From distant kingdoms across Bharatvarsh, numerous princes and kings had gathered in Dronacharya's ashram, each eager to learn the martial arts and wisdom of their revered guru. They were united by a singular purpose: to hone their skills.

The ashram buzzed with the promise of greatness, as the next generation of warriors prepared to be molded under the watchful eye of Dronacharya. Every dawn brought new arrivals-young men with aspirations shimmering in their eyes, journeying from the icy peaks of the Himalayas to the sun-drenched shores of the south.

The sun cast a golden hue across the verdant landscape, illuminating the scene of diligent young royals, each son of kings and warriors, engaged in the humblest of tasks. The air was filled with the rustling of leaves and the soft whisper of morning, interrupted only by the rhythmic swish of brooms gliding over the earth.

Adorned in simple attire befitting their status as students rather than rulers, the young boys and men were diligently engaged in the humble task of cleaning. The rhythmic swish of their brooms echoed through the verdant grounds, a contrast to the grandeur they were destined to inherit. In the thatched huts lining the ashram, some princes scrubbed the floors, their hands soiled yet resolute.

Some princes, their noble garments temporarily set aside, were hunched over wicker baskets by the riverside. The gentle current of the Yamuna lapped at their feet as they scrubbed garments against smooth stones, laughter mingling with the water's melody.

Each prince, regardless of kingdom, was united in these menial chores. These lessons of humility were as crucial as the art of archery or swordsmanship.

Duryodhan knelt on the cool earth, his brow furrowed in disdain. The prince of the Kauravas gripped the wet cloth tightly, dragging it across the earthen floor of his hut. Dust and grime clung stubbornly, mocking his royal lineage. He could hardly suppress a grimace; the task felt beneath him, a bitter reminder of his current state.

Suddenly Dushashan burst into the hut, an air of excitement surrounding him, broom in hand. "Bhratashree, ek naya shishya aya hai."

"Pratidin aate hai, kaunsi badi baat hai ?" Duryodhan paused, annoyance flickering in his eyes. "Ab kis rajya ka aya hai ?"

Dushashan replied, "Angadesh se aya hai. Vasusen naam hai uska."

The name echoed in Duryodhan's mind, stirring a sense of familiarity. "Vasusen..." he muttered, the syllables rolling off his tongue. A spark of recognition ignited. "Yeh toh Pitamah ke saarthi ka putra hai na ?"

Dushashan nodded vigorously, but Duryodhan's interest waned as he returned to his mopping, dismissing the information with a wave of his hand.

"Kintu Bhrata, yeh koi sadhaaran purush nahi hai !" Dushashan insisted, his voice rising with urgency.

Duryodhan paused, eyebrow raised. "Tatparya ?"

Dushashan leaned closer, "Woh Divya kavach aur kundal se sushobhit hai. Jaise woh uske tan ka bhi bhaag ho. Surya ke samaan tejasvi hai woh."

Duryodhan's curiosity piqued, the mention of divine armor igniting a flicker of intrigue behind his stoic facade. He couldn't ignore the possibility that this newcomer might possess qualities that would be beneficial to him. Setting aside the mop, he wiped his hands on his lower garment, a determined glint igniting in his eyes.

Duryodhan stepped out of the hut, feeling the sun's warm embrace wash over him. The vibrant morning air was thick with the scent of earth and fresh grass, a stark contrast to the oppressive duties that had confined him within the four walls. His heart raced, not just from curiosity but from the unshakable belief that this newcomer could be an asset.

They arrived near the hut of Dronacharya, and there, kneeling before Dronacharya, was Vasusen. His posture was humble, yet there was an unmistakable aura about him that seemed to command respect. The sunlight caught on the contours of his divine armor, glistening as if woven from celestial light itself. Dronacharya raised his hand, gesturing for Vasusen to rise and enter the ashram. Duryodhan exchanged a glance with Dushashan, his expression shifting from casual interest to keen scrutiny.

Vasusen straightened himself, shoulders back, chest out, exuding an aura of pride that drew the attention. In Angadesh, he had been revered not just as a warrior but as a paragon of virtue, strength, and skill. He had trained tirelessly, honing his abilities under the watchful eyes of seasoned masters, and now he stood at the threshold of a new chapter, ready to prove himself among the elite of Bharatvarsh. The thought of surpassing even the legendary bloodlines fueled his resolve.

