sha of a car, and covered that bull
among car-warriors therewith, like clouds pouring torrents of rain. With
his own shafts resembling snakes of virulent poison, Drona's son,
however, in that battle, quickly dispelled that arrowy shower before it
could reach him. He then pierced that chastiser of foes, viz.,
Ghatotkacha, that prince of the Rakshasas, with hundreds of keen and
swift-coursing arrows, all capable of penetrating into the very vitals.
Thus pierced with those shafts by Aswatthaman, that Rakshasa, on the
field of battle, looked beautiful, O monarch, like a porcupine with
quills erect on its body. Then the valiant son of Bhimasena, filled with
rage, mangled the son of Drona with many fierce arrows, whizzing through
the air with the roar of thunder. And he rained on Aswatthaman a perfect
shower of arrows of diverse kinds; some, equipped with heads like razors;
some, shaped as the crescent; some, only pointed; some, frog-faced; some,
with heads resembling the boar's ear; some, barbed; and some of other
species.[221] Like the wind dispersing mighty masses of clouds, Drona's
son, O king, without his senses being agitated, destroyed with his own
terrible arrows, inspired by mantras with the force of celestial weapons,
that fierce, unbearable and unrivalled shower of weapons, whose sound
resembled the roar of thunder, and which fell incessantly upon him. It
seemed then that another encounter was taking place in the welkin between
weapons (as the combatants), which was terrible, and which, O king,
filled the warriors with awe. With the sparks all around, generated by
the clash of the weapons, shot by those two warriors, the welkin looked
beautiful as illumined by myriads of fire-flies in the evening. Drona's
son then, filling all the points of the compass with his shafts, shrouded
the Rakshasa himself, for doing what was agreeable to thy sons. Then
commenced a battle once more between Drona's son and the Rakshasa on that
night of thick darkness, which resembled the encounter between Sakra and
Prahlada. Then Ghatotkacha, filled with rage, struck Drona's son, in that
battle, on the chest with ten shafts, each resembling the Yuga-fire.
Deeply pierced by the Rakshasa, the mighty son of Drona began to tremble in
that battle like a tall tree shaken by the wind. Supporting himself by
holding the flagstaff, he swooned away. Then all thy troops, O king,
uttered cries of Oh and Alas. Indeed, O monarch, all thy warriors then
regar