His face, O Krishna, half-eaten away by beasts of prey, looketh more
handsome, O child, even like the moon on the seventh day of the lighted
fortnight. Behold, O Krishna, the face of that heroic son of mine, which
is even such. How could that son of mine be slain by foes and thus made
to eat the dust? O amiable one, how could that Durmukha, before whom no
foe could stand, be slain by foes, O subjugator of celestial regions!
Behold, O slayer of Madhu, that other son of Dhritarashtra, Citrasena,
slain and lying on the ground, that hero who was the model of all bowmen?
Those young ladies, afflicted with grief and uttering piteous cries, are
now sitting, with beasts of prey, around his fair form adorned with
wreaths and garlands. These loud wails of woe, uttered by women, and
these cries and roars of beasts of prey, seem exceedingly wonderful to
me, O Krishna! Youthful and handsome, and always waited upon and served
by the most beautiful ladies, my son Vivinsati, O Madhava, sleepeth
there, stained with dust. His armour hath been pierced with arrows. Slain
in the midst of the carnage, alas, the heroic Vivimshati is now
surrounded and waited upon by vultures! Having in battle penetrated the
ranks of the Pandava army, that hero now lieth on the bed of a hero,--on
the bed, that is, of an exalted Kshatriya! Behold, O Krishna, his very
beautiful face, with a smile playing on it, adorned with excellent nose
and fair eyebrows, and resembling the resplendent Moon himself! Formerly
a large number of the most beautiful ladies used to wait upon him, like
thousands of celestial girls upon a sporting gandharva.
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