Gandhari said He whose power and bravery were regarded, O Keshava, as a one and half times superior to those of his father and you, he who took after a dreadful and proud, lion, he who alone pierced the impenetrable army of my son, he who killed many, alas, he now sleeps there, himself dead.

I see, O Krishna, the splendour of that son of Arjuna, of that great hero, viz., Abhimanyu, has not diminished even in death.

There, the daughter of Virata, the daughterin-law of Arjuna, that girl of faultless beauty, stricken with grief on seeing her heroic husband, is bewailing.

Approaching her husband, that young wife, viz., the daughter of Virata, is gently rubbing him, O Krishna, with her hand.

Formerly, that highly intelligent and beautiful girl, inebriate with honied wines, used bashfully to embrace her lord, and kiss and face of Subhadra's son, resembling a fullblown lotus and supported on a neck bearing three lines like those of a conch-shell.

Taking of her husband's golden armour, O hero, that damsel is now looking on the body of her husband covered with blood.

Beholding her lord, O Krishna, that girl addresses you saying:-'O lotus-eyed one, this hero whose eyes resembled yours, has been killed.

In power, energy, and prowess, he has your equal, O sinless one! He resembled you very much in beauty. Yet he sleeps on the ground, killed by the enemy.

Addressing her own husband, she says again,-'You were reared up in every luxury. You used to sleep on soft skins of the Ranku deer. Alas, does not your body feet pain to-day by lying thus on this naked Earth.

Stretching your massive arms decorated with golden Angadas, resembling a couple of elephants trunks, and trunks, and coated with skin hardened by constant use of the bow, sleep, you, O lord, peacefully as if worn out with the fatigue of too much exercise. Alas, why do you not speak to me that am weeping so?

I do not remember to have ever offered you. Why do you not speak to me then? Formerly, you used to addressed me even when you would see me at a distance.

Where will you go, leaving behind you the much-respected Subhadra, these your sires who take after the very celestials, and my own wretched self distracted with grief.

See, O Krishna, collecting with her hands the blood-dyed hair of her husband and placing his head on her lap, beautiful lady is addressing him as if he were alive,-How could those great car-warriors kill you in the midst of battle,-you who are the sister's son of Vasudeva and the son of the bolder of Gandiva?

Alas, fie on those wicked warriors, Kripa, Karna, Jayadratha, Drona and Drona's son, by whom you were killed!

What did those great car-warriors think at that time when they surrounded you, a warrior of tender years, and killed you to my grief?

How could you, O hero, who had so many protectors, be killed so helplessly before the very eyes of the Pandavas and the Panchalas?

Seeing you, O hero, killed in battle by many warriors in a body, how is that foremost of men, that son of Pandu, viz., your father, able to bear the burden of life?

Neither the acquisition of a vast territory, nor the discomfitures of their foes, gives joy to the Parthas bereft of you, O lotus-eyed one.

By the practice of virtue and self-restraint, I shall very soon go to those blissful regions which you have acquired by the use of weapons. Protect me, O hero, when I go there.

Until the appointed time comes, one cannot die, since, wretched that I am, I am still alive after seeing you killed in battle.

Having gone to the region of the departed manes, whom else, like me, do you address now, O foremost of men, in sweet and smiling words.

Forsooth, you will agitated the hearts of the Apsaras in heaven, with your great beauty and soft and smiling words.

Having attained the regions reserved for pious persons, you are now united, O son of Subhadra, with the Apsaras. While playing with them, recollect now and then my good acts towards you.

Your union with me in this world had, it seems, been ordained for only six months, for on the seventh, O hero, you lost your life.

O Krishna, the ladies of the royal house of Matsya are dragging away the sorrowful Uttara, disappointed, and even lamenting in this way.

Dragging away the sorrow-stricken Uttara, those ladies, themselves still more aggrieved then that girl, are weeping and bewailing aloud at sight of the slain Virata.

Wounded with the weapons and arrows of Drona, lying down oi. earth, and bathed in blood, Virata is encompassed by the screaming vultures and yelling jackals and crows ravens.

Those black-eyed ladies, approaching the dead body of Matsya king over which carnivorous birds are uttering cries of joy, are trying to turn the body. Weakened by grief, they are unable to do what they wish.

Scorched by the Sun, and exhausted with fatigue and toil, their faces have become colourless and pale.

See also, O Madhava, those other children besides Abhimanyu, viz., Uttara, Sudakshina the prince of the Kamvojas, and the beautiful Lakshmana, all lying on the field of battle.' Scorched by the Sun, and exhausted with fatigue and toil, their faces have become colourless and pale.

See also, O Madhava, those other children besides Abhimanyu, viz., Uttara, Sudakshina the prince of the Kamvojas, and the beautiful Lakshmana, all lying on the field of battle.'