The wielder of Saranga and the mace, viz., Vasudeva, of
great energy, cometh, urging those white steeds endued with the fleetness
of the wind. Yonder twangs Gandiva, drawn by Savyasaci. Those whetted
shafts, sped by that strong-armed hero, are destroying his enemies. The
Earth is strewn with the heads of unretreating kings, with faces
beautiful as the moon at full, and decked with large and expansive eyes
of coppery hue. There the arms, looking like spiked maces, with weapons
in grasp, and smeared with excellent perfumes, of warriors delighting in
battle and contending with uplifted weapons, are falling. Steeds with
eyes, tongues, and entrails drawn out along with their riders, are
falling and fallen and deprived of life lie prostrate on the Earth. Those
lifeless elephants huge as mountain summits, torn, mangled, and pierced
by Partha, are falling down like veritable hills. Those cars, looking
like the changeful forms of vapour in the sky, with their royal riders
slain, are falling down like the celestial cars of the denizens of heaven
upon the exhaustion of the latter's merits. Behold, the army is
exceedingly agitated by the diadem-decked Arjuna, like herds of countless
cattle by a maned lion. There the Pandava heroes, advancing for the
attack, are slaying kings and large numbers of elephants and steeds and
car-warriors and foot-soldiers of thy army engaged in battle. There
Partha, shrouded (by friends and foes and weapons and dust) is not to be
seen, like the Sun shrouded by clouds.
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