They are all filled with anxiety. Overwhelmed with sorrow, they are running hither and thither. The faces of those fair ones have, with weeping and anger, become resplendent as the morning sun or gold or burnished copper. Hearing each others lamentations of incomplete sense, those ladies, in consequence of the loud wails of woe bursting from every side, are unable to catch each others meaning. Some amongst them, drawing long sighs and indulging in repeated lamentations, are stupefied by grief and are abondoning their life-breaths. Many of them, beholding the bodies (of their sons, husbands, or sires), are weeping and setting up loud wails. Others are striking their heads with their own soft hands. The earth, strewn with severed heads and hands and other limbs mingled together and gathered in large heaps, looks resplendent with these signs of havoc! Beholding many headless trunks of great beauty, and many heads without trunks, those fair ones have been lying senseless on the ground for a long while. Uniting particular heads with particular trunks, those ladies, senseless with grief, are again discovering their mistakes and saying, “This is not this ones,” and are weeping more bitterly! Others, uniting arms and thighs and feet, cut off with shafts, are giving way to grief and losing their senses repeatedly (at the sight of the restored forms). Some amongst the Bharata ladies, beholding the bodies of their lords,–bodies that have been mangled by animals and birds and severed of their heads,–are not succeeding in recognising them. Others, beholding their brothers, sires, sons, and husbands slain by foes, are, O destroyer of Madhu, striking their heads with their own hands. Miry with flesh and blood, the Earth has become impassable with arms still holding swords in their grasp, and with heads adorned with earrings.
Beholding the field strewn with their brothers and sires, and sons, those faultless ladies, who had never before suffered the least distress, are now plunged into unutterable woe. Behold, O Janardana, those numerous bevies of Dhritarashtras daughters-in-law, resembling successive multitudes of handsome fillies adorned with excellent manes! What, O Keshava, can be a sadder spectacle for me to behold than that presented by those ladies of fair forms who have assumed such an aspect? Without doubt, I must have perpetrated great sins in my former lives, since I am beholding, O Keshava, my sons and grandsons and brothers all slain by foes. While indulging in such lamentations in grief, Gandharis eyes fell upon her son (Duryodhana).”
17
Vaishampayana said, “Beholding Duryodhana, Gandhari, deprived of her senses by grief, suddenly fell down on the earth like an uprooted plantain tree. Having regained her senses soon, she began to weep, repeatedly uttering loud wails at the sight of her son lying on the bare ground, covered with blood. Embracing her son, Gandhari indulged in piteous lamentations for him. Stricken with grief, and with senses exceedingly agitated, the Kuru queen exclaimed, Alas, O son! Alas, O son! Burning with sorrow, the queen drenched with her tears the body of her son, possessed of massive and broad shoulders, and adorned with garlands and collar. Addressing Hrishikesha who stood near, she said, On the eve of this battle, O puissant one, that has exterminated this race, this foremost of kings, O thou of Vrishnis race, said unto me, “In this internecine battle, O mother, wish me victory!” When he had said these words, I myself, knowing that a great calamity had come upon us, told him even this, tiger among men, “Thither is victory where righteousness is. And since, son, thy heart is set on battle, thou wilt, without doubt, obtain those regions that are attainable by (the use of) weapons (and sport there) like a celestial.” Even these were the words that I then said unto him. I did not then grieve for my son. I grieve, however, for the helpless Dhritarashtra bereaved of friends and kinsmen. Behold, O Madhava, my son, that foremost of warriors, wrathful, skilled in weapons, and irresistible in battle, sleeping on the bed of heroes. Behold the reverses brought about by Time.
This scorcher of foes that used of old to walk at the head of all crowned persons now sleepeth on the dust. Without doubt, the heroic Duryodhana, when he sleeps on that bed which is the heros hath obtained the most unattainable end. Inauspicious jackals are now delighting that prince asleep on the heros bed, who was formerly delighted by the fairest of ladies sitting round him. He who was formerly encircled by kings vying with one another to give him pleasure, alas, he, slain and lying on the ground, is now encircled by vultures! He who was formerly fanned with beautiful fans by fair ladies is now fanned by (carnivorous) birds with flaps of their wings! Possessed of great strength and true prowess, this mighty-armed prince, slain by Bhimasena in battle, sleeps like an elephant slain by a lion! Behold Duryodhana, O Krishna, lying on the bare ground, covered with blood, slain by Bhimasena with his mace. That mighty-armed one who had in battle assembled together eleven akshauhinis of troops, O Keshava, hath, in consequence of his own evil policy, been now slain.
