ratulate
me. I heard that Drona had today formed the circular array. None amongst
you, save the boy Abhimanyu, could break that array. I, however, did not
teach him how to come out of that array, after having pierced it. Did you
cause the boy to enter that array? Hath that slayer of heroes, viz., the
son of Subhadra, that mighty bowman, having pierced that array, through
numberless warriors of the enemy in battle, fallen, at last in the fight?
Oh, tell me, how that hero of mighty arms and red eyes, born (in our
line) like a lion on the mountain breast, and equal unto the younger
brother of Indra himself, hath fallen on the field of battle? What
warrior, deprived on his senses by Death ventured to slay that dear son
of Subhadra, that favourite of Draupadi and Kesava, that child ever loved
by Kunti? Equal unto the high-souled Vrishni hero, Kesava, himself in
prowess and learning and dignity, how hath he been slain on the field of
battle? The favourite son of that daughter of the Vrishni race, always
cherished by me, alas, if I do not see him I will repair to the abode of
Yama. With locks ending in soft curls, of tender years, with eyes like
those of a young gazelle, with tread like that of an infuriated elephant,
tall like a Sala offshoot, of sweet speech accompanied with smiles,
quiet, ever obedient to the behest of his superiors, acting like one of
mature years though tender in age, of agreeable speech, reft of vanity,
of great courage and great energy, of large eyes resembling lotus-petals,
kind to those devoted to him, self-restrained, following nothing mean,
grateful, possessed of knowledge, accomplished in weapons, unretreating
from battle, always delighting in fight, and enhancing the fears of foes,
engaged in the welfare of kinsmen, desirous of victory into sires, never
striking first, perfectly fearless in battle, alas, if I do not behold
that son, I will repair to the abode of Yama. In the counting of
car-warriors always reckoned as a Maharatha, superior to me one and a
half times, of tender years, of mighty arms, even dear to Pradyumna and
Kesava and myself, alas, if I do not behold that son I will repair to the
abode of Yama. Of beautiful nose, of beautiful forehead, of fair eyes and
eyebrows and lips, if I do not behold that face, what peace can my heart
have? Melodious as the voice of the male Kokila, delightful, and sweet as
the warblings of the Vina, without listening to his voice, what peace can
my heart ha