“Sanjaya said, ’Thus conversing, those two, (viz., Krishna and Arjuna), entered their own camp.  And they saw that the Pandavas, all cheerless, were sitting, plunged in great grief.  Beholding his brothers and sons, the ape-bannered Arjuna became very cheerless.  Not seeing the son of Subhadra there, Arjuna said, ’Pale is the colour I behold of the faces of you all.  I do not, again, see Abhimanyu.  Nor doth he come to congratulate me.  I heard that Drona had today formed the circular array.  None amongst you, save the boy Abhimanyu, could break that array.  I, however, did not teach him how to come out of that array, after having pierced it.  Did you cause the boy to enter that array?  Hath that slayer of heroes, viz., the son of Subhadra, that mighty bowman, having pierced that array, through numberless warriors of the enemy in battle, fallen, at last in the fight?  Oh, tell me, how that hero of mighty arms and red eyes, born (in our line) like a lion on the mountain breast, and equal unto the younger brother of Indra himself, hath fallen on the field of battle?  What warrior, deprived on his senses by Death ventured to slay that dear son of Subhadra, that favourite of Draupadi and Kesava, that child ever loved by Kunti?  Equal unto the high-souled Vrishni hero, Kesava, himself in prowess and learning and dignity, how hath he been slain on the field of battle?  The favourite son of that daughter of the Vrishni race, always cherished by me, alas, if I do not see him I will repair to the abode of Yama.  With locks ending in soft curls, of tender years, with eyes like those of a young gazelle, with tread like that of an infuriated elephant, tall like a Sala offshoot, of sweet speech accompanied with smiles, quiet, ever obedient to the behest of his superiors, acting like one of mature years though tender in age, of agreeable speech, reft of vanity, of great courage and great energy, of large eyes resembling lotus-petals, kind to those devoted to him, self-restrained, following nothing mean, grateful, possessed of knowledge, accomplished in weapons, unretreating from battle, always delighting in fight, and enhancing the fears of foes, engaged in the welfare of kinsmen, desirous of victory into sires, never striking first, perfectly fearless in battle, alas, if I do not behold that son, I will repair to the abode of Yama.  In the counting of car-warriors always reckoned as a Maharatha, superior to me one and a half times, of tender years, of mighty arms, even dear to Pradyumna and Kesava and myself, alas, if I do not behold that son I will repair to the abode of Yama.  Of beautiful nose, of beautiful forehead, of fair eyes and eyebrows and lips, if I do not behold that face, what peace can my heart have?  Melodious as the voice of the male Kokila, delightful, and sweet as the warblings of the Vina, without listening to his voice, what peace can my heart have?  His beauty was unrivalled, rare even among the celestials.  Without casting my eyes on that form, what peace can