Dust hung thick in the air over a quarry beyond Hastinapura, its towering rocky walls baking under a scorching sun that blazed high in a cloudless sky. Cracked boulders littered the ground, some jagged and tall as a man, others split into shards that glinted in the heat. The air was dry and heavy, carrying the sharp scent of stone and sweat, while the faint clink of metal echoed as the princes trudged in, their tunics already clinging with damp patches. The quarry stretched wide and rugged, a proving ground trembling with promise, ready to test their might with iron and will.
Drona stood at the quarry's heart, his lean frame steady in the glare, his tattered white robes fluttering faintly in a stray gust. His gray hair was tied back tight, sweat beading on his weathered brow, and his dark eyes gleamed with a stern, fiery intensity as he faced the Kuru princes. In one hand, he held his staff, its tip planted firm in the cracked earth; the other rested on a pile of maces, their iron heads dull but heavy in the sunlight. The princes gathered around him, their boots scuffing the dust, their breaths puffing in the heat as they eyed the weapons, curiosity sparking in their faces.
Bhima bounced on his toes, his massive frame casting a shadow over the stones, his broad grin flashing wide as he clapped his hands with a loud thud that stirred the dust. "A quarry today, guru?" he said, his voice booming across the rocks, loud enough to rattle a loose pebble. "This is my kind of place! We smashing these boulders or what?"
Drona turned to him, his expression calm but unyielding, his voice cutting through the heat with steady force. "Not smashing, Bhima," he said, his tone deep and firm, quieting the air for a moment. "Striking. We begin melee today, with maces. Your task is to hit those targets." He pointed to a row of smaller stones, each marked with a red slash, scattered among the boulders. "Precision matters. Power alone won't do."
Bhima's grin stretched wider, his eyes lighting up as he laughed, the sound rumbling like a storm over the quarry. "Precision, huh?" he said, his tone bright and eager, grabbing a mace from the pile with a grunt. "I'll give you precision! I'll turn these rocks to dust! Let's start, guru!"
"Start when I say," Drona replied, his voice dry and patient, lifting a hand to halt him. "Five targets. Strike them clean. A strike must be surgical, not savage."
Arjuna stepped up beside him, his lean form quiet and graceful, his sandals silent on the cracked earth as he studied the targets. His tunic shimmered with sweat, his breath even, and his dark eyes traced the red slashes with a steady focus. "Surgical," he said, his voice soft but clear, glancing at Drona with a nod. "That's a shift, guru. How do we learn it?"
"Feel it," Drona said, his gaze settling on Arjuna with a flicker of warmth, his tone firm. "Hold the mace, sense its weight. Then aim. You'll know."
Duryodhana strode forward, his chin high, his dark hair glinting in the sun as he gripped a mace with both hands. "Surgical?" he said, his voice low and edged with a smirk, his brow lifting slightly. "I can do that. I'll hit them better than anyone. Watch me, guru."
"Show me, then," Drona replied, his tone stern and sharp, meeting Duryodhana's smirk with a nod. "All of you, take a mace. Begin."
The princes spread out, their footsteps kicking up dust, the quarry humming with the clank of iron as they hefted their weapons. Bhima lumbered toward a boulder, his massive hands swinging the mace as he roared into the heat. "Here we go!" he shouted, his voice ringing loud, the air trembling with his energy. He aimed at a small target perched atop a rock, his muscles bulging, and swung with a grunt. The mace crashed down, shattering the boulder into a cloud of dust and shards, but the target flew untouched, landing in the dirt. "Ha!" he said, his tone bright and unbothered, laughing as he wiped his brow. "That rock's gone! Did you see that, guru?"
"I saw it," Drona called, his voice steady and firm, stepping closer through the dust. "And I saw the target still whole. Strike the mark, Bhima, not the mountain."
"Mark?" Bhima said, chuckling as he hefted the mace again, his tunic dusted gray. "I'll mark the next one!" He swung at another target, this time splitting a stone in two with a loud crack, but the red-slashed rock rolled away, intact. He stomped the ground, laughing loud. "This is a riot! I'm breaking everything!"
"Breaking's not the goal," Drona said, his tone dry but kind, shaking his head as he waved a hand. "Targets are. Step back a bit. Watch."
Arjuna stood still, his mace raised, his breath slow and even as he eyed a target tucked beside a boulder. He shifted his grip, his muscles tensing, and swung with a smooth arc. The iron head struck the red slash dead center, cracking the small stone clean in half without touching the boulder beside it. He smiled faintly, stepping back, and turned to Drona. "One," he said, his tone calm and steady, brushing dust from his hands.
Drona's eyes widened, his voice warm with awe as he stepped forward. "One?" he said, his tone lifting slightly, a rare crack in his calm. "Clean through? That's it, Arjuna. Surgical. More."
