Mist rose from the river as dusk settled over a widened stretch near Hastinapura, its waters dark and restless, dotted with floating logs that bobbed in the swirling current. The forest loomed silent along the banks, its trees casting long shadows that danced on the ripples, while the air grew cool and damp, carrying the earthy scent of wet wood and moss. The logs rocked gently, slick with moisture, a shifting battlefield glowing faintly under the fading sun, ready to test the princes' nerve with every step and swing.
Drona stood on the muddy bank, his lean frame steady in the twilight, his tattered white robes fluttering faintly as he wiped mist from his brow. His gray hair was tied back tight, and his dark eyes gleamed with a stern, amused fire as he faced the Kuru princes. In one hand, he held his staff, its tip sinking into the soft earth; the other rested on a stack of wooden swords, their handles worn but solid. The princes gathered around him, their tunics damp from the day's work, their breaths puffing in the chilly air as they peered at the logs, excitement and doubt flickering in their eyes.
Bhima rocked on his heels, his massive frame rustling the grass, his broad grin flashing wide as he clapped his hands with a loud thud that echoed over the water. "Logs today, guru?" he said, his voice booming through the stillness, startling a bird from the trees. "This is wild! We fighting on those? I'll crush them!"
Drona turned to him, his expression calm but unyielding, his voice cutting through the dusk with steady force. "Not crushing, Bhima," he said, his tone deep and firm, hushing the air for a moment. "Balancing. You'll spar atop the logs with swords. One foot wrong, and you're in. Skill and nerve, not strength."
Bhima's grin stretched wider, his eyes lighting up as he laughed, the sound rumbling over the river. "Nerve, huh?" he said, his tone bright and eager, grabbing a sword from the stack with a grunt. "I've got plenty! I'll dance on those logs and win! Let's go, guru!"
"Dance less, stand firm," Drona replied, his voice dry and patient, pointing at the water. "Pair up. Five strikes each. Begin when I say."
Arjuna stepped up beside him, his lean form quiet and still, his sandals silent on the mud as he studied the bobbing logs. His tunic clung with dampness, his breath even, and his dark eyes traced the shifting wood with a steady focus. "Balance changes everything," he said, his voice soft but clear, glancing at Drona with a nod. "This is big, guru. Any advice?"
"Trust your feet," Drona said, his gaze settling on Arjuna with a flicker of warmth, his tone firm. "Feel the sway. Move with it. You'll see."
Duryodhana strode forward, his chin high, his dark hair glinting in the fading light as he gripped a sword tight. "Trust my feet?" he said, his voice low and edged with a smirk, his brow lifting slightly. "I'll master this. No one's knocking me off. Guru, I'm ready."
"Prove it," Drona replied, his tone stern and sharp, meeting Duryodhana's smirk with a nod. "Step on. Show me."
The princes waded into the shallows, their footsteps splashing as they climbed onto the logs, the river humming with the clack of wood and the creak of shifting timber. Bhima leapt onto a log with a thud, his massive frame rocking it wildly, his laugh booming as he flailed his arms. "Here we go!" he shouted, his voice ringing loud, the water sloshing around him. He swung his sword high, aiming at Nakula on a nearby log, his muscles bulging. The log tipped, his strike slicing air, and he toppled with a roar, splashing into the river with a massive wave.
"Ha!" Bhima said, his tone bright and unbothered, popping up with a grin as water streamed from his hair. "This thing's alive! I'll get it next time!"
Drona watched from the bank, his voice steady and firm as he called over the splash. "Next time's now, Bhima!" he said, his tone warm with patience, pointing at the log. "Up. Balance first, then strike!"
"Balance?" Bhima said, chuckling as he hauled himself back on, the log wobbling under his weight. "I'm balancing a mountain!" He swung again, his sword veering wide as the log spun, and he flopped back into the water, laughing loud. "This is a beast! I'm swimming more than fighting!"
"Swimming's not the test," Drona said, his tone dry but kind, waving him to try again. "Stand, Bhima."
Arjuna stepped onto a log, his sword raised, his breath slow and even as he braced against the sway. "Steady," he murmured, his voice soft and lost to the mist, swinging with a light arc at Duryodhana on the next log. The blade tapped Duryodhana's arm, his footing sure, and he leapt to another log, striking again with a clean tap. "Two," he said, his tone calm and steady, glancing at Drona through the dusk.
