A fierce wind roared over a cliff above the Ganga, the jagged edge of rock thrusting out like a blade over the churning river below. Gusts howled through the air, tugging at the sparse grass clinging to the stone, while wooden targets—red-painted discs on wobbly poles—stood defiant against the gale, swaying wildly. The sun hung low, its golden light slicing through the haze of spray rising from the crashing waters far beneath, and the air was sharp with the scent of wet stone and river mist. The cliff stretched high and perilous, a wild arena where nature roared as foe, ready to test the princes' aim.
Drona stood near the cliff's edge, his lean frame braced against the wind, his tattered white robes whipping around him like a flag. His gray hair was tied back tight, strands tearing loose in the gusts, and his dark eyes gleamed with a stern, unyielding fire as he faced the Kuru princes. In one hand, he held his staff, its tip planted firm in a crack; the other clutched his robes to keep them still. The princes gathered behind him, their tunics flapping, their hair lashing their faces as they gripped their bows, squinting into the roaring chaos.
Bhima planted his feet wide, his massive frame rocking slightly in the wind, his broad grin flashing despite the gale as he shouted over the noise. "A cliff today, guru?" he said, his voice booming, nearly lost in the roar as he clapped his hands together. "This is mad! Wind's howling like a beast! We shooting or just hanging on?"
Drona turned to him, his expression calm but unyielding, his voice cutting through the gusts with steady force. "Shooting, Bhima," he said, his tone deep and firm, steadying the moment despite the chaos. "Against the wind. Hit those targets clean. The gale's your foe now. Fight it."
Bhima's grin widened, his eyes glinting with glee as he laughed loud, the sound snatched away by the wind. "Fight the wind?" he said, his tone bright and eager, grabbing his bow with a grunt. "I'll blast right through it! These targets won't stand a chance!"
"Blast less, aim more," Drona replied, his voice dry and patient, pointing at the swaying discs. "One shot each turn. Start when I call."
Arjuna stepped up beside him, his lean form hunched slightly against the gusts, his sandals scraping the rock as he steadied his bow. His tunic flapped wild, his breath sharp, and his dark eyes narrowed at the targets with a quiet focus. "Wind's strong," he said, his voice soft but clear, shouting just enough to be heard over the roar. "This is a real test, guru. How many?"
"Five," Drona said, his gaze settling on Arjuna with a flicker of warmth, his tone firm. "Spaced along the edge. Adjust for the gusts. They'll push you."
Duryodhana strode forward, his chin high, his dark hair whipping across his face as he gripped his bow tight. "Push us?" he said, his voice low and edged with a growl, his brow furrowing deep against the wind. "This is impossible. Arrows'll fly wherever the wind wants."
"Make them fly where you want," Drona replied, his tone stern and sharp, meeting Duryodhana's scowl through the gusts. "Skill beats nature. Begin."
The princes spread along the cliff, their boots scraping stone, the wind tearing at their clothes as they braced themselves. Bhima squared his shoulders, his massive hands drawing his bow as he roared into the gale. "Here we go!" he shouted, his voice loud and wild, nocking an arrow. A disc swayed ahead, and he fired with a grunt, the arrow veering sharp left, swept away into the river below. "Ha!" he said, his tone bright despite the miss, cursing loud as the wind drowned him out. "That wind's a cheat! I'll get it next time!"
"Feel it, Bhima," Drona called, his voice steady and firm, stepping closer through the gusts. "Push against it, not with it."
"Push it?" Bhima said, laughing as he nocked another, his tunic flapping like a sail. "I'll push it right off this cliff!" He fired again, the arrow spiraling wide, lost in the spray, and he cursed again, his grumbles loud and comic. "This wind's tougher than me!"
"Hardly," Drona said, his tone dry but kind, shaking his head. "Focus, not force."
Arjuna braced his legs, his bow drawn, his breath slow and even as he watched the targets sway. The wind howled, tugging at his arrow, and he adjusted his stance, tilting into the gust. "Got to cut it," he murmured, his voice soft and lost to all but himself, loosing his shot. The arrow curved slightly, striking a disc's edge with a faint thud, holding against the gale. He smiled faintly, nocking another, and fired again, this time hitting clean through the center. "One," he said, his tone calm and sure, shouting over the wind as he turned to Drona.
