Midday sun spilled through the forest canopy, dappling a glade with patches of golden light that danced across the grass. A bubbling brook wound through the clearing, its water sparkling as it splashed over smooth stones, while vines curled around ancient oaks, their gnarled branches swaying faintly in the breeze. Finches chirped overhead, a lively chorus that filled the air with trills and flutters. Arjuna, now four, knelt by the brook, his tunic muddy at the knees from crawling through the dirt. His small hands worked deftly, bending a thin sapling as he tied a length of vine to its ends, crafting a bow with a focus that made his sharp eyes gleam. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat, and he bit his lip, tugging the vine tight with a quick, sure pull.
Kunti sat on a mossy rock a few yards away, her crimson sari patched and faded, her hands grinding nuts between two flat stones. The steady crunch of her work mingled with the brook's gurgle, and she glanced up often, her dark eyes soft as they followed Arjuna's movements. Nakula and Sahadeva darted nearby, their tiny tunics flapping as they chased butterflies, their laughter bright and high as they stumbled through the grass. Yudhishthira perched on a fallen log, a stick in his hands, reading notches he'd carved to track the days. His tunic hung loose, too short at the wrists, and he hummed softly, his voice steady as he counted under his breath. Bhima sprawled against a tree, his broad frame slouched, his snores rumbling through the glade as his dark curls spilled over his face, a half-eaten root still clutched in his hand.
Arjuna tugged the vine once more, testing the bow's tension, and he grinned, his voice bursting with excitement as he scrambled to his feet. "Mother, look! It's done—it flies straight! Watch me!" He snatched a twig from the ground, notching it against the vine, and pulled back, his small arms steady as he aimed at a leaf drifting on the breeze.
Kunti set the stones aside, brushing nut dust from her hands as she leaned forward, her voice warm and encouraging. "Go on, my son. Show me what you've got. Make it fly true."
Arjuna's tongue poked out between his lips, his eyes narrowing as he released the twig. It shot through the air, a quick, sharp streak that pinned the leaf mid-flight, sending it tumbling to the grass with a soft thud. He whooped, tossing the bow up and catching it, his voice loud and triumphant. "See? Straight as anything! I'm the best, Mother!"
Kunti clapped, her smile wide and bright as she slid off the rock, her sari rustling against the moss. "Like Indra's bolt, Arjuna. That's what you are—fast and sharp. I've never seen a boy your age do that."
Nakula stopped chasing a butterfly, his small hands clapping as he ran to Arjuna, his voice high and eager. "Big shot! Arjuna hit it!" Sahadeva followed, his quieter laugh bubbling up as he nodded, his voice soft but clear. "Leaf fall fast. Good bow."
Arjuna puffed out his chest, twirling the bow in his hands as he grinned at the twins, his voice teasing. "Better than good! Best ever! I'll hit anything—butterflies next, if you want!"
Yudhishthira looked up from his stick, his dark eyes steady as he set it down, his voice calm and thoughtful. "It's good, Arjuna. Really good. You'll need that aim someday, Mother. More than just leaves."
Kunti tilted her head, her hands resting on her knees as she watched Yudhishthira, her voice warm but curious. "Someday, you think? What do you see, my love? More than butterflies and leaves?"
Yudhishthira stood, brushing dirt from his tunic as he stepped closer, his voice even and sure. "I don't know yet. But Father said a good shot's worth more than strength sometimes. Arjuna's got it—better than I could. It'll matter."
Bhima snorted awake, his snores cutting off as he sat up, blinking hard, his voice gruff and sleepy. "What's all the noise? Arjuna yelling again? Hit something big or I'm going back to sleep." He rubbed his eyes, the root dropping from his hand as he squinted at the bow.
Arjuna spun toward him, holding the bow high, his voice bright and challenging. "Big enough for you, Bhima? I pinned a leaf—right out of the air! Bet you couldn't catch it that fast!"
Bhima scratched his head, his grin slow and wide as he lumbered to his feet, his voice rough but fond. "Leaf's nothing. Wake me when it's a boar. I'd smash it—bam!—no fancy sticks needed." He punched the air, his fist a blur, and laughed, shaking the sleep from his curls.
Kunti laughed too, a soft, clear sound that carried over the brook, and she stood, brushing her sari smooth as she stepped to Arjuna. "Boars are Bhima's, my son. Leaves are yours—and that's no small thing. Look at that bow—your hands made it, and it's perfect."
