Dust rose from trampling feet in an open field beyond the palace, the late afternoon sun dipping low, casting long shadows across the trampled grass. Targets of straw swayed in a gentle breeze, their wooden frames creaking as the wind tugged at them, and the air buzzed with the shouts of boys and the thud of weapons. Bhishma stood at the field's center, his silver armor glinting like a beacon, his gray hair tied tight behind him. His staff tapped the ground in sharp, steady beats, directing the Pandavas and Kauravas through drills, his voice barking over the noise. Duryodhana swung a mace near the edge, his dark tunic tight, his small arms straining as he brought it down with a grunt. Bhima heaved a log a few yards away, his bare chest gleaming with sweat, tossing it end over end with a laugh. Arjuna stood poised at the field's heart, his bow taut in his hands, nocking arrows as his sharp eyes tracked a target.
Bhishma paced between them, his staff tapping faster, his voice gruff and loud as he spun toward Duryodhana. "Focus, boys! Skill, not noise—hit the mark, not the air!" He pointed at a straw target, its red center faded but clear, and his armor clanked faintly as he moved.
Arjuna grinned, stepping forward, his voice sharp and bright as he pulled his bowstring tight. "Skill's mine—watch this!" He fired three arrows in quick succession, each one whistling through the air, the first piercing the target's heart, the second splitting it, the third shattering both. Straw flew, scattering across the grass, and the crowd gasped, their hands clapping as they pressed closer, their murmurs swelling.
Bhima dropped his log with a thud, his voice bold and cheerful as he wiped his brow, his dark curls bouncing. "Good shot, Arjuna! I'd smash that target flat—save you the arrows!" He laughed, a big, rumbling sound, and flexed his arms, his grin wide as he kicked the log once for good measure.
Duryodhana's mace slammed into the ground, cracking the earth with a dull crunch, and his face flushed red as he spun toward Arjuna, his voice fierce and snarling. "Smash? I'll smash your bow, forest rat! That's no skill—just tricks!" He swung the mace again, wild and hard, missing a target and splintering a wooden post instead, its crack echoing across the field.
Duhshasana clapped wildly from the sidelines, his fair hair tangled, his voice shrill and fierce as he jumped up and down. "Smash him, brother! Break that bow—show 'em!" He punched the air, his small tunic flapping, and a few of the younger Kauravas cheered, their shouts tangling with the crowd's gasps.
Bhishma's staff cracked the ground, a sharp, loud snap that silenced the field, and he stepped forward, his voice gruff and stern as he glared at Duryodhana. "Enough! No breaking, no smashing—drill's the point! Stand still and listen!" He pointed the staff, his silver armor flashing, and his gray eyes narrowed, his resolve a tether in the chaos.
Arjuna lowered his bow, his voice quick and teasing as he glanced at Duryodhana, his small hands steady. "Listen? He's too loud for that! Want another shot, big man? I'll hit it blind!" He spun an arrow between his fingers, his grin sharp, and a few onlookers chuckled, their heads turning.
Bhima laughed again, picking up his log and tossing it into the air, catching it with a grunt. "Blind? I'd toss this blind—hit him square! Go on, little prince—try me!" He swung the log playfully, his voice bold and loud, and the crowd murmured, their eyes wide at his strength.
Duryodhana's mace dropped, thudding into the grass, and he shouted, his voice fierce and raw as he stomped toward Bhima, his face redder still. "Try you? I'll crack your head—log and all! You're nothing!" He bent for the mace, his small hands shaking, and he yelled at a servant hovering nearby, "Fetch me a heavier one—now!"
Duhshasana ran closer, his voice shrill and wild as he clapped again, his fair hair bouncing. "Heavier! Smash 'em both, brother—big oaf and bow-boy! Do it!" He kicked the grass, his small fists pumping, and the servant scurried off, his sandals slapping the ground.
Bhishma's staff tapped twice, his voice gruff and steady as he stepped between them, his armor creaking. "No heavier ones, Duryodhana. Swing what you've got—hit the target, not the field. Arjuna, Bhima—back to your places. Now." He turned, his gray eyes sweeping the boys, and his stern gaze held them still, the breeze tugging at his hair.
Arjuna shrugged, stepping back, his voice sharp and bright as he nocked another arrow. "Places? Fine—watch this one fly, big man!" He aimed, firing a single shot that sliced through a target's edge, straw fluttering, and the crowd cheered, their hands clapping louder.
Bhima dropped the log again, dusting his hands as he grinned, his voice loud and cheerful. "Fly? I'll throw this next time—beat your arrow! What's the little prince got now?" He glanced at Duryodhana, his dark curls bouncing, and the crowd laughed, their murmurs swelling with awe.
Duryodhana snatched the mace from the ground, his voice snarling as he swung it wild again, his face twisted with fury. "Got? I've got this—better than your tricks!" The mace missed the target, thudding into the dirt, and he kicked the grass, his breath heaving as he glared at Arjuna.
Bhishma's staff cracked once more, his voice gruff and loud as he raised a hand, his armor glinting in the fading light. "Stop! Drill's done—stand down, all of you!" He paced forward, his gray eyes hard, and the boys froze, their weapons lowering as the crowd hushed, their cheers fading into whispers.
Arjuna slung his bow over his shoulder, his voice quick and teasing as he hopped back, his small frame buzzing. "Done? Good—I win! Little prince can't touch that!" He grinned, spinning an arrow, and a few onlookers clapped, their heads nodding.
Bhima laughed, stepping beside him, his voice bold and gruff as he clapped Arjuna's shoulder. "Win? I'd say we both did—he's red as a beet! Fun day, huh?" He stretched, his broad frame looming, and the crowd murmured again, their eyes wide at his size.
Duryodhana threw the mace down, his voice fierce and bitter as he stormed toward the field's edge, his tunic flapping. "Fun? You'll see fun—I'll break you yet! Watch me!" He pushed past a servant, his small fists clenched, and Duhshasana trailed him, his shouts echoing.
Duhshasana's voice rose, shrill and wild as he ran after, his fair hair flying. "Break 'em, brother! Smash 'em good—next time!" He punched the air again, his small frame trembling, and the crowd parted, their whispers turning tense.
Bhishma lowered his staff, his voice gruff but steady as he turned to the Pandavas, his gray eyes softening slightly. "Good work, you two. Arjuna, that's precision—Pandu's aim in you. Bhima, strength's yours—use it right. Rest now." He nodded, his armor glinting, and his approval settled over them like a shield.
Arjuna grinned, his voice sharp and bright as he glanced at Bhima, his arrow spinning still. "Rest? I could shoot all day—beat that mace every time!" He tapped his bow, his small hands restless, and a few onlookers chuckled, their heads turning.
Bhima nodded, his voice loud and cheerful as he stretched again, his grin wide. "All day? I'd toss logs till night—little prince'd run out of steam first!" He laughed, his dark curls bouncing, and the crowd's murmurs grew, their awe clear.
Bhishma's lips twitched, his voice gruff but warm as he glanced at them, his staff tapping slower. "Steam's good—save it. You'll need it here." He turned, his gray eyes following Duryodhana's retreat, and his stern resolve held the field, a thin tether against the widening divide.
The straw targets swayed, dust settling as the breeze cooled, and the crowd dispersed, their whispers buzzing with Arjuna's brilliance and Bhima's might. Duryodhana's fury stoked a fire at the edge, his temper flaring as he vanished into the palace shadow, Duhshasana's cheers fading behind him. The field stood charged, Arjuna's confidence soaring, Bhishma's steady hand a fragile check on their escalating rivalry.