Dawn crept over Hastinapura, painting the sky a soft, glowing orange that spilled across the shaded training yard beside the palace. The air was cool and still, carrying the distant rush of the Ganga like a whispered promise beneath the morning's quiet. Rough-hewn benches lined the yard's edges, their wood weathered and splintered, while a row of wooden dummies stood in the center, battered and scarred from years of blows. The ground was packed earth, dusted with faint traces of chalk from forgotten drills, and the faint scent of dew clung to the grass that poked through the cracks. It was a place of toil, of sweat and struggle, and today it hummed with a new energy as the Kuru princes gathered, their voices low but restless after the marvel of the previous day.
Drona stood at the yard's heart, his lean frame wrapped in the same tattered white robes, though they seemed less ragged in the morning light, as if the dawn lent them a quiet dignity. His gray hair was tied back in its severe knot, and his dark eyes gleamed with a sharpness that cut through the stillness. In one hand, he held his simple staff, its tip resting lightly on the ground; the other hung at his side, relaxed but ready. He said nothing at first, letting his gaze sweep over the princes—Pandavas clustered to his left, Kauravas to his right—their faces a mix of curiosity, defiance, and eager anticipation.
Bhima shifted on his feet, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallowed half a bench. His tunic was still damp from yesterday's plunge into the well, and a fresh bruise bloomed purple on his arm, a trophy from the morning's spar. "So," he said, his voice loud enough to startle a nearby bird into flight, "you're the grass-arrow man, eh? What's the plan for us today?"
Drona's eyes flicked to him, steady and unblinking. "The plan," he said, his tone stern but calm, "is to see what you're made of, prince. All of you." He paced forward, his staff tapping the earth with each step, a slow, deliberate rhythm that drew every eye. "Yesterday was a moment. Today is a beginning. Stand straight, and let's start."
Yudhishthira stepped up beside Bhima, his movements measured and graceful, his neat tunic a stark contrast to his brother's disheveled state. His face was calm, though his dark eyes held a thoughtful glint. "We're ready," he said, his voice steady and warm. "Whatever you ask, we'll do our best."
Duryodhana, standing with the Kauravas, crossed his arms over his chest, his dark hair falling into his eyes. His fine tunic was smudged with dirt, and his jaw was set tight, a flicker of yesterday's suspicion lingering in his gaze. "Our best?" he said, his tone gruff. "I'll give you more than that. Just don't waste our time."
Arjuna lingered near the back of the Pandavas, his bow slung across his shoulder, his lean frame still and quiet. His eyes followed Drona's every move, bright with a hunger that belied his soft voice. "I'll learn," he said, almost to himself, though the words carried. "Everything you teach."
Nakula and Sahadeva stood together, their lithe forms poised like shadows, their twin faces mirroring a shared excitement. Nakula grinned, nudging his brother. "Think he'll show us that grass trick?" he whispered, his voice light and quick.
"Hope so," Sahadeva replied, his tone just as swift. "Or something even better."
Drona stopped pacing, planting his staff with a firm thud that silenced the murmurs. "Enough talk," he said, his voice cutting through their panting like a blade. "Words prove nothing. Actions do. Let's see your strength first." He pointed to a pile of stones near the benches—some small as fists, others heavy as shields—and nodded at Yudhishthira. "Lift one. The biggest you can manage. Show me your will."
Yudhishthira stepped forward, his sandals scuffing the earth. He bent to the largest stone, a jagged slab that gleamed with flecks of quartz, and wrapped his hands around it. His arms tensed, his face tightening with effort, but he lifted it to his chest with a slow, steady grace. "Will matters more than might," he said, his voice even despite the strain, and set it down with a soft thud.
Drona tilted his head, his gaze piercing. "Well said," he replied. "But might has its place. Hold that thought." He turned to Bhima, a faint challenge in his eyes. "Your turn. Show me what you've got."
Bhima grinned, cracking his knuckles with a sound like snapping twigs. "Might's plenty," he said, striding to the pile. "Watch this!" He seized a boulder twice the size of Yudhishthira's, its surface rough and gray, and heaved it overhead with a roar. The crowd of servants gasped, stepping back as his arms trembled, his footing wobbling on the uneven ground. "See?" he called, his grin widening, though sweat beaded on his brow. He dropped it with a booming crash, sending dust billowing.
Drona nodded, though his lips pressed into a thin line. "Strength, yes," he said. "But raw. You'll need more than that. Stability, prince. Find it."
Bhima laughed, brushing dust from his hands. "Stability's for statues. I'm a storm!"
"A storm that stumbles," Drona said, his tone dry but not unkind. He turned to Duryodhana, gesturing to the pile. "Go on. Let's see your measure."
Duryodhana stepped up, his chin lifting as he eyed the stones. He chose one nearly as large as Bhima's, his hands gripping it with a fierce determination. His muscles bulged, his face hardening, and he lifted it to his shoulder with a grunt. "Better than them, at least," he said, his voice rough, and dropped it with a heavy thud, glaring at Bhima as if daring him to argue.
"Steady enough," Drona said, his gaze flicking between them. "But temper clouds you. Keep it in check." He moved on, pointing to Arjuna. "Now you."
