the firmament.  Beholding him thus slain, the mighty car-warrior Aswatthaman, O Bharata, rushed impetuously against grandson of Sini.  Having addressed Satyaki, O king, saying, ‘Wait, Wait,’ he shrouded him with showers of shafts, like the clouds pouring torrents of rain on the crest of Merit.  Beholding him rushing towards the car of Sini’s grandson, the mighty car-warrior Ghatotkacha, O king, uttering a loud roar, addressed saying, Wait, Wait, O son of Drona!  Thou shalt not escape from me with life.  I will presently slay thee like the six-faced (Karttikeya) slaying (the Asura) Mahisha.  I shall today, on the field, purge thy heart of all desire of battle.’  Having said these words, that slayer of hostile heroes, viz., the Rakshasa (Ghatotkacha), with eyes red like copper in wrath, rushed furiously against the son of Drona, like a lion rushing against a prince of elephants.  And Ghatotkacha sped at his foe shafts of the measure of the Aksha of a car, and covered that bull among car-warriors therewith, like clouds pouring torrents of rain.  With his own shafts resembling snakes of virulent poison, Drona’s son, however, in that battle, quickly dispelled that arrowy shower before it could reach him.  He then pierced that chastiser of foes, viz., Ghatotkacha, that prince of the Rakshasas, with hundreds of keen and swift-coursing arrows, all capable of penetrating into the very vitals.  Thus pierced with those shafts by Aswatthaman, that Rakshasas, on the field of battle, looked beautiful, O monarch, like a porcupine with quills erect on its body.  Then the valiant son of Bhimasena, filled with rage, mangled the son of Drona with many fierce arrows, whizzing through the air with the roar of thunder.  And he rained on Aswatthaman a perfect shower of arrows of diverse kinds; some, equipped with heads like razors; some, shaped as the crescent; some, only pointed; some, frog-faced; some, with heads resembling the boar’s ear; some, barbed; and some of other species.[221] Like the wind dispersing mighty masses of clouds, Drona’s son, O king, without his senses being agitated, destroyed with his own terrible arrows, inspired by mantras with the force of celestial weapons, that fierce, unbearable and unrivalled shower of weapons, whose sound resembled the roar of thunder, and which fell incessantly upon him.  It seemed then that another encounter was taking place in the welkin between weapons (as the combatants), which was terrible, and which, O king, filled the warriors with awe.  With the sparks all around, generated by the clash of the weapons, shot by those two warriors, the welkin looked beautiful as illumined by myriads of fire-flies in the evening.  Drona’s son then, filling all the points of the compass with his shafts, shrouded the Rakshasa himself, for doing what was agreeable to thy sons.  Then commenced a battle once more between Drona’s son and the Rakshasa on that night of thick darkness, which resembled the encounter between Sakra and Prahlada.