The Kshipra, once a gentle companion, had become a fierce adversary. Its current, swollen by the monsoon rains, crashed against her frail frame, threatening to sweep her away. Yet, Krishneshwari stood firm, her resolve unwavering. Days bled into weeks, weeks into months. Her body, once a testament to youthful vitality, had become skeletal, her skin stretched taut over protruding bones.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, eerie shadows across the river, a group of Aghoris danced around the riverbank, their bodies contorted in ecstatic abandon, their voices chanting ancient mantras. They played their damarus, the rhythmic beats echoing across the water, a mesmerizing counterpoint to the roaring river.

Their eyes, wild and piercing, fell upon Krishneshwari. They saw a kindred spirit, a soul consumed by the divine, a being who had transcended the limitations of the physical. They were awestruck by her unwavering devotion, her ability to endure such extreme hardship.

The Aghoris, who had witnessed countless seekers on their spiritual journeys, recognized the profound nature of her tapasya. They watched, mesmerized, as she stood on one leg, her body swaying gently with the rhythm of the river, a symbol of her unwavering resolve, her spirit indomitable. They began to shower praises and blessings on her.

"Adbhut !"

"Uttam !"

"Aho Bhagyam, Krisha !"

"Kalyanamastu, Krisha !"

"Utkrisht ! Utkrisht !"

Impressed by her unwavering dedication, they began to call her "Krisha," meaning "thin," a name that reflected her physical transformation but also hinted at the profound depth she had reached. Rain lashed down, each drop a tiny ice shard against her skin. Yet, she remained rooted to the riverbed, her single leg unwavering.

The Aghoris, a swirling vortex of ash-smeared bodies, continued their ecstatic dance. Their laughter, guttural and primal, echoed across the flooded river. They played their damrus, the rhythmic beats a counterpoint to the drumming of the rain. Tongs, clanging together, created a cacophony of metallic sound, a jarring symphony against the backdrop of the monsoon.

Krishneshwari remained unperturbed. Her mind, detached from the physical world, was a silent canvas, waiting for the divine to paint its masterpiece. The chill, the rain, the cacophony of the Aghoris – none of it registered.
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A new day dawned at the ashram, the air alive with the sounds of birdsong and the gentle rustling of leaves. Dronacharya had summoned all his students to gather in the backyard, an expansive area where they often practiced their martial arts.

Present were the Kurus and the Yadavas, along with the princes and kings from kingdoms far and wide, all of whom had undergone rigorous training under Dronacharya's tutelage. They had excelled in various disciplines – archery, swordsmanship, the art of spear, mace-fighting, wrestling, chariot fighting – becoming skilled warriors in their own right.

Dronacharya, standing amidst his students, surveyed the gathering with a satisfied smile. The time had come to test their skills, to assess their progress, to see how well they had absorbed his teachings.

"Aaj tum sab ki pariksha hogi." He gestured towards a distant tree, its branches reaching towards the sky. Perched atop one of its highest branches was a wooden bird, which the princes could hardly see.

"Sabhi shishya apne dhanush shigreh uthaye, pratyancha par teer chadha kar khade ho jaaye. Uss daal par stith pakshi par nishana lagana hai." Dronacharya continued, "Mere aagya milne ke baad hi, iss pakshi ka sar kaat girana hai. Mai ek-ek kar, baari-baari se sabhi ko iss karya mei niyukt karunga."

The students, their eyes narrowing, followed Dronacharya's instructions. They picked up their bows, nocked their arrows, and stood in a line, their gaze fixed on the distant target, which was barely visible to them.

Dronacharya began the test with the Kurus. He called upon Yudhishthir, the eldest of the princes of Hastinapur. Yudhishthir stepped forward, his gaze unwavering, and stood exactly where Dronacharya gestured.

"Nishana saadho." Dron instructed.

Yudhishthira obeyed, drawing his bowstring back slowly and steadily. He focused on the target, aiming carefully. For a moment Dron analysed his posture, his aim, the way he held the bow and the way he drew the bowstring.

"Batao tumhe kya dikh raha hai ?" Dronacharya inquired, his voice calm. "Kya tum pakshi ko dekh paa rahe ho ? Kya tum mujhe dekh paa rahe ho ? Kya tum apne bhaiyo ko dekh paa rahe ho ?"

Yudhishthira, his voice clear and steady, replied, "Gurudev, mai ped ko dekh paa raha hu, mai aapko dekh paa raha hu aur mai pakshi ko dekh paa raha hu."

Dronacharya's face remained impassive, but his eyes held a hint of disappointment. "Yeh lakshya tumse nahi bheda jaayega." He said reproachfully.

Yudhishthir, understanding the rebuke, simply nodded in acceptance and stepped back, his gaze fixed on the ground. Dronacharya's test, it seemed, was not merely about archery skill, but also about focus, single-mindedness, and the ability to transcend distractions.

Next, Dronacharya called upon Duryodhana. The eldest Dhratrashtra stepped forward, his chest puffed out with confidence. He stood at the exact spot where Yudhishthir had stood earlier, his eyes fixed on the distant bird.

"Kya tumhe ped dikh raha hai ?" Dronacharya inquired.

Duryodhana, eager to impress his Guru, replied, "Ji acharya. Mujhe pakshi, ped, aap, sabhi shishya, yeh gagan, yeh prithvi, yeh surya... Sab dikh raha hai."

Dronacharya's face remained impassive, but his eyes held a look of reproach. He had expected more from Duryodhan. Duryodhan, unable to decipher his Guru's expression, frowned in confusion.

"Tumse bhi yeh lakshya nahi bheda jaayega." Dronacharya said, his voice firm.

Duryodhan, bewildered and slightly offended, couldn't understand his Guru's disapproval. He had confidently stated what he saw, and he believed he had answered correctly. Nevertheless, he bowed his head and stepped back, his mind churning with confusion.

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A/N

Krishneshwari gets a new name, KRISHA (कृषा) which means thin or frail, and she gets this name due to her intense austerities.

Btw I did make an art -

Krisha 🔥

ALSO BREAKING A MYTH -

It is a myth that 'Chidiya ki aakh' happened first in Gurukul, it's actually the second last event. Dron sees all the students have become skilled in the use of weapons so he decides to test them.