A moonless night cloaked the training yard in Hastinapura, the sky a vast black shroud unbroken by stars or silver light. Silence hung heavy, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in a distant wind and the occasional chirp of a lone cricket. Small bells dangled from wooden posts scattered across the packed earth, their metal glinting faintly in the pitch dark, invisible to the eye but poised to sing. The air was cool and still, carrying the earthy scent of dust and straw, a quiet void stretching wide and deep, ready to test the princes' ears and arrows.
Drona stood at the yard's center, his lean frame a shadow in the blackness, his tattered white robes barely discernible without torchlight. His gray hair was tied back, and his dark eyes gleamed with a stern, focused intensity as he faced the Kuru princes. In one hand, he held his staff, its tip resting on the ground; the other clutched a small stick, ready to strike the bells. The princes gathered around him, their tunics rustling softly, their breaths puffing in the chill as they peered into the dark, bows in hand.
Bhima rocked on his heels, his massive frame shifting the earth beneath him, his broad grin flashing even in the gloom as he slapped his bow against his thigh. "No moon tonight, guru?" he said, his voice booming through the silence, startling the cricket into a brief hush. "This is spooky! We fighting shadows or something fun?"
Drona turned to him, his expression calm but unyielding, his voice cutting through the dark with steady force. "No shadows, Bhima," he said, his tone deep and firm, stilling the yard for a moment. "Sound. Tonight's shabda-bhedi. Shooting by ear alone. I've hung bells out there." He tapped his stick against a nearby post, and a faint, silvery chime rang out, fading fast. "Listen for them. Hit them. Sight's no use now."
Bhima's grin widened, his eyes glinting with mischief as he laughed loud, the sound bouncing off the walls. "By ear?" he said, his tone bright and eager, grabbing an arrow from his quiver. "That's a wild one, guru! I'll smash those bells! They won't know what hit them!"
"Smash less, hear more," Drona replied, his voice dry and patient, handing him the stick's echo as a guide. "One shot each time I ring. Start when you're ready."
Arjuna stepped closer, his lean form quiet and still, his sandals silent on the earth as he gripped his bow. His tunic brushed the ground, his breath steady, and his dark eyes narrowed into the blackness with a calm focus. "Sound alone," he said, his voice soft but thrilled, glancing at Drona. "This is a real challenge, guru. How many bells?"
"Five," Drona said, his gaze settling on Arjuna with a flicker of warmth, his tone firm. "Hidden wide. Hone your ears. They'll lead you."
Ashwatthama moved up beside him, his wild hair a faint outline in the dark, his eyes bright with a fierce spark as he nocked an arrow. "I'll hit them all," he said, his voice low and eager, his bow creaking slightly. "Let's see who's fastest, Father."
"Good," Drona said, his pride clear, nodding at his son. "Match the best here. Begin."
The princes fanned out, their footsteps fading into the dark, the yard a sea of silence pierced by their breaths and the creak of wood. Bhima stomped forward, his massive hands fumbling with his bow as he nocked an arrow. "Right, bells!" he shouted, his voice ringing loud, shattering the quiet. "Ring one, guru! I'm ready!"
Drona struck a post with his stick, and a faint chime tinkled through the dark, its sound drifting left, then right, a ghostly whisper. Bhima drew his bow, his muscles bulging, and fired with a grunt. The arrow whistled through the air, thudding into the earth with a dull thump, missing wide, and he laughed, shaking his head. "Ha!" he said, his tone bright and unbothered. "That was nowhere close! Ring another!"
"Listen, don't guess," Drona called, his voice steady and firm, striking a second bell. The chime rang sharper, bouncing off the walls.
Bhima fired again, his arrow thudding off-target into a post, and he grumbled loud, his voice echoing through the yard. "These bells are sneaky!" he said, his frustration raw but cheerful, nocking another. "I'll get one, just keep ringing!"
"Quiet your grumbles," Drona said, his tone dry but kind, stepping closer. "They drown the sound. Focus."
