O Sanjaya, whenever I saw the tide of battle turn against us, my hope for victory faded away. When Drona, master of every weapon and form of combat, deployed all his dazzling skills yet still could not overcome the foremost of the Pandavas, I knew then that victory was slipping from our grasp. Again, when I learned that the mighty Saṃśaptakas—our sworn warriors, assembled with the sole purpose of destroying Arjuna—were themselves destroyed by his hand, my heart sank further. And when I heard that the formidable battle formation, guarded by the vigilant Bharadvaja with weapons drawn, was breached by Subhadra’s son, the lone and heroic Abhimanyu, my confidence was shaken. It grew worse when I heard how, having surrounded the youthful Abhimanyu, all our greatest warriors slew him and rejoiced in their triumph, yet even then could not subdue Partha, Arjuna himself. That day, too, I lost hope. The news that after Abhimanyu’s death, my sons, deluded by pride, exulted, and that Arjuna, burning with anger, spoke harshly to the Sindhu king—this, too, boded ill for us. When Arjuna, in his wrath, vowed to slay the Sindhu king and fulfilled that vow amidst the enemy host, I could no longer expect victory. I heard also of Dhananjaya, exhausted yet resolute, caring for his weary horses—unyoking them, watering and resting them, then setting forth again with Vasudeva. Even then, hope abandoned me. The tales of Arjuna standing alone on his battered chariot, his steeds and axles nearly broken, holding back all our warriors single-handedly, made it clear that fate was not on our side. When Yuyudhana, with his mighty elephant corps, broke through Drona’s terrifying array, and the two Krishnas followed in his wake, my heart was filled with dread. I heard how Karna, after hurling harsh words and striking Bhima with his bow, let him go, sparing his life. This, too, was an ill omen. Even as Drona, Kritavarma, Kripa, Karna, Drona’s son, and the valiant king of Madra could not withstand the slaughter of the Sindhu king, my hope continued to wane. When the divine spear, gifted to Karna by the king of the gods, was expended by Madhava against the fierce rakshasa Ghatotkacha, the weapon that might have slain Arjuna was gone, and with it, any chance of victory. The news that Drona, our revered teacher, was left alone, his dharma violated by Dhrishtadyumna, and slain as he lay upon his chariot, struck another blow to my spirit. I heard of Drona’s son engaging Nakula, son of Madri, in single combat, both displaying masterful skill among the formations, but even these valiant deeds could not restore my hope. After Drona’s fall, his son unleashed the divine Narayana weapon, yet it failed to bring the Pandavas to their end. The horror grew when Bhimasena, unstoppable, drank the blood of his brother Duhshasana on the battlefield, and none could restrain him. When Karna, that peerless warrior, was slain by Partha in the secret and bitter struggle among brothers, I knew our doom was sealed. The defeats continued—Drona’s son, Duhshasana, and Kritavarma, all bested by Yudhishthira, the king of dharma; the king of Madra, ever a rival to Krishna, slain by the righteous king; Shakuni, master of deceit and the root of our quarrel, killed in battle by Sahadeva. When my son Duryodhana, exhausted and alone, entered the lake, immobilizing its waters and bereft of chariot and weapon, I knew all was lost. Even as he, unable to bear the humiliation, attacked the Pandavas as they stood with Vasudeva by the lakeshore, I saw no hope. In the final duel of maces, as Duryodhana circled with wondrous skill, he was slain by Krishna’s stratagem—a blow that was not entirely just. The night brought more tragedy, as the Panchalas and the sons of Draupadi were slaughtered in their sleep by Drona’s son and his allies, and Bhimasena performed a terrible, glorious deed. When Ashvatthama, pursued by Bhimasena, unleashed the supreme weapon in his anger and destroyed the unborn child, my last hope vanished. Yet Arjuna, with words of peace, neutralized the Brahmashira weapon with another, and Ashvatthama surrendered his precious jewel. I heard also that Drona’s son, wielding mighty weapons, sought to destroy Uttara’s unborn child, but Hari—Krishna—vowed to restore life to the innocent. Vyasa and Krishna then cursed Drona’s son with mutual imprecations. Now, Suta, I, bereft of wisdom, grieve, stripped of sons and grandsons. Gandhari, too, is to be pitied, deprived of her sons and grandsons, as are the daughters-in-law, now without fathers and brothers. The Pandavas have accomplished a feat most difficult, regaining their kingdom without rivals. The devastation is beyond words: of all who fought, only ten survived—three from our side, seven from the Pandavas. Eighteen great armies were destroyed in that dreadful battle of the Kshatriyas. A vast darkness envelops me, as if delusion itself has seized my mind; I cannot regain my senses, Suta, and am deeply disturbed. Having thus spoken, Dhritarashtra, overwhelmed by grief, lamented deeply and fainted. Regaining consciousness, he addressed Sanjaya, saying: “In this state, Sanjaya, I wish to give up my life at once; I see no benefit in preserving it any longer.” Seeing the king so afflicted, lamenting and sighing like a serpent, repeatedly losing consciousness, Gāvalgaṇa spoke these weighty words—wise and discerning as he was. He reminded the king that as Vyasa and the wise Narada have said, in the great royal lineages, adorned with every virtue, there have always been those skilled in divine weapons, shining with the brilliance of Indra, who conquered the earth by righteousness and performed great sacrifices with abundant gifts. Yet, having attained fame in this world, they too fell under the sway of time: Shaibya, the great chariot-warrior; the heroic Sṛnjaya, foremost among the victorious; Bahlika, Damana, the king of Chedi, Sharyati, and the unconquered Nala—all met their end, as will we all.