A line of princes, each clad in their humble attire, stood poised with their bows drawn. The sun cast dappled patterns through the trees, illuminating the scene as young warriors readied their stances, every muscle taut with anticipation.

Among them stood Vasusen, newly arrived and eager to prove himself. His bronze skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, and his intense gaze was fixed on the distant target. With an effortless grace, he notched an arrow to his bowstring, drawing back with a fluid motion that spoke of inherent skill. His arrows flew true and swift, striking the targets with precision that turned heads and raised eyebrows.

Yet, even amidst his prowess, there was a palpable tension in the air, for a figure loomed ahead—Arjun. As the sun glinted off his bow, he drew back with a finesse that spoke of countless hours of practice. His movements were a seamless blend of strength and grace. When he released an arrow, it soared through the air like a comet, finding its target with uncanny accuracy. He anticipated the wind’s whims, adjusted his stance with elegance, and shot with a ferocity that left the competition in the dust.

While Vasusen released his arrows with might, Arjun's were propelled by a combination of technique and instinct. In the time it took Vasusen to shoot one arrow, Arjun had already shot three, each finding its mark with unfaltering consistency. The sun glinted off his sleek form as he moved, a rhythm that seemed almost divine.

As Vasusen watched Arjun, effortlessly hitting bullseye after bullseye, an unsettling knot twisted in his stomach. Arjun was not just good; he was extraordinary—faster, more precise, a true embodiment of excellence. As Vasusen observed the younger prince, a bitter twinge of envy pricked at his heart.

Determined to outshine his rival, Vasusen tightened his grip on the bow, his fingers trembling with a mix of adrenaline and frustration. He nocked an arrow, pulled back, and released, yet it wasn't quick enough. He tried again, faster this time, but no amount of haste could match Arjun’s natural finesse.

It seemed that Vasusen refused to acknowledge the fact that talent could not be rushed; endurance and practice were the only paths to mastery. He felt the weight of his own expectations; in Angadesh, he had been hailed as the finest archer, and he was above almost all the princes and kings present here.

His hands trembled slightly, and with each shot Arjun took, it felt as if the title of the greatest archer was being ripped away from him. It felt as if the pedestal he had stood upon in Angadesh was crumbling beneath him, the ground shifting, leaving him unsteady. Envy twisted in his chest, dark and consuming. How could someone so young, so seemingly effortless, outshine him ?

From a distance, Dronacharya stood under the shade of a sprawling banyan tree, his keen eyes scanning the archery range where the princes were engaged in fierce practice. Each one was making remarkable progress. Dronacharya's heart swelled with pride for his students, but it was tinged with an unsettling tension.

Arjun's arrows flew faster, striking targets with an ease that made the air crackle with admiration. Vasusen, newly arrived and brimming with potential, showcased his extraordinary skill. Satyaki, another formidable contender, showcased his own brilliance. A storm brewed within him; while he reveled in the potential of his students, a shadow loomed over his heart.

His gaze drifted, momentarily, to Ashwathama, who was standing on the sidelines observing the princes with keen eyes. Though formidable in his own right, Dron feared the shadow cast by Arjun's brilliance. He desired greatness for all, but not at the expense of his son. Each perfect shot from Arjun felt like a challenge to the legacy Dron so desperately wished to protect.

"Ashwathama ! Yaha aao putra." Dron called, his voice steady but filled with an undertone of urgency.

His son, standing apart and observing the magnificent display of skill from the young princes, approached with measured steps. A flash of curiosity lit his eyes as he halted before Dronacharya.

"Ji Pitashree ?" he said, his voice steady yet tinged with eagerness.

Dronacharya’s expression softened momentarily, but the tension in his brow remained. "Putra, maine nirnaye liya hai ki ab mai tumhe astro ki gupt-vidya sikhayu." he whispered, his voice low and serious.

Ashwathama’s eyes widened in astonishment, his usual serious demeanor fading. The secret knowledge of hidden weapons, a skill reserved for the most exceptional warriors, was a treasure coveted by all. "Satya mei aap mujhe yeh gyaan denge ?" he stammered, a mix of excitement and disbelief flooding his senses.

Dronacharya nodded, "Keval tumhe."

On the sides of the arena, in one humble thatched hut, Satyashree sat cross-legged on a mat made of woven grass, eyes fixed on Kripi, who gracefully maneuvered a quill across a blank page.

"Aur yeh, putra, hai Mandal-vyuh." She said, her voice melodic yet firm.

With each stroke, she sketched intricate battle formations, the lines swirling into disciplined rows of warriors and chariots. Satyashree nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. Yet, his gaze periodically drifted towards the sunlight streaming through the hut’s entrance.

Outside, the sound of twanging bows echoed through the air. He could see the other princes, tall and confident, unleashing arrows with precision, their faces alight with the thrill of competition. Almost from all the kingdoms of Bharatvarsh, the princes had arrived. The irony wasn't lost on him—though blessed with divine prowess, here he was, confined to the teachings of scriptures while others flourished with weapons in hand.

He knew he must quickly prove himself to Dron, to earn the right to grasp a weapon and join his peers in the art of weapons. He only needed to see a weapon’s art once to master it, yet time slipped through his fingers like sand. Each moment spent in the hut felt like a delay.

Just then as Kripi raised her head, he quickly diverted his gaze back to her, his eyes meeting hers.

"Samajh aya ?" She asked, her tone gentle yet probing.

Satyashree nodded smilingly, "Ji Gurumata."

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A/N

Awle bechaare Yuddheshwar ko koi shashtra uthaane nahi de raha 🤣

Also Gurudev, this is not good okay 🌝
Akele akele apne bete ko sikhayenge sab 🌝