ets, cymbals, drums
and horns were sounded. That noise grew to an uproar. And, standing on
a huge car drawn by white horses, the slayer of Madhu and the son
of Pandu blew their celestial trumpets. Krishna blew his horn called
Panchajanya; the Despiser of Wealth blew his horn called the Gift
of the Gods; he of dreadful deeds and wolfish entrails blew a great
trumpet called Paundra; King Yudishthira, the son of Kunti, blew the
Eternal Victory; Nakula and Sahadeva blew the Sweet-toned and the
Blooming-with-Jewels. The king of Kashi, renowned for the excellence
of his bow, and Shikandin in his huge chariot, Dhrishtyadumna, and
Virata, and Satyaki, unconquered by his foes, and Drupada and the sons
of Drupadi all together, and the strong-armed son of Subhadra, each
severally blew their trumpets. That noise lacerated the hearts of the
sons of Dhartarashtra, and uproar resounded both through heaven and
earth. Now when Arjuna beheld the Dhartarashtras drawn up, and that
the flying of arrows had commenced, he raised his bow, and then
addressed these words to Krishna:

"'Now that I have beheld this kindred standing here near together for
the purpose of fighting, my limbs give way and my face is bloodless,
and tremor is produced throughout my body, and my hair stands on end.
My bow Gandiva slips from my hand, and my skin burns. Nor am I able
to remain upright, and my mind is as it were whirling round. Nor do I
perceive anything better even when I shall have slain these relations
in battle, I seek not victory, Krishna, nor a kingdom, nor pleasures.
What should we do with a kingdom, Govinda? What with enjoyments, or
with life itself? Those very men on whose account we might desire a
kingdom, enjoyments or pleasures are assembled for battle. Teachers,
fathers, and even sons, and grandfathers, uncles, fathers-in-law,
grandsons, brothers-in-law, with connections also,--these I would not
wish to slay, though I were slain myself, O Killer of Madhu! not even
for the sake of the sovereignty of the triple world--how much less
for that of this earth! When we had killed the Dhartarashtras, what
pleasure should we have, O thou who art prayed to by mortals? How
could we be happy after killing our own kindred, O Slayer of Madhu?
Even if they whose reason is obscured by covetousness do not perceive
the crime committed in destroying their own tribe, should we not
know how to recoil from such a sin? In the destruction of a tribe
the eternal institu