Dust swirled in a crowded market square, kicked up by the boots and sandals of cheering onlookers as the late afternoon sun dipped low over Hastinapura. A wooden pen stood at the square's heart, its posts weathered and sturdy, ringing a snorting bull with horns curved sharp and low. Vendors hawked bread and trinkets along the edges, their voices tangling with the crowd's roar—loaves waved high, clay beads jangling in baskets. Bhima strode into the ring, shirtless, his muscles rippling under the golden light, his dark curls damp with sweat. He cracked his neck with a loud pop, grinning wide as he planted his bare feet in the dirt, his broad frame a tower against the bull's bulk.
The crowd pressed closer, their shouts swelling, children climbing onto barrels for a better view. Arjuna stood at the fence, his bow slung low over his shoulder, his arrows rattling faintly as he leaned forward, his sharp eyes glinting. Yudhishthira watched from a bench near the pen, his arms crossed over his patched tunic, his dark hair tied back, a faint smile tugging his lips. Duryodhana stood on a crate at the square's edge, his dark tunic tight across his small chest, his scowl deepening as he crossed his arms. Duhshasana perched beside him, his fair hair tangled, nodding eagerly as Duryodhana muttered, his small hands restless.
Bhima spread his arms, his voice roaring, loud and bold as he faced the bull, his grin flashing. "Come on, bull—meet your match! Let's dance!" He slapped his chest, his muscles flexing, and the crowd erupted, their cheers shaking the square, dust puffing up around him.
The bull snorted, its hooves pawing the dirt, and charged, horns lowered, its bulk thundering forward. Bhima laughed, a big, rumbling sound, and lunged, his broad hands grabbing its head. He twisted hard with a grunt, his feet sliding in the dirt, and pinned it down, its horns scraping the ground as it bellowed. The onlookers shouted, their voices wild, flowers tossing from hands to scatter across the ring—red petals and yellow blooms tumbling in the dust.
Arjuna clapped, his voice sharp and bright as he leaned over the fence, his small frame buzzing. "That's it, Bhima—down he goes! Quick work!" He grinned, his bow tapping his shoulder, and a few children nearby mimicked him, their small hands clapping too.
Yudhishthira's smile widened, his voice calm and steady as he uncrossed his arms, his tunic swaying. "Quick, yes. Strong too—well done, Bhima." He nodded, his dark eyes warm, and his pride settled quietly over the scene, steady as the bench beneath him.
Duryodhana's scowl twisted, his voice muttering, bitter and low as he glared across the square, his small fists clenching. "Big fool. Thinks he's something—wait till I test him. He'll flop." He leaned toward Duhshasana, his dark tunic creasing, and his envy sharpened, his mind spinning with a scheme.
Duhshasana nodded, his voice shrill and quick as he hopped on the crate, his fair hair bouncing. "Flop! Test him good, brother—make him fall! Big oaf!" He clapped his hands, his small frame trembling with excitement, and a vendor nearby glanced over, his bread basket dipping.
Bhima released the bull, his voice loud and cheerful as he dusted his hands, the beast staggering away with a snort. "Fall? Not me—this bull's done! Who's next?" He flexed his arms, his grin wide, and the crowd roared again, their chants wild and rhythmic—"Bhima! Bhima!"—echoing off the square's stone walls.
Children scrambled into the ring, their small feet kicking up dust as they grabbed fallen flowers, their laughter bright. A girl in a blue tunic held up a red petal, her voice high and clear as she waved it at Bhima. "You're big! Bigger than him!" She pointed at the bull, her grin wide, and the onlookers laughed, their cheers swelling.
Arjuna hopped onto the fence, his voice sharp and teasing as he balanced, his bow swaying. "Bigger? Stronger too! I'd shoot that bull before he blinked—Bhima just likes the wrestle!" He mimed an arrow flying, his small hands quick, and a few men nearby clapped, their heads nodding.
Yudhishthira stood, his voice steady and warm as he stepped closer, his tunic settling. "Wrestle's enough—crowd loves it. Good show, Bhima—let it rest now." He glanced at the bull, its head low as it trudged to the pen's edge, and his faint smile held, his pride clear.
Bhima laughed, his voice gruff and bold as he wiped his brow, his dark curls bouncing. "Rest? I could go again—two bulls next time! Right, Arjuna?" He clapped his hands, dust puffing off them, and the crowd cheered louder, their thrill fueling his joy.
Duryodhana climbed down from the crate, his voice fierce and low as he muttered to Duhshasana, his small fists tight. "Two bulls? I'll give him something—watch him choke on it. Big fool won't laugh then." He kicked the crate, its wood creaking, and his scheme took shape, his envy twisting into cunning.
Duhshasana jumped down, his voice shrill and wild as he nodded, his fair hair falling into his eyes. "Choke! Good one, brother—test him hard! He'll flop—real bad!" He punched the air, his small tunic flapping, and a vendor paused, his trinket basket tilting as he stared.
Arjuna dropped from the fence, his voice sharp and bright as he jogged to Bhima, his grin wide. "Flop? They're dreaming! You'd toss 'em both—bull and all! Great fun, huh?" He slapped Bhima's arm, his small hands quick, and the crowd's chants grew—"Bhima! Bhima!"—their admiration ringing out.
Bhima grinned, his voice loud and cheerful as he ruffled Arjuna's hair, his broad frame towering. "Fun's right! Little prince can dream—I'll keep winning! What's next, Yudhishthira?" He turned, his dark curls bouncing, and the square pulsed with his surging joy.
Yudhishthira's voice stayed calm, his arms crossing again as he glanced at the crowd, his tunic swaying. "Next? Rest, Bhima—save that strength. They've seen plenty today." He nodded toward the onlookers, his dark eyes thoughtful, and his pride swelled, steady and quiet.
Duryodhana stormed through the crowd, his voice bitter and low as he pushed past a vendor, his dark tunic tight. "Plenty? Too much—I'll top it. He'll see—something big, something mine." He glanced back at Bhima, his small fists clenching harder, and Duhshasana followed, his nods eager.
Duhshasana's voice rose, shrill and fierce as he trailed behind, his fair hair flying. "Big! Make it big, brother—crush that oaf! He'll cry!" He kicked a stray flower, its petals scattering, and the crowd parted, their cheers drowning his shout.
The bull snorted from the pen, its head low as a handler led it away, and the square erupted again, flowers tumbling across the dirt. Bhima raised his arms, his voice roaring over the noise, his grin unshaken. "Cry? Me? Keep dreaming, little prince—I'm still here!" He laughed, his broad frame a beacon, and the crowd's thrill surged, their chants wild.
Arjuna clapped again, his voice sharp and teasing as he stood beside Bhima, his bow tapping his shoulder. "Here and loud! They'll need more than dreams to catch you—right, Yudhishthira?" He grinned, his small frame buzzing, and a few onlookers laughed, their heads nodding.
Yudhishthira's smile lingered, his voice steady and warm as he watched them, his tunic settling. "Right enough. They've got their work cut out—let's go home." He turned, his dark eyes tracing the crowd, and the Pandavas' pride glowed, a quiet strength amid the square's jubilation.
Duryodhana paused at the edge, his voice fierce and low as he muttered to Duhshasana, his small frame tense. "Home? Not for long—I'll test him good. Watch me spin it." He stormed off, his dark tunic vanishing into the crowd, and Duhshasana's eager nods followed, their plan brewing in the shadows.
The dust settled, vendors resuming their calls, and the square hummed with Bhima's triumph, the crowd's admiration a living pulse. Duryodhana's malice simmered beneath, his cunning sharpening for the next move, the market alive with joy and the brewing storm of rivalry.