Arjuna beamed, running his fingers along the vine, his voice eager and quick. "I'll make more! Bigger ones! I'll hit a bird next—right out of the sky! You'll see, Mother!"
Nakula clapped again, jumping up and down as he pointed at the oaks, his voice high and excited. "Bird fly there! Shoot it, Arjuna!" Sahadeva nodded, his small hand tugging Kunti's sari as he added, "High bird. Hard shot."
Kunti ruffled their curls, her voice warm and playful as she pulled them close. "Not today, you two. Birds can fly free for now. Arjuna's just starting—let him practice on leaves a bit longer."
Yudhishthira picked up his stick again, tracing a new notch with his thumbnail, his voice steady and quiet. "He's already good, Mother. Better than good. Father'd say he's got a gift—something special."
Arjuna spun the bow again, his grin widening as he notched another twig, his voice bubbling with glee. "Special, huh? Watch this, then!" He aimed at a low branch, releasing the twig with a snap, and it struck the bark, lodging deep with a faint crack. He whooped again, his small feet dancing in the grass as he turned to Kunti. "See? I'm the best shot ever!"
Bhima lumbered over, squinting at the branch, his voice gruff but impressed. "Not bad, little brother. Stick's stuck good. Still rather punch it, though—faster that way."
Kunti stepped between them, her hands on her hips as she smiled, her voice firm but fond. "You punch, Bhima. Arjuna shoots. That's how we'll manage—everyone's got their way. Yudhishthira's right—it's a gift, and we'll need it."
From the shadows of the oaks, a rustle stirred, and three hunters in rough hides peered out, their faces streaked with dirt, their eyes wide as they watched Arjuna's shot. One leaned closer, his voice hushed and awed, barely audible over the finches. "That boy's no mortal. See his aim—clean through the air like that!"
Another nodded, clutching a spear as he whispered back, his voice low and urgent. "Four years old and shooting like a god. That's Indra's blood, I'd swear it. Look at him!"
The third hunter, older, with a graying beard, squinted at Kunti, his voice soft but firm. "Her son, eh? Pandu's widow's got blessed ones. We'll tell the others—won't stay quiet long."
Kunti's head turned slightly, her ears catching the murmurs, and she glanced toward the trees, her voice steady as she called to Arjuna, loud enough to carry. "One more, my son. Show me another—make it good."
Arjuna nodded, his small hands quick as he notched a third twig, aiming at a leaf caught in the brook's current. He released, the twig slicing through the air, pinning the leaf to the bank with a splash. He jumped, his voice ringing out, "Got it! Best yet, Mother!"
The hunters gasped, stepping back into the shadows, their whispers growing frantic as they retreated. "Divine, I tell you! That's no child's trick—word's got to spread!" Their footsteps faded into the oaks, the finches scattering as they vanished, their tales already winding toward the plains.
Nakula ran to the brook, splashing in the shallows as he grabbed the twig, his voice high and cheerful. "Wet shot! Arjuna's wet shot!" Sahadeva followed, clapping as he waded in, his voice soft but bright. "Good hit. Water hard."
Kunti's hands paused, her pride swelling as she watched Arjuna, her breath catching at the gleam in his eyes, the sureness in his grip. "Indra's gift," she murmured, too low for them to hear, her fingers tightening on her sari as she saw something divine in his focus, something that lifted the grief she carried. She stepped to the brook, pulling the twins out with a laugh, her voice warm and clear. "Enough splashing, you two. Arjuna's done plenty—let's eat those nuts now."
Bhima yawned, stretching as he plopped back against the tree, his voice gruff but playful. "Nuts? Wake me when it's boar again. Shooting's fine, but I'm still hungry."
Yudhishthira smiled, tucking his stick into his tunic as he joined them, his voice calm and steady. "Nuts'll do, Bhima. Arjuna's earned them today. He's got something big in him—bigger than we know."
Arjuna slung the bow over his shoulder, his grin unshaken as he ran to Kunti, his voice eager. "Bigger than Bhima, maybe! I'll shoot a boar next—just wait!"
Kunti laughed, pulling him close as she handed out the ground nuts, her voice soft but firm. "You will, my son. You'll shoot plenty. We've got time—all of you do." The glade hummed around them, the brook bubbling, the finches settling back into their song, and she watched her boys, her spirits lifting as the hunters' whispers drifted beyond the trees, toward Hastinapura's distant gates.