ick like a shaft or flowing like a stream, and carrying
everything before it like death itself, how canst regard it as available
by thee? How can he, O son of Kunti, wait whose life is shortened every
moment, even like a quantity of collyrium that is lessened each time a
grain is taken up by the needle? He only whose life is unlimited or who
knoweth with certitude what the period of his life is, and who knoweth
the future as if it were before his eyes, can indeed wait for the
arrival of (an expected) time. If we wait, O king, for thirteen years,
that period, shortening our lives, will bring us nearer to death. Death
is sure to overtake every creature having a corporeal existence.
Therefore, we should strive for the possession of our kingdom before we
die. He that faileth to achieve fame, by failing to chastise his foes,
is like an unclean thing. He is a useless burden on the earth like an
incapacitated bull and perisheth ingloriously. The man who, destitute of
strength, and courage, chastiseth not his foes, liveth in vain, I regard
such a one as low-born. Thy hand can rain gold; thy fame spreadeth over
the whole earth; slaying thy foes, therefore, in battle, enjoy thou the
wealth acquired by the might of thy arms. O repressor of all foes, O
king, if a man slaying his injurer, goeth the very day into hell, that
hell becometh heaven to him. O king, the pain one feeleth in having to
suppress one's wrath is more burning than fire itself. Even now I burn
with it and cannot sleep in the day or the night. This son of Pritha,
called Vibhatsu, is foremost in drawing the bow-string. He certainly
burneth with grief, though he liveth here like a lion in his den. This
one that desireth to slay without aid all wielders of the bow on earth,
represseth the wrath that riseth in his breast, like a mighty elephant.
Nakula, Sahadeva, and old Kunti--that mother of heroes, are all dumb,
desiring to please thee. And all our friends along with the Srinjayas
equally desire to please thee. I alone, and Prativindhya's mother speak
unto thee burning with grief. Whatever I speak unto thee is agreeable to
all of them, for all of them plunged in distress, eagerly wish for
battle. Then, O monarch, what more wretched a calamity can overtake us
that our kingdom should be wrested from us by weak and contemptible foes
and enjoyed by them? O king, from the weakness of thy disposition thou
feelest shame in violating thy pledge. But, O slayer of foes, no one
a