Duryodhana moved to a target half-hidden behind a rock, his mace steady, his smirk sharp as he adjusted his stance. "My turn," he muttered, his voice low and sly, swinging with a controlled twist. The mace clipped the target's edge, splitting it with a thud, leaving the boulder unscathed. He straightened, his grin widening, and turned to Drona. "One," he said, his tone smug and sharp, resting the mace on his shoulder.
Drona's brow lifted, his voice warm with approval as he nodded. "One?" he said, his tone steady but pleased. "Tight strike, Duryodhana. Good control. Keep it."
The quarry thrummed with their efforts, the air thick with dust and the clang of iron—Bhima's shattering swings, Arjuna's precise hits, Duryodhana's calculated blows. Bhima lumbered back toward Drona, his tunic caked with grit, his laugh booming as he waved his mace. "Nothing on the targets yet, guru!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, wiping his face with a dusty hand. "But I've smashed three boulders! That's my score, right?"
"No," Drona said, his tone dry but patient, gesturing him to a rock to sit. "Targets, Bhima. Not rubble. Rest there."
Bhima flopped down, his chest heaving, his grin wide as he leaned back. "Rubble's fun!" he said, his voice loud and teasing, laughing through the heat. "You lot are too picky! I'm the king of chaos here!"
"Chaos isn't victory," Drona replied, his tone amused but firm, turning away. "Precision is."
Arjuna struck two more targets, his mace cracking the stones with clean thuds, his focus unshaken. "Three," he said, his voice soft but sure, stepping back to Drona with a nod. "It's about the feel, guru."
"Feel?" Drona said, his pride clear, his staff tapping the dirt as he met him. "You've got it, Arjuna. Steady and true."
Duryodhana hit two more, his swings tight and sharp, splitting the targets with controlled force. "Three," he said, his voice low and triumphant, crossing his arms as he strode back. "See that? I'm right there with him."
"Three's strong," Drona said, his tone stern and approving, nodding at him. "You're sharp, Duryodhana. Push it."
Bhima sat up, his eyes wide as he watched, his voice loud and bright as he clapped his hands. "You two are good!" he said, his tone cheerful and honest, grinning at them. "I'm breaking rocks, and you're splitting pebbles! Teach me that trick, huh?"
"No trick," Arjuna said, his voice calm and friendly, smiling at Bhima through the dust. "Just aim small. You'll get it."
"Small?" Bhima said, laughing as he hefted his mace again, the iron gleaming. "I don't do small! I'll aim big and break the world!"
"Break the targets first," Drona said, his tone dry but fond, pointing at the remaining stones. "One more, Bhima. Try."
Bhima lumbered up, his mace raised, his breath heaving as he eyed a target perched on a low rock. "Right, here's my big one!" he shouted, his voice ringing loud, swinging with all his might. The mace crashed down, splitting the boulder beneath into a shower of shards, the target flying high and landing cracked but whole. He froze, then laughed loud, dropping the mace with a clang. "Almost!" he said, his tone bright and unbothered, wiping his brow. "That rock's toast, though!"
Drona stepped forward, his voice steady and firm as he shook his head. "Almost isn't hit," he said, his tone warm with patience, pointing at the scattered shards. "Look at this, Bhima. Power without purpose. Surgical, not savage."
The others gathered round, their faces streaked with dust, their eyes wide as Bhima grinned. "Power's my purpose!" he said, his voice loud and teasing, clapping Arjuna's back with a thud. "But I'll try your picky way next time! That was a blast!"
"Blast it was," Drona said, his tone dry but kind, his staff tapping once, twice. "Enough for now. Arjuna, three hits, clean and sharp. Duryodhana, three, tight and strong. Bhima, none."
Bhima laughed, hauling himself up, his chest heaving as he brushed dust from his tunic. "None's my tally!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, grinning wide. "But I've got the best mess! Look at this quarry now! I'm the champ of smash, huh?"
"Smash isn't the prize," Drona said, his tone amused but firm, shaking his head as sweat dripped from his brow. "Control is. You'll learn."
Arjuna set his mace down, his breath steady, his smile warm and quiet as he glanced at the cracked targets. "That was heavy, guru," he said, his voice soft and honest, flexing his hands. "Felt every swing."
"You did," Drona replied, his pride clear, nodding at him through the heat. "That's your strength, Arjuna. Focus and feel."
Duryodhana crossed his arms tighter, his scowl faint but his smirk holding as he stared at Arjuna's targets. "Three's as good as his," he said, his voice low and sharp, kicking at a shard. "I'll beat that next time. My way's better."
"Better's what works," Arjuna said, his voice calm and teasing, turning to him with a smile. "Yours is solid. Keep it."
"Solid?" Duryodhana said, his smirk sharpening, his tone sly and edged. "Mine's winning soon. You'll see."
Bhima lumbered over, his laugh booming as he clapped both their shoulders. "Winning?" he said, his voice loud and teasing, grinning through the dust. "You're both champs! I'll catch up with a bigger swing!"
"Swing with aim," Drona said, his tone patient and amused, waving them off. "Rest now. You've earned it."