The Pancala prince tore Ashvatthama
with his nails and at last softly said, "O preceptor's son, slay me with
a weapon, do not tarry! O best of men, let me, through thy act, repair to
the regions of the righteous!"
Having said this much, that slayer of foes, the son of the Pancala king,
assailed with strength by that mighty hero, became silent. Hearing those
indistinct sounds of his, Drona's son said, "O wretch of thy race, there
is no region for those that slay their preceptors. For this, O thou of
wicked understanding, thou deservest not to be slain with any weapon!"
While saying so, Ashvatthama, filled with rage, began to strike the vital
parts of his victim with violent kicks of his heels, and slew his foe
like a lion slaying an infuriated elephant. At the cries of that hero
while he was being slain, his wives and guards that were in his tent all
awake, O king! Beholding somebody crushing the prince with superhuman
force, they regarded the assailant to be some preternatural being and,
therefore, uttered no cries from fear. Having despatched him to Yama's
abode by such means, Ashvatthama of great energy went out and getting
upon his beautiful car stayed on it. Indeed, coming out of
Dhrishtadyumna's abode, O king, Ashvatthama caused all the points of the
compass to resound with his roars, and then proceeded on his car to other
parts of the camp for slaying his foes.
After Drona's son, that mighty car-warrior, had gone away, the women and
all the guards set up a loud wail of woe.
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