Mist curled around a grassy field near Hastinapura as dawn broke, its pale light filtering through the haze to paint the blades a soft gold. Wooden staffs stood planted in the earth, their tips jutting up like silent sentinels, while dew clung to the grass, glistening in the cool air. The field stretched wide and quiet, its edges fading into the fog, a battleground trembling with tension, ready to test the princes' skill with a clash of wood and will under the rising sun.
Drona stood at the field's heart, his lean frame steady in the faint light, his tattered white robes fluttering faintly as he brushed mist from his hands. His gray hair was tied back tight, and his dark eyes gleamed with a firm, unyielding fire as he faced the Kuru princes. In one hand, he held his staff, its tip resting on the damp ground; the other gestured toward the planted staffs, calm but commanding. The princes gathered around him, their tunics fresh from the night's rest, their breaths puffing in the chilly air as they rubbed sleepy eyes, curiosity sharpening their gazes.
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 sent mist swirling. "Staffs at dawn, guru?" he said, his voice booming across the field, loud enough to stir the dew. "This is early! We cracking heads with these?"
Drona turned to him, his expression calm but unyielding, his voice weaving through the mist with steady force. "Not cracking, Bhima," he said, his tone deep and firm, hushing the air for a moment. "Disarming. Today you learn to unarm with staffs. Speed and precision. Pair up, take one. Strike when I say."
Bhima's grin stretched wider, his eyes lighting up as he laughed, the sound rumbling over the grass. "Disarming, huh?" he said, his tone bright and eager, grabbing a staff with a grunt. "I'll yank them all out! Let's go, guru!"
"Yank less, twist more," Drona replied, his voice dry and patient, pointing at the staffs. "Five tries each. Take their weapon clean."
Arjuna stepped up beside him, his lean form quiet and still, his sandals silent on the wet grass as he studied the planted staffs. His tunic shimmered with dew, his breath even, and his dark eyes locked on Drona with a steady focus. "Precision's key," he said, his voice soft but clear, glancing at Drona with a nod. "This is sharp, guru. How do we start?"
"Feel the staff," Drona said, his gaze settling on Arjuna with a flicker of warmth, his tone firm. "Grip it light, move it fast. You'll know."
Duryodhana strode forward, his chin high, his dark hair glinting in the dawn as he gripped a staff with both hands. "Move it fast?" he said, his voice low and edged with a smirk, his brow lifting slightly. "I'll strip them bare. No one's taking mine. Guru, I'm ready."
"Show me, then," Drona said, his tone stern and sharp, meeting Duryodhana's smirk with a nod. "Step up. Begin."
The princes spread out, their footsteps squelching the damp earth, the field humming with the clack of wood as they paired off. Bhima lumbered toward Nakula, his staff raised, his laugh booming as he faced his brother. "Here we go!" he shouted, his voice ringing loud, swinging the staff with a grunt. The wood whistled through the mist, aiming for Nakula's grip, but Nakula twisted, his own staff flicking Bhima's free with a thud, sending it spinning to the grass.
"Ha!" Bhima said, his tone bright and unbothered, grabbing another staff as he laughed. "Slippery little rat! I'll get you next time!"
Drona watched from the center, his voice steady and firm as he called over the field. "Good, Nakula!" he said, his tone warm with patience, pointing at Bhima. "Faster, Bhima. Catch the grip!"
"Catch it?" Bhima said, chuckling as he swung again, his staff veering wide as Nakula ducked. "I'll catch him flat!" He lunged, laughing loud, but Nakula disarmed him again, his staff clattering away.
Arjuna paired with Duryodhana, his staff raised, his breath slow and even as he braced in the mist. "Let's try," he said, his voice soft and calm, swinging with a light arc. The wood tapped Duryodhana's staff, testing his hold, and Duryodhana swung back, his strike hard but steady, aiming for Arjuna's grip.
"Try harder," Duryodhana said, his voice low and sharp, his smirk tight as he pressed forward. His staff clacked against Arjuna's, pushing him back a step.