"Focus?" Bhima said, chuckling as he drew again. "I'm focused on not tripping! Ring it!" The next chime sang, and his shot sailed wide, thudding into the dirt, and he flopped onto a bench, laughing loud. "This is tougher than smashing heads!"
Arjuna stood still, his bow drawn, his breath slow and even as he tilted his head. The next bell chimed, its note soft and fleeting, and he listened hard, his fingers steady on the string. "There," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, loosing his shot. The arrow cut through the dark, striking the bell with a clear ping, silencing it, and he smiled faintly, nocking another. "One," he said, his tone soft and calm, turning toward Drona's shadow.
Drona's voice carried over, warm with approval as he struck another. "Good, Arjuna," he said, the chime ringing out. "Keep it sharp."
Ashwatthama shifted nearby, his bow steady, his wild hair swaying as he tracked the sound. The bell chimed again, and he fired fast, his arrow hitting a second bell with a sharp ping, its note cut short. "One," he said, his voice low and fierce, nocking again. "I'm right with you, Arjuna."
"Close," Arjuna said, his tone calm and teasing, loosing his next shot as another chime rang. His arrow struck true, pinging a third bell, and he nodded. "Two."
The yard pulsed with their efforts, the darkness thick with the whistle of arrows and the faint ring of bells—Bhima's loud misses, Arjuna's silent precision, Ashwatthama's fierce strikes. Bhima lumbered back toward Drona, his grumbles loud as he waved his bow. "Nothing yet, guru!" he said, his voice booming and cheerful, shaking out his arm. "These bells are laughing at me! I'll smash them with my hands if I find them!"
"Arrows, Bhima," Drona said, his tone dry but patient, striking another bell. "Not hands."
"Arrows it is!" Bhima replied, grinning as he fired again, missing wide with a thud. "They're too quiet for me!"
Arjuna hit two more bells, his shots steady and unerring, his focus a quiet storm in the dark. "Four," he said, his voice soft and sure, stepping closer to Drona. "It's like they're calling me now."
"Calling?" Drona said, his eyes gleaming in the faint light of a distant torch, his voice warm with pride. "You've honed it, Arjuna. One left."
Ashwatthama struck another, his arrow pinging a fourth bell with a fierce crack, his breath quickening. "Four," he said, his voice low and sharp, turning toward Arjuna's voice. "I'm still here."
"Good," Arjuna said, his tone warm and steady, nocking his final arrow as Drona rang the last bell. The chime sang, and he fired, the arrow striking clean with a clear ping. "Five," he said, his voice soft and triumphant, lowering his bow.
Drona stepped forward, his staff tapping once, his voice ringing clear through the dark. "Enough," he said, his tone warm and final, the silence settling. "Arjuna, five. Ashwatthama, four. Bhima, none."
Bhima sprawled on the bench, his chest heaving, his laugh echoing as he wiped sweat from his brow. "None again!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, grinning wide. "But I've got the loudest grumbles! That's my win, right?"
"Grumbles don't hit," Drona said, his tone dry but fond, shaking his head. "Bells do. You'll get there."
Arjuna set his bow down, his breath steady, his smile warm and quiet. "It's all ears, guru," he said, his voice soft and honest, rubbing his hands. "Took practice, but I felt it."
"You did," Drona replied, his pride clear, clapping Arjuna's shoulder. "That's shabda-bhedi mastered."
Ashwatthama lowered his bow, his wild hair damp, his tone low and fierce. "Four's strong," he said, his eyes flicking to Arjuna. "But five's the mark. I'll catch you next time."
"Looking forward to it," Arjuna said, his voice calm and friendly, a spark of challenge in his smile. "You're close."
Bhima sat up, his grin wide as he stretched his arms. "Close, huh?" he said, his voice loud and teasing, laughing through the dark. "I'm close to smashing something! These bells are tricky!"
"Tricky builds skill," Drona said, his tone patient and amused, gesturing them in. "Rest now. You've earned it."