Sand crunched underfoot in a dusty training yard, the midmorning sun beating down on Hastinapura, turning the air thick and dry. Wooden posts ringed a sparring circle, their shadows short and sharp against the ground, while servants hauled water jars through the yard, their clay clinking as a crowd gathered. Dust swirled with every step, sticking to boots and tunics, and the hum of voices rose as onlookers pressed closer, their eyes bright with curiosity. Duryodhana strutted into the circle, his dark tunic tight across his small chest, a blunt spear tossing between his hands. He smirked, his dark curls bouncing as he circled the empty space, his voice loud and sharp, cutting through the chatter.
"Big oaf out there? Bet you can't even hit me! Come on—show us something!" He jabbed the spear into the air, his small frame bristling with confidence, his eyes glinting as he scanned the crowd.
Bhima stepped in, bare-chested, his broad shoulders gleaming with sweat under the sun. He cracked his knuckles, the sound popping loud, and grinned wide, his dark curls damp as he towered over Duryodhana. His boots sank into the sand, and he rolled his shoulders, his voice gruff and cheerful as he planted his feet. "Hit you? I'll toss you instead! Step up, little prince—let's dance!" He spread his arms, his grin stretching, and the crowd murmured, a ripple of laughter spreading.
Arjuna leaned against a post at the circle's edge, his bow slung over his shoulder, his arrows rattling faintly as he crossed his arms. His sharp eyes followed Duryodhana, and he tilted his head, his voice quick and teasing as he called out. "Dance? He'll trip before you toss him, Bhima! Aim low—he's short!" He grinned, his small hands tapping the bow, his tunic flapping in a faint breeze.
Yudhishthira sat on a bench nearby, his arms crossed over his patched tunic, his stick resting beside him. His dark hair was tied back, and he watched the circle, his voice steady and calm as he leaned forward slightly. "Easy, Bhima. Spar, don't break him. We're not here for that." He glanced at Arjuna, his nod slight, his dark eyes steady on his brothers.
Kunti stood in a shaded corner, her crimson sari folded neatly, her arms crossed as she watched, her dark hair stirring in the breeze. Her lips pressed tight, and she shifted her weight, her gaze flicking between Bhima and Duryodhana, her silence heavy. Duhshasana hovered at the circle's edge, his fair hair tangled, his small fists clenched as he shouted, his voice fierce and shrill. "Break him? He's nothing! Smash him, brother—show him!" He stomped the sand, his tunic flapping, his scowl matching Duryodhana's.
Duryodhana laughed, a harsh, barking sound, and he spun the spear, his voice loud and sharp as he circled Bhima, his smirk widening. "Show me? I'll show you—slow and clumsy! Come on, oaf—move!" He lunged, jabbing the blunt spear at Bhima's legs, its tip grazing the sand as he darted back, his small feet quick.
Bhima roared, his laugh booming across the yard, and he stepped forward, his big hands snatching the spear mid-jab. He yanked it free, tossing it aside with a flick, and grabbed Duryodhana's tunic, hoisting him off the ground. "Move? Here's moving!" he shouted, his voice gruff and bright, and he swung Duryodhana like a sack, the boy's legs dangling as the crowd gasped, hands flying to mouths.
Duryodhana flailed, his voice cracking as he kicked the air, his smirk gone. "Put me down! You big lump—let go!" His dark curls bounced, his small fists swinging, but Bhima held him high, his grin wide and fearless, his arms steady as stone.
Arjuna laughed, stepping closer, his voice sharp and quick as he clapped his hands. "Look at him flop! Good one, Bhima—spin him faster!" He mimed an arrow flying, his small frame buzzing with glee, and a few onlookers chuckled, their gasps turning to cheers.
Yudhishthira stood, his arms uncrossing as he called out, his voice steady and firm. "Bhima, enough! Put him down—don't break him. This isn't a game." He stepped to the circle's edge, his tunic swaying, his dark eyes narrowing as he watched.