Arjuna smiled faintly, his voice soft and steady as he adjusted his stance. "Hard's not fast," he said, his tone calm and sure, twirling his staff in a sudden spin. The wood hooked Duryodhana's, yanking it free with a flick, and he swung again, landing a mock blow on Duryodhana's chest with a light thud. The Kaurava prince's staff hit the grass, and he froze, his scowl darkening as mist curled around him.
Drona's eyes widened, his voice warm with awe as he stepped closer. "Clean?" he said, his tone lifting slightly, steady despite the fog. "Swift and sure, Arjuna! That's it!"
Duryodhana glared, his voice low and sharp as he kicked at the fallen staff. "Swift?" he said, his tone bitter and edged, his brow furrowing deep. "That was a trick. I'll have you next time, Arjuna."
"No trick," Arjuna said, his voice calm and friendly, lowering his staff with a nod. "Just the move, Duryodhana. You're quick too."
"Quick's not enough," Duryodhana replied, his smirk faint but fierce, his tone sly and cold as he snatched another staff. "Again."
The field pulsed with their efforts, the air thick with the clack of wood and the rustle of grass—Bhima's roaring swings, Arjuna's precise twists, Duryodhana's fierce counters. Bhima lumbered back, his grin wide as he waved his arms. "Two gone!" he shouted, his voice loud and cheerful, laughing through the mist. "These things fly! You're a snake, Nakula!"
"Snake's the trick," Drona said, his tone amused but firm, nodding at him. "Twist, Bhima. Try."
Arjuna faced Duryodhana again, his staff a blur as he struck three more times, disarming him with clean flicks that sent the wood spinning to the grass. "Four," he said, his voice soft and steady, stepping back as Duryodhana swung hard, his grip faltering. On the fifth try, Arjuna spun his staff once more, hooking Duryodhana's free and landing another mock blow, a sharp tap to the shoulder.
Drona stepped forward, his voice warm with pride as he nodded at Arjuna. "Five?" he said, his tone ringing clear, his eyes gleaming. "Flawless, Arjuna. That's finesse."
Duryodhana tossed his staff down, his scowl deep, his voice low and sharp as he brushed mist from his tunic. "Finesse?" he said, his tone bitter and fierce, glaring at Arjuna. "I'll finesse you into the dirt next time. This isn't finished."
"Finished for now," Arjuna said, his voice soft and steady, smiling faintly as he set his staff aside. "You got three, Duryodhana. That's strong."
"Strong's not winning," Duryodhana said, his smirk sharpening, his tone sly and edged as he stormed off, his boots kicking up grass. "I'll get my revenge. Watch me."
Drona watched him go, his voice firm and fair as he leaned on his staff. "Three's no jest," he said, his tone warm but stern, turning to Arjuna. "He'll push harder now. Mind it."
"I will," Arjuna said, his voice soft and honest, nodding at Drona through the mist. "He's got fire, guru."
"Fire needs form," Drona replied, his pride clear, smiling faintly at Arjuna. "You've got both."
Bhima lumbered over, his chest heaving, his grin wide as he clapped Arjuna's back with a thud. "Both?" he said, his voice loud and teasing, laughing through the dawn. "You're a wizard with that stick! I'm still swinging air!"
"Thanks, Bhima," Arjuna said, his voice calm and friendly, smiling back. "Your swing's a storm."
"Storm's right!" Bhima said, chuckling as he stretched his arms, his tone bright and unbothered. "I'll snag one next time!"
"Snag with speed," Drona said, his tone dry but fond, waving them in. "Enough. Arjuna, five disarms, precise and calm. Duryodhana, three, fierce and fast. Bhima, none."
Bhima laughed, hauling himself up, his tunic damp as he shook dew from his hair. "None's my tally!" he said, his voice loud and cheerful, grinning wide. "But I've got the best miss! This field's alive, huh?"
"Alive and tricky," Drona said, his tone amused but firm, shaking his head as mist clung to his robes. "Skill, Bhima. You'll find it."
Arjuna brushed grass from his hands, his breath steady, his smile warm and quiet as he glanced at the staffs. "That was tight, guru," he said, his voice soft and honest, flexing his wrists. "Every move counted."
"It did," Drona replied, his pride clear, nodding at him through the dawn. "That's your strength, Arjuna. Precision and calm."