Gandhari, blessed among women, and Kunti, renowned for her victory and virtue, gathered together with all the royal ladies of the court, each adorned in their finest ornaments and attended by their companions. With joyful hearts, they ascended the high platforms, appearing like celestial beings scaling the peaks of Mount Meru. From every corner of the city, Brahmins, Kshatriyas, and members of all four classes streamed in, eager and swift, drawn by the desire to witness the princes—those skilled masters of weapons—display their prowess. In no time, a vast crowd assembled, every eye alight with anticipation, all wishing to behold the feats of the royal youths. The air vibrated with the sounds of musical instruments and the excited murmurs of the people; the entire assembly surged and swelled, resembling a mighty ocean stirred by a powerful wind. Into this sea of anticipation entered the teacher, Drona, resplendent in white—his garments, sacred thread, hair, and beard all gleaming, his body anointed with white unguents. By his side was his son, Ashvatthama. Together, they strode to the center of the arena, shining like the sun and Mars traversing a cloudless sky. With Vyasa’s blessing, the strongest among the princes performed the ceremonial offerings, and learned Brahmins recited auspicious mantras, conducting the sacred rites. King Dhritarashtra, pleased and generous, bestowed gold, jewels, precious gems, and fine garments upon Drona and Kripa as tokens of honor. After auspicious proclamations wishing happiness and prosperity rang out, the men entered, each carrying various weapons and the necessary equipment for the displays to come. The great chariot-warriors, their finger guards fastened, belts secured, quivers tied, and bows in hand, marched in—O best of the Bharatas! With deep respect, the princes greeted Drona in the midst of the arena, performing the proper honors for both Drona and Kripa. Their hearts filled with joy, they received blessings and, in turn, paid their respects to the weapons, adorning them with offerings of fragrant flowers. The Kauravas themselves honored their weapons, smearing them with red sandalwood paste and adorning them with garlands of red flowers. Their bodies were anointed with the same red sandal paste, and each bore a crimson banner. Their eyes, too, were reddened—whether from excitement or the auspicious unguents—and, with Drona’s permission, these subduers of enemies took up their arms. First, the Kauravas grasped their bows, each one decorated with refined gold. They strung them in various styles, fitting arrows to the taut strings. The twang of bowstrings and the clash of palms echoed, bewildering all who listened. There, led by Yudhishthira, the mighty princes performed wondrous feats of arms, demonstrating their skill without suffering harm. Some arrows fell perfectly upon garlands, others upon the floral crowns adorning targets. Some, with great expertise, struck both large and small marks, releasing their shafts with unerring aim. A few, perhaps anxious about missing, turned their heads away at the crucial moment, while others—bold and amazed—watched every movement intently. The princes struck targets with arrows marked by their own names, riding swiftly on horses and releasing their shafts with dazzling dexterity. The sight of this troop of princes, armed with bows and arrows, was like beholding a city of Gandharvas; the onlookers were filled with awe. Suddenly, hundreds and thousands of voices rose in astonishment, eyes wide, exclaiming, “Well done! Well done!” O Bhārata, the arena rang with their praise. Again and again, the princes demonstrated their skill: with bows in chariot maneuvers, atop elephants and horses, and in single combat, revealing their great strength. Then, taking up swords and shields, they struck at targets, moving with precision and grace on all sides of the arena. All who watched marveled at their agility, skill, splendor, steadiness, and the firm grip with which they wielded sword and shield. Then, Suyodhana (Duryodhana) and Vrikodara (Bhima), ever delighted in rivalry, stepped forward, maces in hand, like two mighty mountains sharing a single peak. With their waists bound, their mighty arms flexed, they stood firm, swelling with pride like two elephants intoxicated by the scent of rut. They circled each other, moving to the right and left, like two elephants of equal strength vying in a contest. Vidura, ever observant, reported to King Dhritarashtra all that Gandhari’s son and the Pandava “elephant” had done, describing every action of the princes in detail. While King Dhritarashtra sat in the arena and Bhima, the strongest of them all, stood ready, the people’s affection and partiality caused them to split into two factions. Cries rang out: “Victory to the king of the Kurus!” “Victory to Bhima!” The multitude’s shouts rose suddenly, filling the air. Seeing the arena like an ocean disturbed by a storm, the wise Bharadvaja (Drona) spoke to his beloved son, Ashvatthama: “Restrain these two mighty heroes, both well-trained. Let not this agitation, born of Bhima and Duryodhana, grow further in the arena.” At his father’s command, Ashvatthama quickly rose and intervened, saying, “Enough, Bhima! Enough, son of Gandhari! Enough of this display, enough of this speed, enough of this daring!” Thus, as the teacher’s son restrained them, those two—surging like oceans agitated by the wind at the end of an age—were checked. Then Drona himself entered the arena and, first quieting the musicians whose music thundered like clouds, spoke: “He who is dearer to me than my own son, skilled in all weapons, equal to Indra’s younger brother—let that Partha be seen now.” At the teacher’s command, Arjuna, having performed all auspicious rites, appeared—his fingers protected by guards, his quiver full, his bow ready in hand. He wore a golden breastplate and shone like a raincloud at sunset, radiant with the sun’s rays and the lightning brilliance of Indra’s own bow.