Gandhari said "See, killed by Bhimasena, the king of Avanti lies there. Vultures and jackals and crows are feasting upon that hero. Through possessed of many friends, he lies now perfectly helpless.

See, O slayer of Madhu, having made a great onslaught of enemies, that warrior is now lying on the bed of a hero, bathed in blood.

Jackals, and Kankas, and other carnivorous animals of various kinds, are dragging him now. Mark the reverses caused by Time.

His wives, all are crying in grief, and sitting around that hero who while alive was a terrible slayer of enemies but who now lies on the bed of a hero.

See, Pratipa's son Valhika, that powerful and highly energetic bowman, slain with a broad-headed shaft, is now lying on the ground like a sleeping tiger.

Though dead, the color of his face is still highly bright, like that of the full moon, risen on the fifteenth day of the light fortnight.

Burning with grief on account of the death of his son, and desirous of fulfilling his vow, Indra's son Arjuna has killed there that son of Vriddhakshatra.

Behold that Jayadratha, who was protected by the illustrious Drona, killed by Partha bent on making good his promise, after penetrating through eleven Akshauhinis of soldiers.

Inauspicious vultures, O Janarddana, are feasting upon Jayadratha, the proud and energetic lord of the Sindhu-Sauviras.

See, O Achyuta, carnivorous creatures are dragging his body away to a neighbouring jungle, though his devoted wives are trying to protect it.

The Kamvoja and Yavana wives of that powerful king of the Sindhus and the Sauviras are waiting upon him for protecting his body.

At that time, O Janarddana, when Jayadratha, assisted by the Kekayas, tried to ravish Draupadi, he should have been killed by the Pandavas.

Out of respect, for Dusshala, they liberated him on that occasion. Why, O Krishna, did they not show some respect for that Dusshala once more.

That young daughter of mine, is now crying sorrowfully. She is striking her body with her own hands and blaming the Pandavas.

What, O Krishna, can be a greater grief to me than that my young daughter should be a widow and all my daughters-in-law should equally be so.

Alas, alas, see, my daughter Dusshala having cast off her grief and fears, is running about in search of the head of her husband.

After killing a vast army, he who had restrained all the Pandavas desirous of rescuing their son, at last himself yielded to death.

Alas, those wives of his, with faces as beautiful as the moon, are crying, sitting around that irresistible hero who took after an infuriate elephant.