re, alas, he,
slain and lying on the ground, is now encircled by vultures! He who was
formerly fanned with beautiful fans by fair ladies is now fanned by
(carnivorous) birds with flaps of their wings! Possessed of great
strength and true prowess, this mighty-armed prince, slain by Bhimasena
in battle, sleeps like an elephant slain by a lion! Behold Duryodhana, O
Krishna, lying on the bare ground, covered with blood, slain by Bhimasena
with his mace. That mighty-armed one who had in battle assembled together
eleven Akshauhinis of troops, O Keshava, hath, in consequence of his own
evil policy, been now slain. Alas, there that great bowman and mighty
car-warrior sleeps, slain by Bhimasena, like a tiger slain by a lion!
Having disregarded Vidura, as also his own sire, this reckless, foolish,
and wicked prince hath succumbed to death, in consequence of his
disregard of the old. He who had ruled the earth, without a rival, for
thirteen years, alas, that prince, that son of mine, sleepeth to-day on
the bare ground, slain by his foes. Not long before, O Krishna, I beheld
the Earth, full of elephants and kine and horses, ruled by Duryodhana!
Today, O thou of mighty arms, I see her ruled by another, and destitute
of elephants and kine and horses! What need have I, O Madhava, of life?
Behold, again, this sight that is more painful than the death of my son,
the sight of these fair ladies weeping by the side of the slain heroes!
Behold, O Krishna, the mother of Lakshmana, that lady of large hips, with
her tresses dishevelled, that dear spouse of Duryodhana, resembling a
sacrificial altar of gold. Without doubt, this damsel of great
intelligence, while her mighty-armed lord was formerly alive, used to
sport within the embrace of her lords handsome arms! Why, indeed, does
not this heart of mine break into a hundred fragments at the sight of my
son and grandson slain in battle? Alas, that faultless lady now smells
(the head of) her son covered with blood. Now, again, that lady of fair
thighs is gently rubbing Duryodhana's body with her fair hand. At one time
she is sorrowing for her lord and at another for her son. At one time she
looketh on her lord, at another on her son. Behold, O Madhava, striking
her head with her hands, she falls upon the breast of her heroic spouse,
the king of the Kurus. Possessed of complexion like that of the filaments
of the lotus, she still looketh beautiful like a lotus. The unfortunate
princess now rubbeth