“Sanjaya said, ’Hearing these words of the high-souled Kesava, Subhadra, afflicted with grief on account of the death of her son, began to indulge in these piteous lamentations: ’Oh, son of my wretched self, O thou that wast in prowess equal to thy father, O child, how couldst thou perish, going to battle! Alas, how doth that face of thine which resembleth the blue lotus and is graced with beautiful teeth and excellent eyes, now seem, now that, O child, it is covered with battle’s dust! Without doubt, thee so brave and unreturning, thee fallen on the field, with beautiful head and neck and arms, with broad chest, low belly, thy limbs decked with ornaments, thee that art endued with beautiful eyes, thee that art mangled with weapon wounds, thee all creatures are, without doubt, beholding as the rising moon! Alas, thou whose bed used to be overlaid with the whitest and costliest sheets, alas, deserving as thou art of every luxury, how dost thou sleep today on the bare earth, thy body pierced with arrows? That hero of mighty arms who used of old to be waited upon by the foremost of beautiful women, alas, how can he, fallen on the field of battle, pass his time now in the company of jackals! He who of old was praised with hymns by singers and bards and panegyrists, alas, he is today greeted by fierce and yelling cannibals and beasts of prey. By whom, alas, hast thou been helplessly slain when thou hadst the Pandavas, O lord, and all the Panchalas, for thy protectors? Oh son, O sinless one, I am not yet gratified with looking at thee. Wretched as I am, it is evident that I shall have to go to Yama’s abode.