Afternoon light filtered green through a dense bamboo grove on Hastinapura's outskirts, casting a dappled glow over the swaying stalks that rose like a forest of spears. The ground was soft with fallen leaves, their golden edges crunching faintly underfoot, and the air hummed with the creak of bamboo bending in the breeze, mingling with the distant trill of birdsong. The grove was tight and tangled, its narrow paths twisting between thick clusters of stalks, a natural maze that seemed to shift with every gust. The scent of earth and fresh-cut greenery hung heavy, sharp and alive, as the sun climbed toward its peak, warming the shaded world below.
Drona stood at the grove's edge, his lean frame framed by the towering bamboo, his tattered white robes catching the green-tinted light. His gray hair was tied back, as ever, and his dark eyes gleamed with a quiet focus as he surveyed the space. In one hand, he held his staff, its tip resting lightly on the leaf-strewn ground; in the other, he gripped a wooden sword, its blade blunt but balanced. The Kuru princes gathered around him, their tunics dusted with earth from the morning's climb, their faces bright with the thrill of a new challenge after days of maces and bows.
Bhima shifted his weight, his massive frame rustling the leaves as he flexed his hands, his broad grin flashing in the dim light. "Swords today, guru?" he said, his voice booming through the grove, startling a bird into flight. "Good! I'm ready to swing something sharp for a change!"
Drona's gaze flicked to him, dry and steady. "Sharp's not the point," he said, his tone firm but tinged with patience. "Agility is. This grove's tight—every step counts, every strike matters. Finesse, not force." He tossed the wooden sword to Bhima, its weight thudding into his hands, and gestured to a pile of similar blades nearby—rough-hewn but sturdy, stacked against a thick bamboo stalk. "Take one. Let's see what you do."
Bhima caught the sword with a chuckle, twirling it once with a flourish that sent leaves scattering. "Finesse, eh?" he said, his voice spirited and bold. "I'll give it a whirl!" He lumbered into the grove, his sandals crunching the ground, and swung the sword at a cluster of bamboo stalks. The blade crashed through with a loud snap, toppling three in one go, their green lengths thudding to the earth. His laughter echoed, a deep, rolling sound that shook the grove. "Foes fall faster this way!" he called, turning back with a grin.
Drona sighed, stepping forward, his staff tapping the ground. "Bhima, you're cutting a forest, not a foe," he said, his tone dry but not unkind. "Ease up. Strike smart, not hard."
Bhima brushed leaves from his tunic, his grin unshaken. "Smart's fine," he said, "but hard's more fun! I'll try it your way, though." He swung again, lighter this time, clipping a single stalk with a softer crack, though his footing wobbled on the uneven ground.
Nakula and Sahadeva darted forward together, their lithe forms slipping through the bamboo like shadows, their twin grins flashing as they snatched swords from the pile. "Our turn?" Nakula said, his voice swift and playful. "This is our game!"
"Follow me, Sahadeva," Sahadeva replied, his tone quick and bright, already moving. "Left, then right!" They wove into the grove, their wooden blades slicing through stalks with silent grace, a seamless dance of motion. Nakula struck low, Sahadeva high, their cuts clean and precise, the bamboo falling in neat segments around them. Their laughter rang out, light and effortless, as they spun back to face Drona.
"See that?" Nakula said, twirling his sword with a flick of his wrist. "We've got the knack!"
"Like we were born for it," Sahadeva added, mirroring his brother's spin. "What do you think, guru?"
Drona nodded, his gaze sharp but approving. "Unity," he said. "That's your strength. Keep it sharp." He turned to Arjuna, gesturing with his staff. "You next. Show me."
Arjuna stepped forward, his lean frame quieter than the others, his bow slung across his back as always. He picked up a sword, testing its weight with a thoughtful frown, his hands adjusting to its grip. "It's different," he said, his voice soft but steady. "I'll figure it out." He moved into the grove, his sandals silent on the leaves, and swung at a stalk. The blade struck awkwardly, glancing off with a dull thud, but he adjusted, striking again. The second cut was sharper, slicing the bamboo with a clean snap, and he stepped back, his breath quickening.
Drona watched, stepping closer. "Better," he said, his tone firm but encouraging. "You're finding it. Quicken your wrist—let it flow."
Arjuna nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "It's coming," he said, his voice determined. "I'll get it smoother next time."
Duryodhana strode up, his chin lifting, his dark hair catching the green light. His fine tunic was smudged with dust, but his stance was cool and assured as he grabbed a sword. "This is my game," he said, his voice low and edged. "Step back and watch." He moved into the grove, his blade carving precise arcs through the air. Each strike landed with a sharp crack, felling stalks in clean, controlled cuts, his focus a cold, unyielding edge. He stepped back, his smirk firm, and planted his sword tip-down in the earth.
