Sunlight blazed over a fortified yard in Hastinapura, its packed earth ringed by high wooden walls studded with shields and tangled with leaning trees. The air buzzed with tension, the scent of pine and sweat sharp under the midday heat, while red-painted wooden targets peeked out from behind obstacles—some tucked behind splintered planks, others shadowed by thick branches, all daring the princes to strike true. The yard stretched wide and chaotic, a labyrinth of barriers trembling under the sun, ready to test power and cunning in a clash of epic skill.
Drona stood at the yard's edge, his lean frame steady in the glare, his tattered white robes rippling faintly in a stray breeze. His gray hair was tied back tight, and his dark eyes gleamed with a stern, fiery intensity as he faced the Kuru princes. In one hand, he held his staff, its tip planted firm in the dirt; the other gestured toward the course, open and commanding. The princes gathered around him, their tunics damp with sweat from the morning's march, their bows slung over their shoulders as they squinted at the maze of walls and trees, sizing up the challenge.
Bhima bounced on his toes, his massive frame casting a shadow over the ground, his broad grin flashing wide as he cracked his knuckles with a loud pop. "Walls and trees, guru?" he said, his voice booming across the yard, startling a bird from a branch. "This is my kind of fun! We smashing through or what?"
Drona turned to him, his expression calm but unyielding, his voice slicing through the heat with steady force. "Not smashing, Bhima," he said, his tone deep and firm, quieting the air for a moment. "Piercing. Targets are behind those barriers. Break through or go around, but hit them clean. Power and precision together."
Bhima's grin stretched wider, his eyes lighting up as he hefted his bow with a laugh. "Power, huh?" he said, his tone bright and eager, flexing his arms. "I've got that! I'll splinter those walls and nail the targets! Let's start, guru!"
"Start when I say," Drona replied, his voice dry and patient, pointing at the course. "Five targets. Make every shot count."
Arjuna stepped up beside him, his lean form quiet and graceful, his sandals scuffing the dirt as he studied the obstacles. His tunic shimmered with sweat, his breath even, and his dark eyes traced the barriers with a steady focus. "Through or around," he said, his voice soft but thrilled, glancing at Drona. "This is a big one, guru. Any rules?"
"Hit the targets," Drona said, his gaze settling on Arjuna with a flicker of warmth, his tone firm. "How's up to you. Show me your strength."
Duryodhana strode forward, his chin high, his dark hair glinting in the sun as he gripped his bow tight. "Strength?" he said, his voice low and edged with a smirk, his brow lifting slightly. "I've got more than that. This is my game now. You'll see."
"Prove it," Drona replied, his tone stern and sharp, meeting Duryodhana's smirk with a nod. "All of you, spread out."
The princes fanned out, their footsteps crunching the earth, the yard humming with the creak of wood and the rustle of leaves as they took their places. Bhima lumbered toward a wall, his massive hands drawing his bow as he roared into the heat. "Here we go!" he shouted, his voice ringing loud, the air trembling with his energy. He aimed at a disc half-hidden behind a shield, his muscles bulging, and fired with a grunt. The arrow slammed into the wood, splintering it with a loud crack, but missed the target by a foot, thudding into the dirt beyond. "Ha!" he said, his tone bright and unbothered, laughing as he nocked another. "That wall's done! I'll get the next one!"
"Wall's not the goal," Drona called, his voice steady and firm, stepping closer. "Target is, Bhima. Aim past it!"
"Aim past?" Bhima said, chuckling as he drew again, his bow creaking under his grip. "I'll aim through!" He fired once more, the arrow smashing a branch with a snap, missing wide, and he stomped the ground, laughing loud. "This is a riot! I'm breaking everything!"
"Breaking's not hitting," Drona said, his tone dry but kind, shaking his head. "Sit down a bit. Watch."
Arjuna stood still, his bow drawn, his breath slow and even as he eyed a disc tucked behind a tree. He shifted his stance, his muscles tensing, and aimed high. "Through," he murmured, his voice soft and lost to the wind, loosing his shot. The arrow streaked through the air, piercing the trunk with a sharp thud, pinning the target dead center on the other side. He smiled faintly, nocking another, and fired again, this time shattering a shield to hit true. "Two," he said, his tone calm and steady, turning to Drona with a nod.
Drona's eyes widened, his voice warm with awe as he stepped forward. "Two?" he said, his tone lifting slightly, a rare crack in his calm. "Through wood and shield? That's power, Arjuna. Keep going."
Duryodhana moved to a wall, his bow steady, his smirk sharp as he studied a disc hidden behind a thick plank. "My turn," he muttered, his voice low and sly, twisting his wrist like he'd practiced in secret. He fired, the arrow arcing around the barrier in a smooth curve, striking the target with a clean thud. He straightened, his grin widening, and turned to Drona. "One," he said, his tone smug and sharp, brushing dust from his hands.
