice carried genuine fear. Not fear of Panchala, but fear of losing his sons, his heirs, the pillars he had just praised.
Drona's eyes narrowed at the rejection.
"Maharaj," he said, "if I wanted Panchala ruined, I could do it myself."
The court stiffened at the confidence in his words.
"I am a disciple of Parashurama," Drona continued, voice filled with cold certainty. "But I do not want this revenge by my own hands. As I have said, I vowed that my disciples would be the ones to bring Drupada down. That is my oath. That is my dharma."
Dhritarashtra shook his head stubbornly.
"Even so," he argued, "I cannot give permission. It is unreasonable."
Drona's lips curled slightly, but not in a smile. It was the expression of a man whose patience had ended.
"Then there is no need for me to remain here," he said.
His voice was calm, but the words struck like thunder.
"I will leave Hastinapura. I will find another kingdom that respects the tradition of guru dakshina. I will train new princes, even if it takes twenty or thirty years. I will work hard again."
Drona's eyes flashed.
"But no matter what, I will have my revenge. And as for Hastinapura, I will accept no guru dakshina other than what I asked."
The hall erupted in murmurs. Even Bhishma's eyes widened slightly, because Drona was not bluffing. A teacher like him leaving Hastinapura would be a disaster. The princes would lose their foundation, and the kingdom's reputation would crack.
Drona did not wait for discussion.
He turned sharply.
"Ashvatthama," he said.
His son stepped forward immediately.
"Come."
And with that, Drona began to walk out of the court as though Hastinapura was nothing more than a temporary shelter he could abandon.
Bhishma rose abruptly. "Guru Drona, wait," he called.
But Drona did not stop.
Dhritarashtra remained silent, his face stiff, torn between pride and fear, unwilling to bow before a teacher's demand yet unwilling to lose him.
The court watched helplessly as the guru and son descended the steps and began leaving.
Then suddenly, Arjuna rushed forward.
His sandals slapped against the marble as he ran, and before Drona could reach the exit, Arjuna fell at his feet, gripping them tightly.
"Gurudev!" Arjuna cried. "Wait!"
Drona halted.
Arjuna's voice trembled with desperation.
"I have disappointed you once," he said, his eyes burning with determination. "I cannot disappoint you again."
He lifted his head and looked toward the throne. "Maharaj," Arjuna said loudly, "please allow me to go."
Dhritarashtra's hands clenched on the armrests. His jaw tightened. He did not want to give such an order. If Arjuna went, it would mean war. If the princes went, it would mean their first real bloodshed. And if one of them died, the court would never forgive him. He would never forgive himself.
Even though he would want Duryodhana to become the King, it doesn't mean he wanted the Pandu Princes dead. Even if Arjuna is the biggest obstacle in Duryodhana's Path, King Dhritarashtra loved his brother so much that he couldn't bring himself to do this to Pandu's children.
It was at that moment that Karna decided to intervene again.
"Maharaj," Karna said calmly, "may I say something?"
All eyes turned toward him at once.
Karna then rose from his seat, his expression composed, his voice steady. "I think you should accept Acharya Drona's demand."
The hall stirred sharply. However, before anyone spoke, Vidura stepped forward immediately, his face tense.
"Maharaj Karna," Vidura said, voice firm, "you are our guest, and we respect you. But this is a matter of the Kuru family."
Karna did not look offended. Instead, he replied with quiet patience, as though he expected the objection.
"First of all," Karna said, "there is no scripture that states one cannot speak of the matters of another family. And secondly, Mahamantri Vidura…"
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the hall.
"Here, I am not speaking about the Kuru family. I am reminding you of dharma."
His voice deepened as it rose higher. "A gurudev's demand cannot be ignored. Unless a disciple fulfills his guru dakshina, he cannot be considered truly graduated. And one who has not graduated from gurukula cannot be appointed to any official position in any kingdom…"
Karna's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Forget about the position of Crown Prince."
The words fell into the hall like iron.