Drona's eyes widened, his voice warm with awe as he stepped closer to the bank. "Two?" he said, his tone lifting slightly, steady despite the gurgle. "On the move? That's it, Arjuna! More!"
Duryodhana gripped his sword tighter, his scowl faint but fierce, his voice low and sharp as he steadied his log. "On the move?" he said, his tone bitter and edged, swinging at Arjuna with a grunt. The blade missed as Arjuna leapt aside, landing lightly on another log, and Duryodhana's log rocked, his balance wavering. "Stand still!" he said, his voice sharp and proud, lunging again.
Arjuna twisted, his sword flashing in a swift arc, tapping Duryodhana's shoulder as he leapt to a third log. "Three," he said, his voice soft but sure, his eyes locked on his rival.
The river thrummed with their efforts, the air thick with splashes and the clack of wood—Bhima's roaring falls, Arjuna's agile strikes, Duryodhana's fierce swings. Bhima hauled himself up again, his tunic soaked, his laugh echoing as he waved his sword. "I'm sunk!" he shouted, his voice loud and cheerful, splashing back onto a log. "These things hate me! You lot are flying!"
"Flying's the trick," Drona said, his tone amused but firm, nodding at him. "Stay up, Bhima. Try."
Arjuna leapt between logs, his sword a blur as he struck twice more, tapping Duryodhana's chest and arm with precise flicks. "Five," he said, his voice soft and steady, landing lightly as Duryodhana swung hard, his log tipping. Arjuna twisted again, his blade knocking Duryodhana's sword free with a clatter, sending the Kaurava prince splashing into the river with a grunt.
Duryodhana popped up, his scowl dark, his voice low and sharp as he wiped water from his face. "Lucky shot!" he said, his tone bitter and fierce, splashing to the bank. "You won't get me again, Arjuna!"
"Lucky?" Arjuna said, his voice calm and teasing, stepping off his log with a smile. "That was five, Duryodhana. Skill, not luck."
Drona stepped forward, his voice warm with pride as he nodded at Arjuna. "Five?" he said, his tone ringing clear, his eyes gleaming. "Clean and swift, Arjuna. That's balance. Well done."
Bhima flopped onto the bank, his chest heaving, his grin wide as he shook water from his arms. "He's a bird!" he said, his voice loud and teasing, laughing through the wet. "I'm a rock! No hits, but I've got the best splash, huh?"
"Splash isn't victory," Drona said, his tone dry but fond, gesturing him to sit. "Balance is. Rest there."
Duryodhana trudged out, his tunic dripping, his scowl deep as he crossed his arms. "He jumped too much," he said, his voice low and sharp, glaring at Arjuna. "I'll stand my ground next time. This isn't over."
"Ground's what moves," Arjuna said, his voice soft and friendly, brushing water from his hands. "You fought well, Duryodhana. Three's solid."
"Solid's not enough," Duryodhana replied, his smirk faint but fierce, his tone sly and edged. "I'll top you yet."
Drona called them in, his voice cutting through the dusk, his staff tapping once, twice. "Enough," he said, his tone warm and final, the river settling under the mist. "Arjuna, five hits, agile and sure. Duryodhana, three, fierce and strong. Bhima, none."
Bhima laughed, hauling himself up, his chest heaving as he shook like a dog. "None's my mark!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, grinning wide. "But I've got the loudest fall! These logs know me now, huh?"
"Know you and bucked you," Drona said, his tone amused but firm, shaking his head as mist clung to his robes. "Nerve, Bhima. You'll find it."
Arjuna set his sword down, his breath steady, his smile warm and quiet as he wiped his face. "That was tight, guru," he said, his voice soft and honest, flexing his legs. "Every step fought back."
"It did," Drona replied, his pride clear, nodding at him through the twilight. "And you fought with it. That's your gift, Arjuna."
Bhima lumbered over, his laugh booming as he clapped Arjuna's back with a wet thud. "Gift?" he said, his voice loud and teasing, grinning through the damp. "You're a squirrel out there! I'll stick to smashing, but you're a champ!"
"Thanks, Bhima," Arjuna said, his voice calm and friendly, smiling back. "Your splash was epic."
"Epic's right!" Bhima said, chuckling as he stretched his arms, his tone bright and unbothered. "I'll master these logs someday!"