Drona's brow lifted, his voice warm with surprise as he nodded. "One?" he said, his tone steady but curious. "Curved again? Clever, Duryodhana. More."
"Clever's my edge," Duryodhana said, his smirk growing, his voice low and proud as he nocked another. "Watch this." He fired again, the arrow bending around a tree to hit a second disc, and he laughed softly, his eyes glinting.
The yard thrummed with their efforts, the air thick with the whistle of arrows and the crack of wood—Bhima's splintering misses, Arjuna's piercing strikes, Duryodhana's curving shots. Bhima stomped back toward Drona, his tunic snagged with splinters, his laugh booming as he waved his bow. "Nothing yet, guru!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, brushing wood from his arms. "But I've smashed half the course! That's my score, right?"
"No," Drona said, his tone dry but patient, gesturing him to a bench. "Targets, Bhima. Not wreckage. Sit there."
Bhima flopped down, his chest heaving, his grin wide as he leaned back. "Wreckage is fun!" he said, his voice loud and teasing, laughing through the heat. "You lot are too neat! I'm the storm here!"
"Storm's not the test," Drona replied, his tone amused but firm, turning away. "Precision is."
Arjuna struck two more discs, his arrows blasting through a wall and a shield with clean thuds, his strength surging. "Four," he said, his voice soft but sure, stepping back to Drona with a nod. "It's about force and aim."
"Force and aim?" Drona said, his pride clear, his staff tapping the dirt as he met him. "You've got both, Arjuna. One left."
Duryodhana hit two more, his shots curving slick around obstacles, his secret skill gleaming in the sun. "Three," he said, his voice low and triumphant, crossing his arms as he strode back. "See that? No one's matching this."
"Three's sharp," Drona said, his tone stern and approving, nodding at him. "Cunning's your strength, Duryodhana. Push it."
Arjuna eyed the final target, tucked behind a tree and a shield, his bow drawn tight as he took a breath. "One more," he murmured, his voice soft and focused, loosing his shot. The arrow roared through the air, splintering the shield and piercing the disc with a resounding thud, its power shaking the pole. He smiled wider, lowering his bow, and turned to Drona. "Five," he said, his tone calm and bright, wiping sweat from his brow.
Drona stepped forward, his voice warm with awe as he clapped Arjuna's shoulder. "Five?" he said, his tone ringing clear, his eyes gleaming. "Through all that? That's might, Arjuna. Raw and true."
Duryodhana fired his last shot, the arrow curving around a wall to hit a fourth disc, and he trudged back, his smirk faint but fierce. "Four," he said, his voice low and sharp, glaring at Arjuna. "Close enough."
"Close isn't five," Drona replied, his tone stern and firm, meeting Duryodhana's glare. "But four's strong. Good cunning."
The sun climbed higher, the yard littered with splintered wood and pierced shields, and Drona called them in, his voice cutting through the heat, his staff tapping once, twice. "Enough," he said, his tone warm and final, the air settling. "Arjuna, five hits, power through barriers. Duryodhana, four, clever curves. Bhima, none."
Bhima laughed, hauling himself up, his chest heaving as he brushed splinters from his tunic. "None again!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, grinning wide. "But I've got the best mess! Look at this chaos! That's my win, huh?"
"Chaos isn't victory," Drona said, his tone dry but fond, shaking his head as sweat dripped from his brow. "Targets are. You'll get there."
Arjuna set his bow down, his breath steady, his smile warm and quiet as he glanced at the wrecked course. "That was big, guru," he said, his voice soft and honest, flexing his hands. "Felt the strength grow with every shot."
"It did," Drona replied, his pride clear, nodding at him through the heat. "That's your gift, Arjuna. Precision and might."
Duryodhana crossed his arms tighter, his scowl faint but his smirk holding as he stared at Arjuna's targets. "Four's no joke," he said, his voice low and sharp, kicking at the dirt. "My curves beat your brute force any day."
"Brute?" Arjuna said, his voice calm and teasing, turning to him with a smile. "Five says power works too. Your curves are slick, though."
"Slick and smart," Duryodhana muttered, his smirk sharpening, his tone sly and edged. "I'll top you yet. Watch me."
Bhima stretched his arms, his laugh booming as he lumbered over. "Top him?" he said, his voice loud and teasing, clapping Duryodhana's back with a thud. "You're both too fancy! I'll smash my way to five next time!"
"Smash less, hit more," Drona said, his tone patient and amused, waving them off. "Rest now. You've earned it."