The sun cast a golden hue over the Yamuna as the students of Dronacharya's ashram gathered by the riverbank, their laughter mingling with the gentle lapping of water. Each boy, with a pot in hand, leaned forward, watching the stream trickle through the small openings of their vessels. The process was laborious, and frustration danced on their faces as they exchanged glances filled with impatience.

Faces were illuminated by the golden light, revealing expressions ranging from exasperation to amusement as they waited for their containers to fill. They engaged in idle chatter to stave off the monotony. Their voices rose and fell like the morning breeze, punctuated by bursts of laughter and banter. Some speculated about Dronacharya’s next lesson, while others joked about their rivalries.

Amidst the gathered students, Ashwathama crouched over the edge of the river quietly, his pot positioned under the flowing water. In his pot, the cool water gushed in quickly, filling up in mere moments. With a quick glance at the group, he hurried back to the ashram.

A couple of students caught a fleeting glimpse of his departure but dismissed it, lost in their tales and laughter, while others remained oblivious, their focus firmly on the drawn-out task at hand. The river continued to flow, indifferent to the ambitions that stirred just beyond its banks.

As Ashwathama hastened away, Satyashree, a striking figure among the gathering, couldn’t help but watch him leave. The morning sun cast a golden hue over him, causing his fair skin to glow in the light, accentuating the angular contours of his youthful face, which was still soft with the lingering traces of boyhood.

His gaze remained fixed on Ashwathama as the latter vanished into the distance, a knowing smile curving his lips. To the untrained eye, it seemed like mere curiosity, but Satyashree understood the deeper currents of ambition and knowledge flowing through the air. As he turned his gaze back to the river, his muscles flexed slightly, glistening with the morning dew as he drew water into his pot.

"Waise Satyashree," Bheem’s voice broke through his reverie, "Tum Gadayudh aur Malyudh mei itne nipurn kaise huye ?"

"Mujhe bhi yahi puchna tha." Duryodhan, nearby, echoed the same question, "Kis Guru se sikha tumne yeh vidya, Yuyudhaawan ?" His tone was both curious and competitive.

Bheem narrowed his eyes, suspicion rising. Duryodhan, with his ever-watchful demeanor, seemed to keep one ear trained on their conversation, eager to catch any advantage.

Satyashree, unfazed, smiled knowingly. "Rohini-putra Balram. Unhone hi mujhe Gadayudh aur Malyudh sikhaya hai."

The name hung in the air, resonating with those who heard. Bheem nodded, recognition dawning upon him. He had heard from Kunti and other Yadava students, the tales of his legendary feats alongside Krishna—how they valiantly killed various Asuras, thwarted Kamsa’s reign of terror and keep defending Mathura from the relentless assaults of Jarasandh—echoed in Bheem's mind.

Duryodhan’s curiosity piqued at Satyashree's mention of Balram. It was no secret that Duryodhan sought strength, and the prospect of Balram’s tutelage enthralled him, even if he masked it beneath layers of arrogance.

Yudhishthir kept a hand over Bheem's shoulder and said, "Yeh Balram humare Mamashree Vasudev ke Jyesht putra hai."

"Yeh humara saubhagya huya Jyesht." Bheem smiled.

Bheem's attention shifted from the mundane task to Arjun, who seemed absorbed in the water's gentle flow, his eyes fixed on the stream entering his pot. He was completely oblivious to what they were talking about, in fact it seemed he was unaware of everything around him.

"Arjun ?" Bheem called, his voice breaking through the spell. He tapped Arjun on the shoulder, shaking him from his reverie.

Arjun blinked, his focus shifting from the water to Bheem, curiosity evident in his gaze. "Ji Bhrata ?"

"Mujhe bhook lagne lagi hai. Parnkutir mei maine moongfali ki ek potli rakhi thi, jaao woh le aao." Bheem said, a smile stretching across his face as he grabbed Arjun’s pot, "Tumhari matki mai bhar dunga."

Arjun shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips, amusement lacing his voice. "Jo aagya."

He stood up, brushing off the dirt from his knees. There was a bounce in his step as he prepared to dash back to their hut.

"Piche wale raste se jaayiyega, Rajkumar !" Satyashree called out, a knowing smile plastered on his face. "Jaldi pahuchenge."

Arjun’s eyes brightened at the suggestion. "Uchit kaha tumne !"

He turned away and darted through the underbrush. The cool morning air filled his lungs as he deftly navigated the winding path, each step bringing him closer to Dronacharya's ashram. This shorter route, was a familiar path lined with ancient trees and fragrant wildflowers, with an earthy scent that invigorated him. The sounds of chirping birds and the rustle of leaves surrounded him, a symphony of nature awakening to the day.

In just moments, he emerged at the ashram’s backyard, where the air was rich with the aroma of fresh earth and the remnants of last night’s fire. He slipped through the unlatched door of the modest hut that served as their living quarters. Inside, the atmosphere was calm and still. His eyes quickly landed on the bundle of peanuts resting on the small desk of Bheem. 

As Arjun emerged from the hut, clutching the bundle of peanuts, the morning sun cast a golden hue over the ashram. But his attention was suddenly drawn to a rhythmic chanting echoing through the air. Frowning in curiosity, he followed the sound, weaving through the trees until he reached a clearing where Dronacharya and Ashwathama stood.

The sight before him was astonishing—Dron, with a focused intensity, held a divine weapon that shimmered with ethereal light, and Ashwathama, eyes alight with reverence, reached out eagerly to accept the divine gift.

"O Maheshwara..." Arjun's heart raced. He had never witnessed such a weapon, its very presence exuding a power that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the universe.

In that moment, realization dawned upon Arjun like the first light of dawn. This was why Ashwathama consistently left early from the river. Arjun’s heart brimmed not with envy, but with a resolute determination, a pure resolve shining in his innocent eyes. He felt a calling, a deep-seated desire to learn what Dronacharya had bestowed upon his son.

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A/N

What do you think Arjun will do ? 🌝

Reading this story I felt Arjun was on some Tenali Rama level shit, because my god his brain and intellect ! 🤣🤣🤣