Alas, there that great bowman and mighty car-warrior sleeps, slain by Bhimasena, like a tiger slain by a lion! Having disregarded Vidura, as also his own sire, this reckless, foolish, and wicked prince hath succumbed to death, in consequence of his disregard of the old. He who had ruled the earth, without a rival, for thirteen years, alas, that prince, that son of mine, sleepeth to-day on the bare ground, slain by his foes. Not long before, O Krishna, I beheld the Earth, full of elephants and kine and horses, ruled by Duryodhana! Today, O thou of mighty arms, I see her ruled by another, and destitute of elephants and kine and horses! What need have I, O Madhava, of life? Behold, again, this sight that is more painful than the death of my son, the sight of these fair ladies weeping by the side of the slain heroes! Behold, O Krishna, the mother of Lakshmana, that lady of large hips, with her tresses dishevelled, that dear spouse of Duryodhana, resembling a sacrificial altar of gold. Without doubt, this damsel of great intelligence, while her mighty-armed lord was formerly alive, used to sport within the embrace of her lords handsome arms! Why, indeed, does not this heart of mine break into a hundred fragments at the sight of my son and grandson slain in battle? Alas, that faultless lady now smells (the head of) her son covered with blood. Now, again, that lady of fair thighs is gently rubbing Duryodhanas body with her fair hand.
At one time she is sorrowing for her lord and at another for her son. At one time she looketh on her lord, at another on her son. Behold, O Madhava, striking her head with her hands, she falls upon the breast of her heroic spouse, the king of the Kurus. Possessed of complexion like that of the filaments of the lotus, she still looketh beautiful like a lotus. The unfortunate princess now rubbeth the face of her son and now that of her lord. If the scriptures and the shrutis be true, without doubt, this king has obtained those regions (of blessedness) that one may win by the use of weapons!”
18
“Gandhari said, Behold, O Madhava, my century of sons, incapable of fatigue (from exertion in battle), have all been slain by Bhimasena with his mace in battle! That which grieves me more today is that these my daughters-in-law, of tender years, deprived of sons and with dishevelled hair, are wandering on the field today. Alas, they who formerly walked only on the terraces of goodly mansions with feet adorned with many ornaments, are now, in great affliction of heart, obliged to touch with those feet of theirs this hard earth, miry with blood! Reeling in sorrow, they are wandering like inebriated persons, driving away vultures and jackals and crows with difficulty. Behold, that lady of faultless limbs and slender waist, seeing this terrible carnage, falleth down, overwhelmed with grief. Beholding this princess, this mother of Lakshmana, O thou of mighty arms, my heart is torn with grief. These beautiful ladies of fair arms, some seeing their brothers, some their husbands, and some their sons, lying down in death on the bare ground, are themselves falling down, seizing the arms of the slain.
Listen, O unvanquished one, to the loud wails of those elderly ladies and those others of middle age at sight of this terrible carnage. Supporting themselves against broken boxes of cars and the bodies of slain elephants and steeds, behold, O thou of great might, those ladies, worn out with fatigue, are resting themselves. Behold, O Krishna, some one amongst them, taking up some kinsmans severed head decked with beautiful nose and earrings, is standing in grief. I think, O sinless one, that both those and myself of little understanding must have committed great sins in our former lives, since, O Janardana, all our relatives and kinsmen have thus been slain by king Yudhishthira the just! Our acts, righteous or unrighteous, cannot go for nothing, O thou of Vrishnis race! Behold, O Madhava, those young ladies of beautiful bosoms and abdomen, well-born, possessed of modesty, having black eye-lashes and tresses of the same colour on their heads, endued with voice sweet and dear like that of swans, are falling down, deprived of their senses in great grief and uttering piteous cries like flights of cranes. Behold, O lotus-eyed hero, their beautiful faces resembling full-blown lotuses, are scorched by the sun.
Alas, O Vasudeva, the wives of my proud children possessed of prowess like that of infuriated elephants, are now exposed to the gaze of common people. Behold, O Govinda, the shields decked with hundred moons, the standards of solar effulgence, the golden coats of mail, and the collars and cuirasses made of gold, and the head-gears, of my sons, scattered on the earth, are blazing with splendour like sacrificial fires over which have been poured libations, of clarified butter. There, Duhshasana sleepeth, felled by Bhima, and the blood of all his limbs quaffed by that heroic slayer of foes. Behold that other son of mine, O Madhava, slain by Bhima with his mace, impelled by Draupadi and the recollection of his woes at the time of the match at dice.