The dawn crowd stirred in the cool morning air as we neared the grand arena of Hastinapur. Painted banners snapped in the breeze, and I watched with wide eyes as chariots rolled past, gilded steeds shining in the sun. My heart pounded despite my resolve to remain calm. I, a boy of ten, had sneaked into the gathering — for today, common folk were allowed to watch the princes compete in archery.
"Arjunārya," I reminded myself softly, smiling at the name I had given myself in secret. As Bhadrak, the potter's son, I should have stayed behind; but somewhere inside me a quiet pride bloomed. The city I remembered from dreams stood at my feet again.
The contest field stretched before us, marked by stone pillars with golden crowns atop. Across the field stood the princes of Hastinapur. I recognized them from distant stories: towering Bhima and graceful Arjuna on one side, stern Duryodhana and crafty Dussasana on the other. Even from afar I could feel the weight of destiny in their stances. Bhima flexed his muscled arms, and Arjuna adjusted his quiver with a calm smile. In that moment I wondered: what truths did each of them believe about themselves?
We stood in a cluster of villagers. A Brahmin scowled at us from the edge of the crowd. He spat, "Shudras here? Mind your place, children." Kittu shrank behind me, and I gripped his arm to comfort him.
There — a tall soldier was loudly proclaiming something to a small group of merchants. I caught the last words: "A Pandava will surely triumph." The man's voice was certain, almost like a challenge. My mind stirred: if this were false, if Kuru's fate lay differently… but the sun had not yet risen fully, and I knew better than to use my gift heedlessly. Instead, I simply listened.
As the contest began, strings of polished wood sang with bowstrings drawn tight. Arjuna loosed an arrow and it split the air like a thunderbolt, burying cleanly in a distant target. Gasps rose in the audience. I could almost taste the speed of that arrow on my tongue, even across the field. A chance, just for a heartbeat, to shout a wish — "May he not miss" — flickered in the back of my mind. But instead I stayed silent, marveling at the power of human skill rather than my own subtle art.
Arjunārya felt small among them. Here were kings and heroes, living legends, and I was just a boy with secrets. Yet watching Arjuna's arrow arc perfectly, I could not help but think In another life, under another sky, perhaps I might have been standing on that field.
When the contest ended, the princes departed amid cheers and fanfare. I returned home with dusk turning the sky purple, my young mind buzzing. I had seen greatness today — but I also felt a gentle resolve. One day, I told myself as I lay on my straw mat that night, I will stand without fear in a place like that, and speak truths as grand as these arrows. As the stars watched silently overhead, I drifted to sleep with hopes hiding in my heart.