tellest me that that Bhishma, who was the foremost of all
warriors and who resembled Indra himself in the feats he achieved, hath
been slain. What can be a greater grief to me than this? Endued with
great intelligence, he that was not slain even by that slayer of hostile
heroes, that Rama, the son of Jamadagni, who defeated in battle crowds of
Kshatriyas repeatedly, he hath now been slain by Sikhandin. Without
doubt, Drupada's son Sikhandin, therefore who hath slain in battle that
bull of Bharata's race, that hero acquainted with the highest weapons,
that brave and accomplished warrior conversant with every weapon, is
superior in energy, prowess, and might to the invincible Vargava endued
with the highest energy. In that encounter of arms who were the heroes
that followed that slayer of foes? Tell me how the battle was fought
between Bhishma and the Pandavas. The army of my son, O Sanjaya, reft of
its hero, is like an unprotected woman. Indeed, that army of mine is like
a panic-struck herd of kine reft of its herdsman. He in whom resided
prowess superior to that of every one, when he was laid low on the field
of battle, what was the state of mind of my army? What power is there, O
Sanjaya, in our life, when we have caused our father of mighty energy,
that foremost of righteous men in the world, to be slain? Like a person
desirous of crossing the sea when he beholds the boat sunk in fathomless
waters, alas, my sons, I ween, are bitterly weeping from grief on
Bhishma's death. My heart, O Sanjaya, is surely made of adamant, for it
rendeth not even after hearing the death of Bhishma, that tiger among
men. That bull among men in whom were weapons, intelligence, and policy,
to an immeasurable extent, how, alas, hath that invincible warrior been
slain in battle? Neither in consequence of weapons nor of courage, nor of
ascetic merit, nor of intelligence, nor of firmness, nor of gift, can a
man free himself from death. Indeed, time, endued with great energy, is
incapable of being transgressed by anything in the world, when thou
tellest me, O Sanjaya, that Santanu's son Bhishma is dead. Burning with
grief on account of my sons, in fact, overwhelmed with great sorrow, I
had hoped for relief from Bhishma, the son of Santanu. When he beheld
Santanu's son, O Sanjaya, lying on earth like the Sun (dropped from the
firmament), what else was made by Duryodhana as his refuge? O Sanjaya,
reflecting with the aid of my understanding, I do not