out
doubt, he has gone to Heaven. Kill this grief of thine, O thou of great
intelligence. They that are of cleansed understandings never languish
when they meet with any calamity. He by whom Drona and Karna and others
were checked in battle,--heroes that were equal to Indra himself in
might--why would not he ascend to Heaven? O irresistible one, do thou
kill this grief of thine. Do not suffer thyself to be swayed by wrath.
That conqueror of hostile cities has attained in that sanctified goal
which depends upon death at the edge of weapons. After the fall of that
hero, this my sister Subhadra stricken with grief, indulged in loud
lamentations, when she saw Kunti, like a female osprey. When she met
Draupadi, she asked her in grief,--'O reverend lady, where are all our
sons? I desire to behold them.' Hearing her lamentations, all the Kaurava
ladies embraced her and wept sitting around her. Beholding (her
daughter-in-law) Uttara, she said,--'O blessed girl, where has thy
husband gone? When he comes back, do thou, without losing a moment,
apprise me of it. Alas, O daughter of Virata, as soon he heard my voice,
he used to come out of his chamber without the loss of a moment. Why does
not thy husband come out today? Alas, O Abhimanyu, thy maternal
uncles--mighty car-warriors--are all hale. They used to bless thee when
they saw thee come here prepared to go out for battle. Do thou tell me
the incidents of battle today as before, O chastiser of foes. Oh. why
dost thou not answer me today--me who am weeping so bitterly?'--Hearing
these lamentations of this daughter of the Vrishni race, Pritha, deeply
afflicted with grief, addressed her and slowly said,--'O Subhadra, though
protected by Vasudeva and Satyaki and by his own sire, thy youthful son
has yet been slain. That slaughter is due to the influence of Time! O
daughter of Yadu's race, mortal thy son was. Do not grieve. Irresistible
in battle, thy son has, without doubt, attained to the highest goal. Thou
art born in a high race of high-souled Kshatriyas. Do not grieve, O thou
of restless glances, O girl of eyes like lotus-petals. Do thou cast thy
eyes on Uttara who is quick with child. O blessed lady, do not yield to
sorrow. This auspicious girl will soon bring forth a son to that hero.'
Having comforted her in this way, Kunti, conversant with every duty, O
perpetuator of Yadu's race, casting off her grief, O irresistible one,
made arrangements for Abhimanyu's obsequial rites, wi