O Sanjaya, when I learned that my own kin failed to recognize the Pandavas, who, with Krishna, lived incognito in the kingdom of Virata, I lost all hope for victory. My heart grew heavy when I heard that Bhimasena, for the sake of Draupadi, slew Kichaka—the mightiest of the Kichakas—and his hundred brothers in battle. How could I expect triumph after such deeds? When word reached me that the best of my sons were defeated by Dhananjaya—Arjuna—alone on his chariot while he dwelt in Virata’s realm, my confidence faltered. And when I heard that King Virata honored Arjuna and gave his daughter Uttara to him, whom Arjuna accepted for his son, I could not expect to win. Even more, when I was told that Yudhishthira, though defeated, deprived of his kingdom and wealth, exiled and separated from his kin, still managed to assemble seven divisions of troops, my hopes diminished. The news that Madhava, Vasudeva himself—he whose stride encompasses the earth—was wholly devoted to the Pandavas’ cause left me with no hope for victory. When Narada declared that Krishna and Arjuna are none other than the ancient sages Nara and Narayana, and I myself saw this truth revealed in Brahma’s world, how could I hope to prevail? When Krishna came to the Kurus seeking peace for the good of the world, and though he strove earnestly, returned unsuccessful, I saw our defeat was certain. Further, when I heard that Krishna resolved to restrain his mind and revealed himself in many forms, my heart sank. When Vasudeva departed, standing at the front of the chariot, and Krishna comforted the distressed Kunti, I could not expect victory. Hearing that Vasudeva gave counsel, and Bhishma, son of Shantanu, and Bharadvaja offered their blessings, my hopes faded. When Karna told Bhishma, “I will not fight while you are engaged in battle,” and withdrew from the army, I saw defeat looming. When I learned that Vasudeva and Arjuna stood together, with the incomparable bow Gandiva, and three mighty warriors united, I could not expect victory. The news that Arjuna, exhausted, sat in his chariot and Krishna revealed to him the worlds within his own body, left me bereft of hope. When Bhishma, destroyer of enemies, struck countless chariots in battle, yet none were slain among them, I saw our doom. The day Bhishma, born of the river, arranged his own death in battle according to righteousness and the Pandavas rejoiced, I knew victory would not be ours. How could I hope, when Bhishma, that unconquerable hero, was slain by Partha with Shikhandi placed before him? When Bhishma lay on a bed of arrows, struck by brightly-feathered shafts, and the Somakas were left with few survivors, my hope died. When Arjuna, urged to fetch water for the fallen Bhishma, pierced the earth to quench his thirst, and Bhishma was satisfied, I knew we would not prevail. When Venus and the Sun stood favorably for Kunti’s sons, and constant omens threatened us, my heart grew cold. Even when Drona, displaying every weapon and skill in battle, could not slay the foremost Pandavas, I lost faith. When our great warriors, the Saṃśaptakas, who had been positioned to destroy Arjuna, were themselves slain by him, I saw no hope. When the impenetrable formation, guarded by Bharadvaja with drawn weapons, was breached by Subhadra’s son alone, I despaired. The day I heard that all the great warriors surrounded young Abhimanyu, killed him and rejoiced, yet could not overcome Partha, I knew defeat was certain. When, after slaying Abhimanyu, my sons cried out in joy, and Arjuna spoke in anger to the Sindhu king, I could not expect victory. When Arjuna vowed to slay the Sindhu king and fulfilled that vow in the midst of the enemy, I knew the end was near. Hearing that Dhananjaya, his horses exhausted, unyoked them, watered and rested them, then yoked them again and set out with Vasudeva, I had no hope. When the Pandava stood alone on his battered chariot, holding back all the warriors himself, my heart was filled with despair. When Yuyudhana, with his mighty elephant forces, broke through Drona’s terrible formation, and the two Krishnas followed, I could not expect victory. When Karna taunted Bhima with harsh words, struck him with the tip of his bow, yet let him go, I saw our defeat. When Drona, Kritavarma, Kripa, Karna, Drona’s son, and the valiant king of Madra could not endure the slaughter of the Sindhu king, I lost all hope. When the divine spear, given by the king of the gods, was wasted by Madhava on Ghatotkacha, the fierce rakshasa, I saw our doom. When, in battle between Karna and Ghatotkacha, the suta’s son released the spear by which Savyasachi could have been slain, I could not expect victory. When Drona, the teacher, was alone, his dharma transgressed by Dhrishtadyumna, and was slain lying on his chariot, I saw our end. When Drona’s son fought Nakula in single chariot combat, both moving skillfully among the formations, I had no hope. When Drona was slain, and his son, wielding the divine Narayana weapon, could not bring the Pandavas to their end, I knew defeat was certain. When Bhimasena drank the blood of his brother Duhshasana on the battlefield, and none could restrain Bhima, my hope vanished. When Karna, supremely valiant and unconquerable, was slain by Partha in that secret struggle among brothers, I saw no chance of victory. When Drona’s son, the valiant Duhshasana, and the fierce Kritavarma were all defeated by Yudhishthira, king of dharma, I knew our fate was sealed. And when I heard that the king of Madra, ever a rival of Krishna in battle, was slain by the righteous king on the field, O Sanjaya, I knew then, utterly, that victory could never be ours.