The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the ashram. Young princes and aspiring warriors moved purposefully, embodying the spirit of discipline ingrained in them by their revered teacher.

In one corner, a group of students carefully laid their bows aside, their faces etched with concentration as they crafted arrows from slender wood. Each arrow was shaped with precision, destined for the targets in upcoming training sessions. Some, fresh from the forest, returned with sturdy bundles of firewood balanced on their shoulders.

Nearby, others focused on the gleaming blades of swords and daggers, honing their edges against rough stones. The sharp metallic sounds resonated, blending with the laughter and chatter of youthful camaraderie. Their eyes sparkled with determination as they transformed ordinary steel into instruments of prowess.

The young Satyashree walked through the bustling grounds, his fair skin glowing like a beacon amidst the earthy tones of the ashram. His wavy hair, tied in a half bun, danced lightly with each step, while his fiery orange eyes scanned the activities around him.

He felt a weight in his chest—a yearning to prove himself worthy of wielding those very weapons. Dronacharya had deemed him too young, urging him to immerse himself in scriptures instead. Satyashree knew he needed to showcase his skills, to demonstrate that his youth did not dictate his potential. But how ?

As he strolled through the vibrant ashram, he suddenly paused, drawn to the wrestling arena. There, he spotted Bheem and Satyaki, diligently toiling the muddy ground, preparing it for the impending wrestling bout. Their hands moved rhythmically, shaping the earth into a suitable ring.

Nearby, Duryodhan, Dushashan and Vasusen were engaged in their own preparations, arranging hefty maces with meticulous care. An idea began to brew in Satyashree’s mind, and a mischievous smile crept onto his lips. Perhaps this was the opportunity he sought.

Satyashree ambled toward the wrestling arena, he stretched his arms wide, groaning exaggeratedly. "Uff ho..."

Satyaki and Bheem, knee-deep in preparation, paused to glance at him. Duryodhan and Vasusen exchanged skeptical looks, their brows furrowing at the sight of the youngest prince, seemingly out of place amidst the brawny warriors.

"Kya huya Anuj ?" Satyaki asked.

Satyashree feigned exhaustion, his voice laced with faux sincerity. "Kya batayu Bhrata, din bhar baithe baithe shaashtra padhne se mera pura tan akad gaya hai. Socha yaha aake Malyudh karlu."

Duryodhan, overhearing the exchange, turned with an amused glint in his eye. He was secretly thrilled at the chance to teach a lesson to Satyashree, whose fiery spirit often annoyed him. He looked at Dushashan, who understood what his brother meant immediately.

"Uttam vichaar hai, Satyashree." Dushashan drawled, his voice dripping with faux camaraderie, with a faint smirk on his lips. "Malyudh se tumhe awashya vishram milega."

With a feigned friendly smile that concealed his malice, he stepped into the center of the muddy pit. He tightened his garment, the fabric clinging to his muscular frame, showcasing his strength. "Tum chaaho toh mere saath dwand kar sakte ho."

Satyashree regarded him, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He sensed Duryodhan and Dushashan's intention, but this was precisely the opportunity he craved. "Mujhe Ati-anand aayega."

Bheem, watching from the sidelines, narrowed his eyes. He could sense the tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud. His brow furrowed, not entirely at ease with the idea of Dushashan toying with Satyashree.

"Tum ek balak se ladoge ?" He asked, his voice low and serious.

Duryodhan chuckled, a mocking glint in his eye. "Woh toh bas khelega, Bheem. Tum adhik chinta mat karo."

Before Bheem could retort, Vasusen stepped forward, his expression a blend of disdain and mischief. "Woh bal kaisa jisko parkha na jaaye ?" he asserted, leaning closer to Duryodhan as if to further provoke.

With a gentle grip, Satyaki clasped Bheem's arm, his tone light yet persuasive. "Kuch nahi hoga, yudh karne de dono ko."

There was a twinkle in Satyaki’s eyes, a shared secret with his younger brother. With a reluctant nod, Bheem stepped back at the edge of the arena.

Satyashree, feigning innocence, regarded the elder warriors with a glimmer of amusement. He understood the game they were playing. With determination, Satyashree tied back his wavy hair into a tight bun, his fiery orange eyes glinting with mischief.

He adjusted his attire, tightening his garments, his gaze fixed on Dushashan, who stood opposite him, a predatory grin stretching across his face. Dushashan squared his shoulders, muscles rippling under the fabric of his garment. With a swift motion, both princes lunged towards one another.
.
.
.
.
.
.

The atmosphere in the ashram shifted as the sound of screams and groans echoed throughout the wrestling arena, drawing the attention of all the students. Eyes widened with a mix of curiosity and alarm, they rushed toward the wrestling arena, where the tension thickened like the humid evening air.

Dronacharya, alerted by the commotion, hurriedly approached, a frown marring his usually composed face. As he arrived, the throng of students parted, granting him a clear view of the spectacle unfolding before him.

His gaze froze, wide-eyed, as he beheld the unexpected scene within the arena: Dushashan, the mighty Kaurava prince, lay helplessly on the ground, trapped in a lock of Satyashree’s arms. Satyashree’s eyes gleamed with determination as he applied pressure, his youthful face betraying both focus and triumph.

Dushashan struggled, muscles taut, but the strength of the Yadava prince was unmatched in that moment. Satyashree had managed to ensnare the mightiest of warriors in a chokehold.

Bheem stood on the sidelines, his eyes wide with awe, marveling at Satyashree’s unexpected prowess. While Satyaki, with an air of proud satisfaction, stood tall beside him, admiration radiating from him for his younger brother. Meanwhile, Duryodhan and Vasusen's expression soured; their eyes narrowed, discomfort washing over them as Dushashan writhed helplessly.

Gasps echoed among the onlookers. The Pandavas—Yudhishthir, Arjun, Nakul, and Sahadev—stood frozen in their tracks, eyes wide with shock and awe. Dron’s lips parted in disbelief; the sight of the smaller, younger Satyashree dominating Dushashan was astonishing.

It took a moment for Dron to regain his composure. Steeling himself, he stepped forward, "Satyashree, chhodo use !" he called, his voice steady but laced with authority.

Satyashree, his orange eyes sparkling with confidence, complied instantly. As he relinquished his grip, Dushashan gasped, scrambling for air, disbelief etched across his face. Dronacharya approached, his gaze shifting between the panting Dushashan and the triumphant Satyashree.

In that moment, he saw more than a boy; he saw a raw, divine strength that transcended mere training. It was a power unrefined, yet unmistakable. A thrill coursed through Dron as realization dawned—this young Yadava had something in him that was beyond mortal comprehension.

"Vats," Dron's voice, steady yet laced with awe, "Yadi mujhe tumhare bal ke baare mei gyaan hota toh mai pehle din tumhare haatho mei shahstra de deta...."

The assembled princes held their breath, sensing a shift in the air. A surge of joy coursed through Satyashree as he let a bright smile bloom across his face. He had anticipated this moment, and it filled him with vindication.

Dron's stern demeanor softened, and a hint of warmth flickered in his eyes. "Kal se baaki Rajkumaro ke saath, tumhari bhi shashtra-vidya prarambh hogi."

"Dhanyawad Gurudev." Satyashree joined his hands and smiled.

□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□□
A/N

Ab jisne Balram se Malyudh sikha hai, usko kaun hara sakta hai ? 🌝