"Perfect," he said, glancing at Bhima. "No forests falling here."
Bhima laughed, a loud, hearty sound that rustled the leaves. "Neat and tidy!" he said, clapping his hands. "But I'd take you down with one swing, precise or not!"
Duryodhana's smirk tightened, his grip flexing on the sword. "Try it," he said, his tone cool. "You'd trip before you got close."
Drona raised a hand, his voice cutting through. "Save it," he said. "Focus on the task." He turned to Yudhishthira, nodding at the pile. "Your go, prince."
Yudhishthira rose, his movements calm and deliberate, his neat tunic a contrast to the others' disarray. He picked up a sword, holding it with a careful grip, his brow furrowing as he tested its balance. "I'll get it, guru," he said, his voice strained but earnest. "Just slower." He stepped into the grove, swinging at a stalk. The blade wobbled, striking off-center with a dull thud, and he frowned, adjusting his stance. His next swing was steadier, clipping the bamboo with a soft snap, but his hands hesitated, his mind outpacing his movements.
Drona moved to his side, his staff tapping lightly. "Think less, strike more," he said, his tone gentle but firm. He reached out, adjusting Yudhishthira's grip with a deft touch. "Feel it, not just plan it."
Yudhishthira smiled faintly, his breath steadying. "I overthink," he said. "Always have. But I'll try that."
"You'll find it," Drona replied, stepping back. "Keep going."
The grove became a whirlwind of motion, the princes weaving through the stalks, their wooden blades clashing in brief, spontaneous spars. Nakula and Sahadeva danced ahead, their swords slicing in tandem, their synergy a marvel as they dodged and struck. "Left again!" Nakula called, his voice swift, and Sahadeva followed, their blades felling a row of bamboo with a chorus of cracks.
Bhima swung wide, his laughter booming as he toppled another cluster, leaves raining around him. "Finesse is overrated!" he said, dodging a stalk that fell too close. "This works just fine!"
Arjuna moved beside him, his strikes growing sharper, his blade cutting through stalks with a steady rhythm. "It's getting easier," he said, panting slightly. "I'm catching it."
Duryodhana carved his own path, his blade a blur of precise arcs, his focus cold and unyielding. "Keep up," he said, his voice cool as he felled a stalk with a single strike. "This is how it's done."
Yudhishthira followed, his swings slow but improving, each cut cleaner than the last. "Slow's not so bad," he said, his tone warm. "I'm learning."
Drona watched them, his staff planted firm, his eyes tracing every move—Nakula and Sahadeva's lithe grace, Bhima's chaotic force, Arjuna's steady growth, Duryodhana's sharp skill, Yudhishthira's earnest effort. "Enough," he called, his voice rising over the clatter. "Gather here."
The princes stopped, their breaths heavy, their tunics speckled with leaf bits as they clustered around him. Drona stepped into the grove, raising his sword. "Watch this," he said, his tone steady and clear. His blade flashed, a blur of motion too fast to follow, and a dozen stalks fell in one sweeping cut, their green lengths thudding to the ground in a perfect arc. The grove stilled, the air humming with the echo of his strike, and the princes stared, their eyes wide with awe.
Bhima whistled, his grin splitting his face. "That's a beauty!" he said, clapping his hands with a sound like thunder. "I'll get there, guru—forest and all!"
Drona lowered his sword, his gaze sweeping over them. "Finesse and force," he said. "Agility and aim. That's the blade you'll wield. Practice it."
Nakula twirled his sword, grinning at Sahadeva. "We're close," he said. "Think we can match that?"
"Give us a day," Sahadeva replied, his grin matching his brother's. "We'll dance it out!"
Arjuna set his sword down, his voice soft but firm. "I'll master it," he said. "Every bit."
Duryodhana leaned on his blade, his smirk cool. "I'm already there," he said. "Just needs a sharper edge."
Yudhishthira wiped his brow, his tone warm. "Slow or not, I'll keep up," he said. "You're teaching us well, guru."
Drona planted his staff, his gaze steady. "Back now," he said. "Rest your hands. Tomorrow's another test."
The princes trudged out of the grove, their voices mingling with the creak of bamboo—Bhima's infectious chuckle, Nakula and Sahadeva's swift banter, Arjuna's quiet resolve, Duryodhana's cool boast, Yudhishthira's earnest warmth. The afternoon light faded, the grove pulsing with the energy of their clash—Nakula and Sahadeva's dazzling synergy, Bhima's entertaining chaos, Duryodhana's intimidating prowess, Arjuna's growing skill, Yudhishthira's steady effort—all tempered by Drona's observant hand, shaping them blade by blade.