wrong, remain fearlessly. How could they in battle venture even to gaze
at that tiger among men (viz., Arjuna), as he advanced like the
all-destroying Death himself in fury, burning with grief on account of
the slaughter of his son? Beholding that warrior having the prince of
apes on his banner, that hero grieved on account of his son's death
shaking his gigantic bow in battle, what did my warriors do? What, O
Sanjaya, hath befallen unto Duryodhana? A great sorrow hath overtaken us
today. I do not any longer hear the sounds of joy. Those charming sounds,
highly agreeable to the ear, that were formerly heard in the abode of the
Sindhu king, alas those sounds are no longer heard today. Alas, in the
camp of my sons, the sounds of countless bards and panegyrists singing
their praises, and of dances are no longer heard. Formerly, such sounds
used to strike my ears incessantly. Alas, as they are plunged into grief
I do not any longer hear those sounds uttered (in their camp). Formerly,
O Sanjaya, while sitting in the abode of Somadatta who was devoted to
truth, I used to hear such delightful sounds. Alas, how destitute of
(religious) merit I am, for I observe the abode of my sons today to be
echoing with sounds of grief and lamentations and destitute of every
noise betokening life and energy. In the houses of Vivinsati, Durmukha,
Chitrasena, Vikarna, and other sons of mine, I do not hear the sounds I
used to hear formerly. That great bowman, viz., the son of Drona, who was
the refuge of my sons, upon him Brahmanas and Kshatriyas and Vaisyas, and
a large number of disciples used to wait, who took pleasure day and night
in controversial disputations, in talk, in conversation, in the stirring
music of diverse instruments, and in various kinds of delightful songs,
who was worshipped by many persons among the Kurus, the Pandavas, and the
Satwatas, alas, O Suta, in the abode of that son of Drona no sound can be
heard as formerly. Singers and dancers used, in a large number, to wait
closely upon that mighty bowman, viz., the son of Drona. Alas, their
sounds can no longer be heard in his abode. That loud noise which rose in
the camp of Vinda and Anuvinda every evening, alas, that noise is no
longer heard there. Not in the camp of the Kaikeyas can that loud sound
of song and slapping of palms be heard today which their soldiers,
engaged in dance and revelry, used to make. Those priests competent in
the performance of sacrifices who used