O Sanjaya, as I reflect upon all that transpired in that fateful war, I see how, time and again, hope for victory slipped from my grasp. When I learned that Vasudeva, the wise Krishna himself, was guiding the Pandavas, and that Bhishma, the son of Shantanu, and the sage Bharadvaja offered their blessings to them, I felt a shadow fall over our prospects. How could victory favor us when such illustrious souls stood with our foes? When Karna, with a heavy heart, told Bhishma that he would not fight while the grandsire led the battle, and withdrew from the army, my heart sank further. What hope could remain for us, Sanjaya, when our own greatest warriors stood divided? Then, when I heard that Krishna and Arjuna joined forces, that the mighty Gandiva bow was strung, and that three invincible warriors stood together, I could not believe victory would be ours. And when Arjuna, exhausted and overcome, sat in his chariot and Krishna revealed to him the worlds within his own body, I knew then, too, that victory was slipping away. Even when Bhishma, destroyer of enemies, struck countless chariots in battle and yet none among them fell, I felt hope wane. And when Bhishma, descended from the river Ganga, arranged for his own death in battle according to dharma, and the Pandavas rejoiced at this, I saw the end approaching. When Bhishma, so brave and unconquerable, was finally slain by Partha with Shikhandi placed before him, I could not expect victory. I heard of Bhishma, the aged hero, lying on a bed of arrows, pierced by shining shafts, and though the Somakas were left with few survivors, still, hope left me. When Arjuna, urged by all, fetched water for the parched Bhishma and satisfied him by piercing the earth, I felt the favor of fate had left us. The heavens themselves seemed to align against us: Venus and the Sun shone for the sons of Kunti, while omens of doom haunted our camp. When Drona, master of weapons, failed to slay the foremost Pandavas despite all his skill, my heart grew heavy. I heard how our warriors, the Saṃśaptakas, gathered to destroy Arjuna, but he alone slew them all. When Subhadra’s son, young Abhimanyu, breached the impenetrable formation guarded by Bharadvaja, I knew the tide was against us. And though all the great warriors surrounded and slew Abhimanyu, rejoicing in their triumph, not even then could they overcome Partha. After Abhimanyu’s fall, the sons of Dhritarashtra cried out in joy, but Arjuna’s wrath fell upon the Sindhu king, and when Arjuna fulfilled his vow and slew him amidst the enemy, my hopes faded further. I heard how Dhananjaya, his horses exhausted, cared for them with his own hands, giving them water and rest before setting out with Krishna once more. And when the Pandava stood alone on his battered chariot, holding back all our warriors, I could not hope for victory. Yuyudhana, with his mighty elephants, broke through Drona’s fearful formation, and the two Krishnas followed him—yet another sign that victory would not be ours. Even when Karna taunted Bhima and struck him, he let the hero go free, and I knew hope was lost. Drona, Kritavarma, Kripa, Karna, Drona’s son, and the king of Madra—none could endure the slaughter of the Sindhu king. When the divine spear, gift of the king of gods, was spent by Karna on Ghatotkacha, the fierce rakshasa, I saw our doom. For in the battle between Karna and Ghatotkacha, Karna used the weapon that could have slain Savyasachi, and thus, our last hope was spent. When Drona, the revered teacher, was left alone, his dharma transgressed by Dhrishtadyumna, and was slain upon his chariot, I lost all hope. Drona’s son engaged Nakula in single combat, both moving skillfully through the formations, but victory seemed ever more distant. Even after Drona’s fall, when his son wielded the divine Narayana weapon but could not destroy the Pandavas, I saw that fate had abandoned us. Bhimasena drank the blood of his brother Duhshasana on the field, and none could restrain him—what hope remained? Karna, valiant and unconquerable, was slain by Partha in that secret struggle among brothers. Drona’s son, the valiant Duhshasana, and the fierce Kritavarma fell before Yudhishthira, the king of dharma. The king of Madra, ever a rival of Krishna in battle, was slain by the righteous king himself. Shakuni, master of deceit and root of all our quarrels, was slain by Sahadeva. Duryodhana, exhausted and alone, entered the lake, immobilizing its waters, bereft of chariot and weapon. Even then, my son, unable to endure his defeat, attacked the Pandavas as they stood with Vasudeva by the lake, but it was to no avail. In the final duel of maces, as Duryodhana moved with wondrous skill, he was slain by Krishna’s stratagem, though the blow was unfair. And when I heard that the Panchalas and the sons of Draupadi were slain in their sleep by Drona’s son and his allies, and that Bhimasena performed a terrible and glorious deed in response, I could no longer hope for victory. When Ashvatthama, fleeing from Bhimasena, unleashed the supreme weapon in anger and destroyed the unborn child, all hope vanished. Yet Arjuna, uttering words of peace, neutralized the Brahmashira weapon with another, and Ashvatthama surrendered his precious jewel. I learned that Drona’s son, wielding mighty weapons, sought to destroy Uttara’s unborn child, but Hari, Krishna himself, vowed to restore life. Then, Vyasa and Krishna cursed Drona’s son with mutual imprecations. Now, Suta, knowing all this, I grieve, bereft of wisdom, sons, and grandsons. Gandhari, too, is to be pitied, deprived of sons and grandsons, as are the daughters-in-law, bereft of fathers and brothers. The Pandavas, having accomplished the most difficult of tasks, have regained the kingdom, unchallenged and without rivals.