A rocky clearing baked under a noon sun beyond Hastinapura, its cracked earth shimmering with heat as a faint rumble of distant thunder rolled through the sky. Jagged stones jutted from the ground, casting short, harsh shadows, while the air hung heavy with the dry scent of dust and sweat. The clearing stretched wide and unforgiving, a crucible trembling under the glare, ready to forge the princes' flesh into something stronger as the faint echo of storms whispered promises of power.
Drona stood at the clearing's center, his lean frame steady in the blazing light, his tattered white robes fluttering faintly as sweat beaded on his weathered brow. His gray hair was tied back tight, and his dark eyes gleamed with a wise, exacting fire as he faced the Kuru princes. In one hand, he held his staff, its tip planted firm in the cracked soil; the other rested on a pile of wooden staffs, their ends smooth but solid. The princes gathered around him, their tunics damp with the morning's work, their breaths puffing in the heat as they wiped their faces, curiosity sparking in their gazes.
Bhima rocked on his heels, his massive frame casting a shadow over the stones, his broad grin flashing wide as he clapped his hands with a loud thud that stirred the dust. "Thunder in the air, guru?" he said, his voice booming across the clearing, loud enough to rattle a loose rock. "This feels big! We smashing something tough today?"
Drona turned to him, his expression calm but unyielding, his voice cutting through the heat with steady force. "Not smashing, Bhima," he said, his tone deep and firm, quieting the air for a moment. "Enduring. Today I teach you vajra mudra, a technique to harden your body against blows. Like thunder's skin, you'll stand unbroken. Pair up, take a staff. Strike when I say."
Bhima's grin stretched wider, his eyes lighting up as he laughed, the sound rumbling like the distant storm. "Harden my body?" he said, his tone bright and eager, grabbing a staff from the pile with a grunt. "I'm already a rock! I'll take anything you throw! Let's start, guru!"
"Take it and prove it," Drona replied, his voice dry and patient, lifting a hand to steady him. "Five strikes each. Show me resilience."
Arjuna stepped up beside him, his lean form quiet and still, his sandals scuffing the dirt as he studied the staffs. His tunic clung with sweat, his breath even, and his dark eyes locked on Drona with a steady focus. "Thunder's skin," he said, his voice soft but clear, glancing at Drona with a nod. "That's deep, guru. How do we learn it?"
"Breathe it," Drona said, his gaze settling on Arjuna with a flicker of warmth, his tone firm. "Focus inward, tighten your spirit. The body follows. You'll feel it."
Duryodhana strode forward, his chin high, his dark hair glinting in the sun as he gripped a staff with both hands. "Tighten my spirit?" he said, his voice low and edged with a smirk, his brow lifting slightly. "I'll take any hit. I'm tougher than they think. Guru, I'm ready."
"Show me, then," Drona said, his tone stern and sharp, meeting Duryodhana's smirk with a nod. "Step up. Begin."
The princes spread out, their footsteps crunching the dry earth, the clearing humming with the clack of wood as they paired off. Bhima lumbered toward the center, his massive frame towering, his laugh booming as he faced Arjuna and Nakula. "Here we go!" he shouted, his voice ringing loud, planting his feet wide. "Hit me, brothers! I'll stand like a mountain!"
Drona raised his staff, his voice ringing clear over the stones. "Strike," he said, his tone steady and commanding, stepping back to watch.
Arjuna lifted his staff, his breath slow and even as he eyed Bhima's broad chest. "Ready?" he said, his voice soft and calm, swinging with a smooth arc. The wood thudded against Bhima's shoulder, a solid crack echoing, but Bhima stood firm, his grin widening as he laughed.
"Ha!" Bhima said, his tone bright and unbothered, flexing his arms. "That's a tickle! Give me more, Arjuna!"
Nakula darted in, his voice quick and light as he swung his staff at Bhima's side. "Here's more!" he said, his tone thrilled, the wood striking with a sharp thud. Bhima rocked slightly, then straightened, his laughter booming louder.
"Keep it coming!" Bhima said, his voice loud and cheerful, his chest heaving as he braced himself. "I'm thunder itself!"
Drona's eyes gleamed, his voice warm with awe as he stepped closer. "Two?" he said, his tone lifting slightly, steady despite the heat. "Unshaken, Bhima? That's the mudra. More!"
Duryodhana paired with Sahadeva, his staff raised, his scowl faint but fierce as he gritted his teeth. "Hit me," he said, his voice low and sharp, bracing his stance. Sahadeva swung, the staff cracking against Duryodhana's arm, and he winced, his breath hissing, but he held his ground.