Arjuna approached quietly, his bow still slung across his back. He picked a stone smaller than Duryodhana's but larger than Yudhishthira's, testing its weight with a thoughtful frown. He lifted it smoothly, his arms firm and sure, and held it for a moment before setting it down without a sound. "I'll do what you ask," he said, his voice soft but resolute. "All of it."
Drona's eyes lingered on him, a spark of interest flaring. "Good," he said, his tone softening just a fraction. "You've a steady hand. We'll test it further." He waved Nakula and Sahadeva forward. "You two. Together."
The twins darted to the pile, their movements swift and synced. Nakula grinned, picking a stone half his size, while Sahadeva mirrored him, their actions a quiet dance. They lifted in unison, their lighter frames balanced perfectly, and set the stones down with a shared nod. "Easy," Nakula said, his voice bright.
"Like we've done it before," Sahadeva added, his grin matching his brother's.
Drona watched them, his expression unreadable. "Agility," he said. "And unity. That's a strength too. Remember it." He stepped back, raising his staff. "Now speed. Run the yard—five laps. Go!"
The princes took off, their sandals pounding the earth. Nakula and Sahadeva streaked ahead, their lithe forms weaving around the dummies like shadows, their laughter trailing behind. Arjuna followed, his pace even and strong, his breath steady. Yudhishthira ran with a calm stride, his focus inward, while Bhima thundered along, his bulk shaking the ground. Duryodhana pushed hard, his jaw clenched, overtaking Yudhishthira but faltering as Nakula lapped him, a flash of anger crossing his face.
"Faster!" Drona called, his voice sharp. "You're warriors, not oxen!"
They finished, panting and flushed, collapsing onto the benches as sweat dripped from their brows. Drona paced before them, his staff tapping a slow beat. "Not bad," he said. "But not enough. One more test." He pointed to a row of bows leaning against a bench, their strings taut and gleaming. "Archery. One shot each. Hit the dummy's heart."
Arjuna rose first, his bow already in hand. He notched an arrow, drew back the string with a hum, and loosed it. The arrow flew straight, burying itself in the dummy's chest with a solid thud. He stepped back, his face calm but his eyes bright.
Drona nodded, a faint approval in his gaze. "Clean," he said. "Precise. Next."
Bhima grabbed a bow, his massive hands dwarfing it. "This is more Arjuna's game," he said with a chuckle, drawing the string awkwardly. The arrow sailed wide, clipping the dummy's arm, and he shrugged. "Close enough!"
"Close isn't a kill," Drona said, his tone firm. "Try harder."
Duryodhana snatched a bow, his movements sharp and forceful. He aimed, his eyes narrowing, and fired. The arrow struck the dummy's shoulder, splintering wood, and he smirked. "Good enough," he said, tossing the bow aside.
"Good isn't great," Drona replied, his voice cool. "You'll need more."
Yudhishthira took his turn, his hands steady but unpracticed. His arrow hit the dummy's chest, off-center, and he smiled faintly. "Not my strength," he said. "But I'll learn."
"You will," Drona said, his tone encouraging. "Mind can guide the hand."
Nakula and Sahadeva went together, their shots quick and sure. Nakula's arrow grazed the heart, Sahadeva's landed just beside it, and they grinned at each other. "Not bad, eh?" Nakula said.
"Could be sharper," Sahadeva replied, nudging him.
Drona lowered his staff, his gaze sweeping over them all. "Potential, yes," he said, his voice cutting through their heavy breathing. "But raw. Unshaped. I'll forge you into blades, if you let me. It won't be easy."
Bhima leaned back, wiping sweat from his brow. "Easy's boring," he said, grinning. "I'm in. What about you lot?"
Arjuna nodded, his voice soft but firm. "I'm ready, guru. Whatever it takes."
Duryodhana crossed his arms, his smirk returning. "I'll do it," he said. "And I'll be the best. Count on that."
Yudhishthira met Drona's gaze, his tone warm. "We'll follow you," he said. "You've seen us now. Shape us as you will."
Nakula stretched, his grin wide. "Sounds like fun," he said, while Sahadeva added, "Long as we keep up."
From the sidelines, a boy with wild hair watched, his eager grin catching the light. Ashwatthama, Drona's son, leaned against a bench, his eyes bright with pride as he studied his father's work. Drona glanced at him briefly, then turned back to the princes, his gaze lingering on Arjuna longest of all.
"Tomorrow, then," Drona said, his voice a promise and a challenge. "Rest today. You'll need every bit of strength you've got. Days ahead will be grueling."
Bhima laughed, clapping Arjuna on the back. "Grueling's my kind of day! Right, little brother?"
"Right," Arjuna said, smiling faintly, though his eyes stayed on Drona, tracing the lines of a man who held secrets he longed to unravel.
Duryodhana stood, brushing dirt from his tunic. "Grueling or not, I'll outshine them," he said, his voice low. "You'll see."
Yudhishthira rose, his calm unbroken. "We'll all rise," he said. "Together, if we can."
The princes dispersed, their voices fading into the morning air—Bhima's boisterous laugh, Arjuna's quiet murmur, Duryodhana's sharp retort, Nakula and Sahadeva's light banter. Drona watched them go, his staff still in hand, his mind already turning over the raw potential he'd glimpsed. The yard fell silent, the Ganga's rush filling the space, and in that stillness, a bond began to form, fragile but real, beneath the weight of his gaze.