As Vasusen rose from his kneeling position, a quiet confidence radiated from him. The golden light of dawn illuminated his divine armor, glistening like morning dew. With a firm grip on his belongings-a simple bundle tied with a strand of leather-he stepped forward, his posture exuding the pride of Anga's finest.

Duryodhan, intrigued by the aura of superiority surrounding Vasusen, came in front of the young man, and broke into a friendly smile.

"Ah, Vasusen." He said, his voice smooth yet laced with an underlying ambition. "Ashram mei tumhara swagat hai. Mai hu Dhritrashtra-putra Duryodhan."

Vasusen's gaze met Duryodhan's, a flicker of surprise mingling with realization. Here was a powerful ally, someone who could help him navigate the intricacies of the ashram. Intrigued by the prince's charisma, he instinctively joined his hands.

"Pranaam Rajkumar." he began, his tone respectful yet firm.

But Duryodhan, with a swift motion, grasped Vasusen's hands, a gesture both unexpected and disarming. "Rajkumar nahi. Mitra kaho. Gurukul mei koi bhed-bhaav nahi hota."

The warmth in his voice contrasted with the underlying ambition that flickered in his eyes. Vasusen felt a spark of camaraderie, appreciating the prince's approach.

"Mitra Duryodhan." He smiled, his heart swelling with a mixture of excitement.

Dushashan, hovering close behind, observed the interaction, sensing the potential alliance forming. The air around them crackled with promise as Duryodhan continued, "Yeh Divya kavach tumhe kisne diya, mitra ?"

Vasusen's face lit up with pride, the very essence of his identity woven into his words.

"Yeh kavach..." He said, fingers brushing over the intricate patterns embedded in his skin, "Yeh abhedya kavach hai, Duryodhan. Janm se mere saath hai. Koi bhi shashtra ise tod nahi sakta."

Duryodhan's smirk widened, intrigue dancing in his gaze. "Adbhut. Yadi yeh kavach abhedya hai toh tumse shresht koi yoddha nahi yaha."

The promise of friendship hung in the air, a bond forged in ambition.With Vasusen by their side, Duryodhan envisioned the birth of a formidable alliance, one destined to shape their fates in the days to come. Vasusen too smiled at Duryodhan, whose friendly demeanor reassured him that he had found a potential ally among the royal aspirants.

"Chalo tumhe ashram dikhata hu." Duryodhan offered, a gleam of camaraderie in his eyes.

As they walked, Duryodhan guided Vasusen through the sprawling compound, pointing out various training grounds. They passed clusters of young warriors, each representing grand kingdoms. To Vasusen, they seemed mere shadows, lacking the aura of excellence he carried. He wondered how many of them could withstand a challenge from him, the bearer of invincible armor.

With each step, he envisioned defeating them all, claiming his rightful place in the annals of greatness. Vasusen's chin lifted slightly, an instinctive assertion of his superiority. He was like the sun god amidst the planets, outshining all.

Vasusen's heart swelled with pride as he observed the other princes, each one seemingly lesser than himself. But then, from a nearby hut, a young warrior emerged, and Vasusen's confidence faltered.

Arjun stepped out, his presence commanding and effortless. Clad in simple warrior attire, his stature was tall, yet it was the intensity of his gaze that struck Vasusen most. Just like how Indra outshines all the gods, his mere presence outshined everyone.

Vasusen's frown deepened; it was a stark contrast to the admiration he had felt moments before. Arjun's aura seemed to eclipse the brilliance of all the other princes, including his own. The pride that had surged through him began to wane, replaced by an unsettling awareness of competition that he hadn't anticipated.

"Kya wahi Arjun hai ? Jiski mahima samast Aryavart mei gunj rahi hai ?" h
He asked, his voice betraying an inkling of concern.

Duryodhan nodded, a hint of disdain lacing his tone. "Yahi woh hai. Jiske bal par Yudhishthir ko lagta hai ki woh mera singhasan chheen sakta hai."

The mention of a rivalry ignited a fire in Vasusen's heart. He had always yearned for recognition, to outshine the best. Standing next to Duryodhan, he realized the potential of this alliance. If he forged a bond with the Kaurava, he could position himself against Arjun, the very embodiment of valor.

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A/N

Arrey Chacha-
Ek adhadve umar ke purush ek balak se jealous ho rahe batao-💀