that unconquered one, undeserving as he was of such a fate,[81]—­that fierce bowman shooting fierce shafts, stationed on his excellent car, and plucking off the heads of foes (from their bodies)—­that warrior, irresistible as the Yuga-fire, beholding whom addrest for battle the great army of the Pandavas always used to waver?  Mangling the hostile troops for ten nights, alas, that slayer of ranks hath set like the Sun, having achieved feats difficult of achievement.  He who, scattering like Sakra himself and inexhaustible shower of arrows, slew in battle a hundred millions of warriors in ten days, that scion of Bharata’s race, now lieth, although he deserveth it not, on the bare ground, in the field of battle, deprived of life, a mighty tree uprooted by the winds, as a result of my evil counsels!  Beholding Santanu’s son Bhishma of terrible prowess, how indeed, could the army of the Pandavas[82] succeed in smiting him there?  How did the sons of Pandu battle with Bhishma?  How is it, O Sanjaya, that Bhishma could not conquer when Drona liveth?  When Kripa, again, was near him, and Drona’s son (Aswatthaman) also, how could Bhishma, that foremost of smiters be slain?  How could Bhishma who was reckoned as an Atiratha and who could not be resisted by the very gods, be slain in battle by Sikhandin, the prince of Panchala?  He, who always regarded himself as the equal of the mighty son of Jamadagni in battle, he whom Jamadagni’s son himself could not vanquish, he who resembled Indra himself in prowess,—­alas, O Sanjaya, tell me how that hero, Bhishma, born in the race of Maharathas, was slain in battle, for without knowing all the particulars I cannot regain my equanimity.  What great bowmen of my army, O Sanjaya, did not desert that hero of unfading glory?  What heroic warriors, again, at Duryodhana’s command, stood around that hero (for protecting him)?  When all the Pandavas placing Sikhandin in their van advanced against Bhishma, did not all the Kurus,[83] O Sanjaya, stay by the side of that hero of unfading prowess?  Hard as my heart is, surely it must be made of adamant, for it breaketh not on hearing the death of that tiger among men, viz., Bhishma!  In that irresistible bull of Bharata’s race, were truth, and intelligence, and policy, to an immeasurable extent.  Alas, how was he slain in battle?  Like unto a mighty cloud of high altitude, having the twang of his bowstring for its roar, his arrows for its rain-drops, and the sound of his bow for its thunder, that hero showering his shafts on Kunti’s sons with the Panchalas and the Srinjayas on their side, smote hostile car-warriors like the slayer of Vala smiting the Danavas.  Who were the heroes that resisted, like the bank resisting the surging sea, that chastiser of foes, who was a terrible ocean of arrows and weapons, an ocean in which shafts were the irresistible crocodiles and bows were the waves, an ocean that was inexhaustible, without an island, agitated and without a raft to cross