O Suta, listen as I recount the moments when hope for victory slipped from my heart, one after another, as the great war unfolded before my eyes. When Drona, Kritavarma, Kripa, Karna, Drona’s son Ashvatthama, and the valiant king of Madra could not endure the slaying of the Sindhu king, I, Dhritarashtra, lost hope for victory, O Sanjaya. Again, when I heard that the divine spear, bestowed by the king of the gods, was wasted by Madhava—Krishna—upon Ghatotkacha, the fierce rakshasa, my hope for triumph faded. When I learned that in the terrible battle between Karna and Ghatotkacha, Karna, the son of a charioteer, released that celestial dart which could have slain Arjuna, the ambidextrous one, I did not hope for victory. When Drona, our venerable teacher, stood alone on the field, his dharma transgressed by Dhrishtadyumna, and lay slain upon his chariot, I lost all hope. I heard too, Sanjaya, that Drona’s son engaged Nakula, son of Madri, in single chariot combat, both moving skillfully among the battle formations—yet even then, I did not hope for victory. When Drona was gone, and his son, wielding the mighty Narayana weapon, could not bring the Pandavas to their end, my heart grew heavy with despair. The tidings reached me that Bhimasena drank the blood of his own brother Duhshasana on the battlefield, and none could restrain Bhima’s wrath. At that, Sanjaya, I abandoned all hope for victory. When Karna, that unconquerable warrior, was slain by Partha in a secret and fateful struggle among brothers, my spirit was crushed. I learned that Drona’s son, valiant Duhshasana, and fierce Kritavarma were all defeated by Yudhishthira, the king of dharma; once more, I saw no path to victory. When the king of Madra, who always rivaled Krishna in battle, was slain by that righteous king on the field, I lost all hope. I heard that Shakuni, master of deceit and the root of our quarrel, was struck down in battle by Sahadeva; then too my hopes were extinguished. When Duryodhana, exhausted and alone, entered the lake, immobilizing its waters, bereft of chariot and weapon, I could not hope for victory. Again, when my son, unable to endure his fate, attacked the Pandavas as they stood with Vasudeva by the lake, I was bereft of hope. And when I heard that, in the great mace duel, as he moved in many wondrous circles, my son was slain by Krishna’s stratagem—even by a blow that was not true—then, Sanjaya, I lost all hope. When the Panchalas and the sons of Draupadi were slain in their sleep by the son of Drona and others, and Bhimasena performed a terrible and glorious deed, I no longer hoped for victory. I heard that Ashvatthama, pursued by Bhimasena, unleashed the supreme weapon in anger and destroyed the unborn child; then, Sanjaya, I surrendered all hope. When Arjuna, uttering words of peace, neutralized the Brahmashira weapon with another, and Ashvatthama surrendered his precious jewel, I knew victory was lost. I heard that Drona’s son, with mighty weapons, sought to destroy Uttara’s unborn child, and that Krishna, Hari himself, vowed to restore life; then, Sanjaya, I no longer hoped for victory. Vyasa and Krishna cursed the son of Drona with mutual imprecations. Now, Suta, knowing all this, I, bereft of wisdom, grieve, having lost my sons and grandsons. Gandhari is to be pitied, deprived of her children and grandchildren, as are the daughters-in-law, bereft of fathers and brothers. The Pandavas have accomplished a most difficult task and regained their kingdom without rivals. How dreadful it is, Suta: only ten survived the war—three from our side, and seven from the Pandavas. In that terrible battle of the Kshatriyas, eighteen Akshauhinis were destroyed. A vast darkness overwhelms me, as if delusion has seized me; I cannot regain my senses, Suta, and my mind is greatly disturbed. Having thus spoken, I, Dhritarashtra, lamenting in deep sorrow, fainted away. When I recovered, I addressed Sanjaya: “Sanjaya, in this state, I wish to give up my life at once; I see not the slightest benefit in preserving it.” Seeing me so distressed, lamenting and sighing like a serpent, repeatedly losing consciousness, Gāvalgaṇa spoke these weighty words. Wise and discerning, Gāvalgaṇa said: “As Vyasa and the wise Narada have declared, in the great royal lineages, adorned with virtues, were born those skilled in divine weapons, possessing the brilliance of Indra, who conquered the earth by righteousness and performed abundant sacrifices. “Having attained fame in this world, they too passed under the sway of time: Shaibya, the great chariot-warrior; the heroic Sṛnjaya, foremost among the victorious; Bahlika, Damana, the king of Chedi, Sharyati, the unconquered Nala; Vishvamitra, destroyer of foes; the mighty Ambarisha, Marutta, Manu, Ikshvaku, Gaya, and Bharata as well; Rama, son of Dasharatha; Shashabindu, Bhagiratha, the illustrious Kritavirya, and likewise Janamejaya. “Yayati, of virtuous deeds, was himself invited by the gods; this earth, marked by sacrificial posts, belonged to him, who performed many Soma sacrifices. Thus, of those kings, the illustrious sage Narada once spoke to Shveta, who was tormented by grief for his sons. “And before them, there were other kings, even more powerful—great chariot-warriors, noble in spirit, endowed with every virtue: Puru, Kuru, Yadu, Shura, Vishvagashva of great splendor, Anuha, Yuvanashva, Kakutstha, the valiant Raghu; Vijaya, Vitihotra, Anga, Bhava, Shveta, Brihadguru, Ushinara, Shataratha, Kanka, Duliduha, Druma; Dambhodbhava, Parovena, Sagara, Samkriti, Nimi, Ajeya, Parashu, Pundra, Shambhu, Devavriddha, Anagha; Devahvaya, Supratima, Supratika, Brihadratha, Mahotsaha, Vinita-atma, Sukratu, Naishadha, Nala; Satyavrata, Shantabhaya, Sumitra, Subala the mighty, Janujangha, Anaranya, Arka, Priyabhrit, Shucivrata. “All these mighty kings, though virtuous and renowned, have passed away in time. Therefore, O King, do not grieve; such is the way of the world.