Vaishampayana said Secing Duryodhana, Gandhari, deprived of her senses by grief, suddenly dropped down on the Earth like an uprooted plantain tree.

Having regained her consciousness soon, she began to weep and lament seeing her son lying on the bare ground, bathed in blood.

Embracing her son, Gandhari bewailed piteously. Stricken with grief, and growing unconscious, the Kuru queen exclaimed, 'Alas, O son!' 'Alas, O son.'

Burning with grief, the queen wetted with her tears the body of her son, possessed of massive and broad shoulders, and adorned with garlands and collar. Addressing Hrishikesha, who stood by her, she said,-'On the eve on this battie, O powerful one, that had exterminated this race, this foremost of kings, O Vrishny hero, said to me,-In this civil battle, O mother, wish me success!-When he said these words, myself, knowing that a great calamity had befallen us, told him, O foremost of men, Victory is there where righteousness is.

And since, O son, you are bent upon fighting a battle. you will, forsooth, obtain those regions that can be gained by weapons and sport there like a celestial.

These were the words that I then said to him. I did not then grieve for my son. I am, however, sorry for the helpless Dhritarashtra deprived of friends and kinsmen.

Look, O Madhava, at my son, that best of warriors, wrathful, expert in weapons, and irresistible in battle, sleeping on the bed of heroes.

See the reverses brought about by Time, this subduer of enemies that used forinerly to walk at the head of all kings now sleeps on thc dust.

Forsooth, the heroic Duryodhana, when he sleeps on that bed of the heroes, has attain to the best end.

Inauspicious jackals are now pleasing that prince sleeping on the hero's bed, who was formerly counted by the fairest of ladies sitting round him.

He who was formerly encircled by kings who competed with one another to give him pleasure, alas, is now slain and lying on the ground, encircled by vultures.

He who was formerly fanned with beautiful fans by fair damsels, is now fanned by (carnivorous) birds with flaps of their wings.

Endued with great strength and true prowess, this mighty-armed prince, killed by Bhimasena in battle, sleeps like in elephant killed by a lion.

Look at Duryodhana, O Krishna, lying on the naked Earth, bathed in blood, killed by Bhimasena with his mace.

That mighty-armed one who had in battle collected together eleven Akshauhinis of soldiers, O Keshava, has on account of his own evil policy, been now killed.

Alas, there that great bowman and powerful car-warrior sleeps, killed by Bhimasena, like a tiger killed by a lion,

Having disobeyed Vidura, and his own father, this reckless, foolish, and wicked prince has met with death, on account of his disregard of the old.

He who had unrivaled away over the Earth, for thirteen years, alas, that prince, that son of mine, sleeps to-day on the naked Earth, killed by his foes.

Not long before, O Krishna, I saw the Earth, full of elephants and kine and horses, ruled by Duryodhana.

To-day, O you of mighty-arms, I see her governed by another, and destitute of elephants and kine and horses. What need have I, O Madhava, of lie?

Again, look at this sight, of these fair ladies weeping by the side of the killed heroes, that is more painful than the death of my son.

Behold, O Krishna, the mother of Lakshmana, that lady having large hips, with her hairs disheveled, that dear wife of Duryodhana, resembling a golden sacrificial altar.

While her mighty-armed husband was formerly alive, this highly intelligent damsel used to sport within the embrace of her lords' beautiful arms.

Why, indeed, does not my heart break into a hundred pieces seeing my son and grandson killed in battle.

Alas, that innocent lady now smells her son covered with blood. Again, that lady having beautiful thighs is gently rubbing Duryodhana's body with her fair hand.

At one time she is grieving for her husband, and again for her son. At one time she looks on her lord, and again on her son.

See, O Madhava, striking her head with her hands, she falls upon the breast of her heroic husband, the king of the Kurus.

Having a complexion like that of the filaments of the lotus, she looks beautiful like a lotus. The hapless princess, now rubs the face of her son, and again that of her husband.

If the scriptures and the Shrutis be true, forsooth, this king has obtained the blessed region that one may acquire by the use of weapons.'