"Harder," Duryodhana said, his tone bitter and edged, his smirk tightening as he steadied himself. Sahadeva struck again, the wood thudding against his chest, and Duryodhana grunted, his eyes blazing as he stayed upright.
The clearing pulsed with their efforts, the air thick with the crack of wood and the rumble of thunder—Bhima's roaring laughter, Arjuna's steady strikes, Duryodhana's gritted endurance. Arjuna swung again, his staff bouncing off Bhima's chest with a loud thud, and Nakula followed, his strike landing square on Bhima's ribs. Bhima stood tall, his grin wide, his voice booming as he threw his head back.
"Four!" he shouted, his tone bright and triumphant, pounding his chest with a fist. "I'm a wall! Hit me again!"
Arjuna smiled faintly, his voice soft and steady as he raised his staff. "One more," he said, his tone calm and sure, swinging hard. The wood cracked against Bhima's chest, bouncing off as if striking stone, and Bhima roared, his laughter echoing over the rocks.
"Five!" Bhima said, his voice loud and exultant, flexing his arms wide. "Unshaken! I'm thunder's skin, guru!"
Drona stepped forward, his voice warm with pride as he nodded at Bhima. "Five?" he said, his tone ringing clear, his eyes wide. "Not a flinch, Bhima. That's power. Well done."
Duryodhana took three more strikes from Sahadeva, each thud drawing a grunt, his face tight with pain as he held his stance. "Four," he said, his voice low and sharp, brushing dust from his tunic as he glared at Bhima. "I'm still here."
"Still here's good," Drona said, his tone stern and approving, meeting Duryodhana's glare. "Endurance, Duryodhana. You've got it."
Arjuna paired with Nakula next, his staff steady, his breath slow as he braced himself. "My turn," he said, his voice soft and calm, nodding at Nakula. The twin swung, the wood cracking against Arjuna's arm, and he stood firm, his expression unchanged. Four more strikes landed—chest, side, shoulder, leg—and Arjuna took each with a quiet nod, his voice steady. "Five," he said, his tone soft but sure, lowering his staff.
Drona's brow lifted, his voice warm with awe as he clapped Arjuna's shoulder. "Five?" he said, his tone steady and pleased. "Silent and strong, Arjuna. That's mastery."
Bhima lumbered over, his grin wide as he clapped his hands, his voice loud and teasing. "Silent?" he said, his tone bright and cheerful, laughing through the heat. "I'm the thunder! You're a whisper, Arjuna, but a tough one!"
"Thanks, Bhima," Arjuna said, his voice calm and friendly, smiling back. "Your roar's the real storm."
"Storm's right!" Bhima said, chuckling as he pounded his chest again, his tone loud and proud. "I'm unbreakable now!"
Duryodhana crossed his arms, his scowl deep, his voice low and sharp as he kicked at a stone. "Unbreakable?" he said, his tone bitter and edged, glaring at Bhima. "I took four. I'll take more next time. This isn't over."
"Four's no jest," Arjuna said, his voice soft and steady, turning to him with a nod. "You're solid, Duryodhana."
"Solid's not enough," Duryodhana replied, his smirk faint but fierce, his tone sly and cold. "I'll match that roar soon."
Drona called them in, his voice cutting through the heat, his staff tapping once, twice. "Enough," he said, his tone warm and final, the clearing settling under the sun. "Bhima, five hits, bold and unyielding. Arjuna, five, quiet and sure. Duryodhana, four, fierce and stubborn."
Bhima laughed, hauling himself up, his chest heaving as he brushed dust from his tunic. "Five's my crown!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, grinning wide. "I'm a fortress now! Thunder's got nothing on me, huh?"
"Thunder's loud, you're louder," Drona said, his tone dry but fond, shaking his head as sweat dripped from his brow. "Resilience, Bhima. You've found it."
Arjuna set his staff down, his breath steady, his smile warm and quiet as he flexed his arms. "That was heavy, guru," he said, his voice soft and honest, wiping his face. "Felt it sink in."
"It did," Drona replied, his pride clear, nodding at him through the heat. "That's your strength, Arjuna. Discipline and spirit."
Duryodhana trudged over, his scowl faint but his smirk holding as he stared at Bhima. "Four's close," he said, his voice low and sharp, kicking at the dirt. "I'll outlast you both next time. Watch me."
"Outlast this!" Bhima said, his voice loud and teasing, pounding his chest with a thud as he grinned. "I'm a mountain, cousin! Good fight, though!"
"Fight's not done," Duryodhana muttered, his smirk sharpening, his tone sly and edged as he turned away.