11.022
Pancharatra and Core: Gandhari feels miserable seeing the misery of the wives of the slain warriors, especially her daughter Dushyala and daughter-in-laws.
Gandhari said:
The Avanti prince, though he had many relatives, is devoured by vultures and jackals after being slain by Bhīmasena, as if he had no kin at all.
O Madhusudana, behold him, having slain the enemies, lying on the hero's bed, covered with blood.
See how jackals, vultures, and various kinds of flesh-eaters drag him away; observe the transformation brought by time.
The Avanti king, who made heroes wail, now lies on the hero's bed, surrounded on all sides by women who weep and attend to him.
O Kṛṣṇa, behold Bāhlika, the descendant of Pratīpa and a great archer, who has been slain by an arrow and now lies as if a sleeping tiger, O noble-minded one.
Even in death, his face shines exceedingly, like the full Moon risen on the night of the full moon.
Vardhakṣatri, tormented by grief for his son and upholding his vow, was slain in battle by Indra.
See, Jayadratha, who was protected by the great-souled and had conquered eleven armies, has been slain in the pursuit of truth.
O Janārdana, the proud and high-minded lord of Sindhu and Sauvīra, Jayadratha, is being devoured by female vultures.
O Acyuta, being protected by their affectionate wives, they bark and drag (you) away from the dense forest near the lowland.
The women of Sindhu, Sauvīra, Gāndhāra, Kāmboja, and Yavana, protecting him, attend upon the mighty-armed one.
O Janārdana, when Jayadratha carried off Kṛṣṇā and fled with the Kekayas, at that very moment he became destined to be slain by the Pāṇḍavas.
But when Jayadratha was released by those who honored Duḥśalā, why is it that today, O Kṛṣṇa, they do not honor her again?
This is my daughter, a young girl, who, greatly distressed and lamenting, is destroying herself and crying out against the Pāṇḍavas.
O Kṛṣṇa, what could be more sorrowful for me than this: that my sons and young daughters-in-law are widowed, their husbands slain?
Oh, shame on Duḥśalā! Look at her, running here and there, as if she is without sorrow or fear, unable to reach her husband's head.
He who, out of greed for his sons, restrained all the Pāṇḍavas—after slaying vast armies, he himself met his death.
These women, whose faces are like the moon, surround him—this hero, unconquerable, like an intoxicated elephant—and weep.
