Im Still Sick - Blog Posts

The Sword

It had started, oddly enough, with failure.

Arjuna-yes, that Arjuna- had all but dropped his sword in the first lesson. Not misplaced. Not handed it over politely. Dropped it. Right in front of Acharya Drona.

The sword clattered like a gong struck too hard, bouncing once on the sun-baked stones and landing neatly at Drona’s feet. Arjuna winced. He was eleven. Mortified.

Drona hadn’t moved. He stared at the boy, eyes unreadable.

Arjuna, cheeks flaming, bent to retrieve it.

“Pick it up again,” Drona said, voice as smooth as dry flint. “Try again.”

No sighs. No comfort. No dismissal.

Just a command from his Acharya and Arjuna bowed his head and obeyed.

The bow had come naturally; it felt like it belonged to him before he ever touched it. But the sword? The sword was different. Intimate. Rebellious. Too close. It demanded something else from him…

Grit?? Grit he hadn’t yet named, but would come to know well. So, he decided to conquer it.

Not out of spite. Not even out of ambition.

He just didn’t like the feeling of losing.

By the end of the week, he’d snapped five wooden swords in half. The servants started hiding the practice ones. By the end of the month, Drona had stopped offering encouragement and simply begun showing up- arms crossed, silent, watching.

In the evenings, when the other princes wandered off to dinner or drowsy afternoons, Arjuna stayed back, panting in the dust, swinging again and again. Sand stuck to his elbows. Sweat soaked through his kurta. He never complained.

“Faster,” Drona would say.

So, Arjuna would try. Bleeding palms, shaking legs- he would try.

He was small, still growing into his limbs, quiet in ways that unnerved even Bhima. But when he moved- when he moved- it was like memory. Not the clumsy rhythm of boys mimicking heroes, but something older. Something remembered in the bones.

Drona saw it early, before the others did.

Before Bhima laughed at Arjuna’s scowl when he lost footing. Before Yudhishthira began smiling after each of Arjuna’s lessons. Before Karna appeared, brilliant and burning, to challenge everything they thought they knew.

Arjuna learned to parry by candlelight. Practiced forms in his dreams. Drona once caught him miming strikes against his own shadow, alone beneath the stars.

He trained with Bhima’s heavier sword, tied sandbags to his wrists, swung through rain until his arms trembled.

Once, when Drona caught him practicing by moonlight, the torchlight casting shadows like dancing ghosts, he asked dryly, “Why are you still up?”

Arjuna didn’t stop, “Because I still don’t like how it feels in my hands.” He paused, flashed a grin. “But soon I will.”

Drona didn’t smile often. But that night, he very nearly did.

-----------------------------------------------

Nakula was spying again.

He would call it “observing,” of course. For educational purposes. Strategic even. Definitely not “lurking under the shade of a pomegranate tree while your overly talented brother glowed like a demigod in motion.”

Arjuna was in the courtyard, training... Like always… Sword in hand, light on his feet, moving with that fluid, maddening grace of his. There was no other word for it. He made swordplay look charming.

It was the worst. Nakula sighed dramatically and plucked a guava from a nearby branch.

He didn’t hate how good Arjuna was- no one did. You couldn’t. It was like hating the sun for rising. But sometimes, just sometimes, Nakula wanted to throw a sandal at him. Lovingly. Supportively. A sandal full of affection.

He watched as Arjuna spun, then halted in a perfect guard position.

Perfect, of course.

“Show-off,” Nakula muttered fondly around a bite of guava. Arjuna looked up. “Nakula,” he called, without turning. “I can feel your glare from here.”

“Wasn’t glaring,” Nakula said, hopping off the low wall. “I was admiring. Huge difference.”

Arjuna wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “You’re always admiring me these days. Should I be concerned?”

“Only if it goes to your head,” Nakula quipped, strolling over. “Which it already has. In fact, your head’s so swollen, I’m amazed it doesn’t throw off your balance mid-spin.”

Arjuna grinned. “Careful, or I’ll make you spar with me.”

“Threats. How loving.” But Nakula held out his hand, and Arjuna, without hesitation, passed him the sword. Nakula staggered under the weight.

“Are you training with Bhima’s sword again?”

“I like the resistance,” Arjuna said casually. “Helps with wrist strength.”

“You need help?” Nakula asked sweetly. “After only four hours of training this morning?”

Arjuna rolled his eyes but smiled. “You wouldn’t understand. You were napping through most of it.”

“I was conserving energy. In case I needed to, I don’t know- rescue you from a particularly dramatic hair-related duel.”

“Once,” Arjuna groaned. “You bring it up once, and it haunts me for years.”

Nakula snickered, then shifted into a stance; feet shoulder-width apart, blade angled down. Not perfect. Not terrible either.

Arjuna stepped behind him and adjusted his shoulders. “You’ve been practicing.”

Nakula didn’t look at him. “A bit.”

“You could ask me to teach you.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Nakula mumbled. “You already train enough.” Arjuna blinked. “Bother me? Nakula, I taught a monkey to climb trees last week because you told me it looked sad.”

Nakula snorted. “You didn’t!”

“I did. You know I did!” Nakula turned, grinning. “Alright, fine. Teach me, O great monkey-whisperer.”

Arjuna mock-bowed. “With pleasure.”

They trained until the sun dipped low. Arjuna taught patiently, correcting with humor. Nakula asked questions. Snuck in jokes. Got whacked once with the flat of the blade for laughing too hard when Arjuna stumbled over a rock.

And through it all, Nakula felt something bubble in his chest, warmth. Not jealousy. Not even the need to compete.

Just the simple, honest desire to be good enough to stand beside his brother.

Not behind him. Beside him.

So that someday, on some battlefield or in some moment that mattered, Arjuna might look at him and nod, not because he had to, but because he meant it. Because Nakula had earned it.

At last, Arjuna clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’re improving fast.”

“I’m charming,” Nakula said. “And secretly brilliant.”

Arjuna grinned. “Not so secret anymore.”

They stood together in the golden dusk, laughter fading into quiet. The sword felt lighter in Nakula’s grip now. Nakula raised the sword again, testing a stance. Arjuna adjusted his footwork without a word, smiling.

And just for a moment, Nakula imagined them side by side on a real battlefield someday; not as brothers trailing behind legends, but as legends together.

That would be enough. That would be everything.

How does one make their Wattpad story look so pretty?? Also any Arjun-centric stories I can read???

Help me. My stories just look dull, and I, for the love of god, can't find good photos or anything to make it more pretty.

Please give me suggestions. How do I make my work more pretty? Also should I shift to ao3? I've never used it but it intrigues me.

Also, are there any good Arjuna-centric stories or fics I can read? My mind is in a block these days and I wish I could read some stories to restart my mind?