Bhima grinned, swinging Duryodhana once more, his voice loud and cheerful. "Break him? Nah—just a little toss!" He dropped Duryodhana into the sand with a thud, dusting his hands as the boy landed hard, a puff of dust rising around him. The crowd erupted, some laughing, others shouting, their cheers mixing with stunned murmurs.
Duhshasana ran forward, his voice fierce and shrill as he pointed at Bhima, his fair hair flying. "Put him down, you brute! I'll get you—watch me!" He shook his fists, his small frame trembling, but Bhima laughed, stepping back, his grin unshaken.
Duryodhana scrambled up, red-faced, spitting sand as he glared at Bhima, his voice bitter and loud. "Brute's right! You're nothing—just a big fool! I'll make you pay!" He brushed his tunic, his small hands shaking, his spear forgotten in the dust as he stormed toward the edge, his scowl burning.
Kunti's voice broke the noise, soft but sharp as she stepped from the shade, her sari swaying. "Pay? Enough of this, both of you. Bhima, back off. You've made your point." She crossed her arms again, her dark eyes flicking to Duryodhana, her worry tightening her jaw.
Bhima turned, his grin fading slightly as he nodded, his voice gruff but warm. "Point made, Mother. Little prince wanted a dance—got one!" He cracked his knuckles again, stepping back to the bench, his broad frame looming as he sat, the wood creaking under him.
Arjuna leaned against the post again, his voice quick and teasing as he grinned at Bhima. "Dance? More like a tumble! Should've let me shoot his spear—quicker finish!" He tapped his bow, his small hands restless, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Yudhishthira sat back down, his voice calm and steady as he glanced at Arjuna, his stick tapping the bench. "No shooting, Arjuna. Bhima's done enough—let it rest. We're here to live, not fight." He looked at Duryodhana, his dark eyes steady, a quiet warning in them.
Duryodhana spun, his voice fierce and low as he glared at Yudhishthira, his fists clenching tighter. "Live? Not for long—not here! You'll see—I'll fix this!" He stormed off, sand kicking up behind him, Duhshasana trailing with a scowl, his shouts fading into the crowd's buzz.
The onlookers cheered louder, some clapping, others pointing at Bhima, their voices tangling in a wild hum. A servant dropped a water jar, its crash punctuating the noise, and the crowd parted as Duryodhana pushed through, his red face a stark contrast to Bhima's grin. Kunti watched, her arms tightening across her chest, her voice low and worried as she murmured to herself. "Too much, too soon. This won't end here." Her sari caught the sun, her gaze lingering on her sons.
Bhima stretched, his voice loud and bold as he leaned back, his hands behind his head. "End? Just starting! Little prince'll think twice next time—right, Arjuna?" He grinned, his dark curls bouncing, his delight surging as the crowd's thrill fueled him.
Arjuna laughed, hopping onto the bench beside him, his voice sharp and bright. "Think? He'll run! I'd pin his tunic next time—keep him still!" He mimed an arrow, his small frame buzzing, and a few onlookers chuckled, their heads turning.
Yudhishthira's lips twitched, his voice steady and quiet as he glanced at them, his stick tapping slower. "No pinning, Arjuna. No tossing, Bhima. We've got eyes on us now—be smart." He nodded toward the crowd, his dark eyes thoughtful, his calm settling the air.
Kunti stepped closer, her voice firm but soft as she looked at Bhima, her sari swaying. "Smart's right. You've shown them strength—now show them sense. This yard's too small for what's coming." She glanced at Duryodhana's retreating figure, her worry growing, the rivalry sparking with a tangible crackle.
The sand settled, the crowd's cheers fading into a hum, the training yard pulsing with the first real clash of cousins. Bhima's laugh lingered, Duryodhana's glare burned from a distance, and Kunti's quiet watch held steady, the tension simmering beneath the sun's glare.