Drona's eyes gleamed, his voice warm with pride as he nodded through the roar. "One?" he said, his tone lifting slightly, steady despite the gusts. "Clean through that wind? Good, Arjuna. More."
Duryodhana planted his feet, his bow creaking as he drew it, his jaw clenched tight against the gale. "Stubborn wind," he muttered, his voice a growl, barely audible as he aimed at a disc rocking wildly. He fired, the arrow veering off, grazing the target's side before tumbling into the void, and he cursed under his breath, drawing again. "Close," he said, his tone sharp and bitter, loosing another. This one nicked the disc, sticking shallow, and he scowled, straightening up. "One," he said, his voice low and grudging, glaring into the wind.
"Grazes won't do," Drona replied, his tone stern and steady, stepping toward him. "Hit it square, Duryodhana. Fight harder."
"Fight?" Duryodhana said, his smirk twisting into a scowl, his voice sharp as he nocked again. "I'm fighting this blasted wind!" He fired once more, the arrow barely catching a second disc, and he growled, his grit clear despite the strain.
The cliff roared with their efforts, the wind a wild beast tearing at their shots—Bhima's loud misses, Arjuna's steady hits, Duryodhana's stubborn grazes. Bhima lumbered back toward Drona, his tunic soaked with spray, his laugh booming as he waved his bow. "Nothing yet, guru!" he shouted, his voice loud and cheerful, wiping his face. "Wind's got my arrows! I'll wrestle it down if I have to!"
"Bows, Bhima," Drona said, his tone dry but patient, shouting over the gale. "Not wrestling. Sit there."
"Sit?" Bhima said, grinning as he flopped onto a rock, his chest heaving. "I'll sit and curse it! This wind's a monster!" He roared a mock curse, laughing loud as it vanished into the howl.
Arjuna struck two more discs, his arrows cutting through the gusts with clean thuds, his stance unshaken. "Three," he said, his voice soft but firm, trudging back to Drona with a nod. "It's about leaning in."
"Leaning in?" Drona said, his pride clear, his staff tapping the stone as he met him. "You've defied it, Arjuna. Strong work."
Duryodhana hit another graze, his shot sticking shallow in a fourth disc, and he stomped back, his scowl deep as he shook his head. "Two," he said, his voice low and sharp, kicking at the rock. "This wind's a cheat."
"Cheat or not," Drona replied, his tone stern and firm, meeting Duryodhana's glare through the gusts. "You're hitting. Keep the grit."
The wind howled louder, the sun sinking into a fiery glow, and Drona called them in, the cliff trembling with its roar. "Enough," he said, his voice ringing clear, his staff tapping once, twice. "Arjuna, three hits, clean and true. Duryodhana, two grazes. Bhima, none."
Bhima laughed, hauling himself up, his chest heaving as he brushed spray from his tunic. "None's my mark!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, grinning wide through the wind. "But I've got the best curses! That wind's scared of me now!"
"Scared?" Drona said, his tone dry but fond, shaking his head as the gusts tugged at him. "It's winning, Bhima. Skill beats it, not curses."
Arjuna set his bow down, his breath steady, his smile warm and quiet despite the gale. "It's wild, guru," he said, his voice soft and honest, shouting just enough to carry. "But I felt it. Had to push back."
"You did," Drona replied, his pride clear, clapping Arjuna's shoulder through the wind. "That's defiance, Arjuna. Pure skill."
Duryodhana crossed his arms, his scowl dark, his voice low and sharp as he glared at the river below. "Two grazes," he said, his tone bitter and fierce, shaking his head. "That wind's a wall. Arjuna's just lucky."
"Lucky?" Arjuna said, his voice calm and teasing, turning to him with a smile. "It's not luck when it hits, Duryodhana. Try leaning next time."
"Leaning," Duryodhana muttered, his smirk faint but stubborn, his eyes narrowing. "I'll lean it right into five. Watch me."