10.010
Vaiśampāyana said:
After that night had passed, Dhṛṣṭadyumna's charioteer reported to Yudhishthira about the massacre that had occurred during the night attack.
O great king, the sons of Draupadī, along with the sons of Drupada, were sleeping in their own camp at night, careless and trusting.
Your camp was destroyed at night by Kṛtavarman, the cruel Gautama (Kṛpa), and the wicked Aśvatthāman.
By these weapons, thousands of men, elephants, and horses were completely cut down, and their entire army was destroyed.
O Bhārata, the mighty sound of your army was heard, resembling the sound of a great forest being felled by axes.
O king, I alone survived from those armies, having somehow escaped while Kṛtavarman was distracted, O righteous one.
When Yudhishthira, Kunti's son, heard those ominous words, the steadfast hero collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed by grief for his son.
Satyaki approached and seized him as he was falling; Bhimasena, Arjuna, and the sons of Madri—the Pandavas—also did so.
But when he regained consciousness, the son of Kunti, his voice choked with grief, lamented in distress after conquering his enemies.
The way of events is hard to discern, even for those with divine sight. Sometimes, those who seem to be defeated actually win, and we, though victorious, are truly overcome.
If we kill brothers, friends, fathers, sons, well-wishers, relatives, ministers, and grandsons, and conquer everyone, what victory is left for us?
Sometimes, misfortune appears as fortune and fortune appears as misfortune. This victory seems like defeat; therefore, victory can actually be defeat.
If, after conquering someone, a person of evil mind is tormented as if afflicted, how could he consider that victory to be greater than victories over others?
Those for whom victory is achieved by sinful acts and the killing of friends—such conquerors, though victorious, are truly defeated, for they are overcome by their own desire for victory.
In battle, the fierce one, whose fangs were like elephant tusks and whose tongue was like a sword, with his bow drawn, resounded with the twang of the bowstring.
Those who did not flee in battle from the enraged lion among men, and whom Karna released through his negligence, these are the ones who have now been slain.
It was like a lake of chariots, its waves formed by showers of arrows; adorned with jewels and lined with rows of vehicles; spears and lances appeared as fish, banners, elephants, and crocodiles moved within it; bows formed its whirlpools, and great arrows its foam.
The princes, who crossed the ocean of Droṇa's battle—whose waves were the speed of the rising moon, and whose sounds were the bowstrings and wheel-rims of chariots, using boats of various weapons—were slain due to their own negligence.
There is nothing more dangerous than negligence; in this world of men, nothing is worse. When a man is negligent, all desirable things leave him from every side, and misfortunes come upon him.
With the foremost banner raised high like a plume of smoke, with arrows blazing like flames, a mighty wind of wrath, the great bow resounding, and the body offering a sacrifice of many kinds of weapons.
The excellent division of the great army, having attacked Bhishma, the great forest fire in the great battle, those princes who endured the force of drawn and stretched weapons were slain due to carelessness.
Indeed, a careless person cannot attain knowledge, austerity, prosperity, great fame, or any of these; see, by vigilance, having destroyed all his enemies, Indra enjoys ever-increasing happiness.
Behold, the princes and grandsons of kings, who were like Indra, have been indiscriminately slain due to negligence; just as prosperous merchants, after crossing the ocean, may perish by carelessness in a small river.
I grieve for Kṛṣṇā (Draupadī); how could I not for the virtuous one? Immersed in an ocean of sorrow, she may perish today. Having heard of her brothers and sons slain, and the aged king of the Pāñcālas, her father, she will surely fall unconscious to the ground and remain there, her body wasted by grief.
Unable to bear that sorrow born of grief, how could she ever be fit for happiness? Driven by the loss of her son and the killing of her brother, she was as if being consumed by fire.
Distressed and lamenting in this way, the king of the Kurus spoke to Nakula: "Go and bring here this unfortunate princess, who is with her mother's family."
The son of Mādrī, after accepting the words of the righteous king, quickly went by chariot to the residence of the queen, where the wives of the king of the Pāñcālas were present.
Having sent Sahadeva, the son of Mādrī, ahead, Yudhiṣṭhira, overwhelmed with grief, accompanied by his friends, went weeping to the city of Māyā, which was filled with hosts of spirits.
He entered that dreadful, inauspicious scene and saw his sons, friends, and companions lying on the ground, their bodies soaked in blood, their limbs torn, broken, and severed.
Yudhishthira, the foremost among the upholders of dharma, seeing them, was deeply distressed. He cried out loudly, and the chief of the Kauravas, along with his followers, fell unconscious to the ground.
