Having established their rule upon a foundation of righteousness, the Pandavas enjoyed their kingdom in strength and virtue. So secure and just was their reign that it was said even the gods themselves, together with mighty Indra, could not subdue them. Krishna and Sankarshana, ever devoted, stood by their side, lending their divine support. Reflecting on these truths, one wise counselor spoke: “If you deem it wise, let us seek understanding with the Pandavas and depart as we came, even though this city stands tall with its lofty gateways, towers, and countless inner chambers. This city is excellently guarded, surrounded by water, and filled with ample stores of grass, grain, fuel, machines, weapons, and medicinal herbs. Its many gates, storerooms, and altars are well maintained, and massive wheels, raised by Bhima’s strength, fortify its defenses, all enclosed by great towers. Strong ramparts and outworks, crowded with engines of war, protect the city, with embankments of brick, wood, and earth. Within, the city is honored by heroic builders, and it shines with the presence of Pandara, born of this very place. Encircled by a great wall lined with palmyra trees, the people of Drupada are steadfast in their loyalty. All those within and without, won over by gifts and respect, remain true, restrained by kings of great valor. The Dasharhas, armed and resolute, will soon arrive; therefore, let us make peace between the sons of Dhritarashtra and the Pandavas. If my words are agreeable, let us return to our own kingdom. This, I believe, is the most righteous and safest course for kings.” When Saumadatti had spoken thus, Karna, son of Vikartana, mighty and wise in timely counsel, addressed the assembly: “Your words are thoughtful and prudent, and I do not find fault with them. Yet, listen to my view. In any undertaking, one must not act with a divided mind, for nothing succeeds when the heart is split in two. This city cannot be taken by siege, by assault, or by wearing them down. Mere threats are useless. Now is the moment to attack, before the Vrishnis—those fierce warriors—strike at our rear. Let us, strong in our own arms, break down the ramparts, and let the battering rams fill the moat. Drain the water, make the ground uneven and then level it; let the moat be filled with grass and wood. Announce in the royal roads: whoever kills an enemy—be it elephant, horse, or foot-soldier—shall receive gifts and honor. For an elephant, ten thousand; for horse or foot-soldier, five thousand; for a chariot, twice as much as for an elephant—the kings shall bestow these rewards. Let those who are attached to pleasure, the old, the young, and the faint-hearted remain behind. No one should enter or leave without summons. Guard your honor well, for we shall indeed conquer our foes. All omens favor us: the winds are with us, beasts and birds are auspicious, fires blaze brightly, and our weapons and armor shine.” Inspired by Karna’s words, which sought the good of Dhritarashtra’s sons, the assembled kings set out, shaking the battlefield with their might. Their minds were fixed not on pleasures, but solely on striking down the enemy and on battle itself. At their head surged Karna, like a mighty wave of the Sindhu; Duhshasana, fierce as a great fish, and Duryodhana, the great shark, followed close behind. Then Bhima, roaring terribly, rushed at the city from the left like a surging royal ocean. Seeing the formidable Kuru army, blazing with weapons and armor, the sons of Drupada trembled and raised a great shout. From the city gates sallied forth the mighty warriors of Drupada, their chariots roaring like thunderclouds, striking terror into the enemy ranks. Dhrishtadyumna, Shikhandi, gracious Sumitra, Citraketu, Suketu, and the valiant Dhvajaketu—all sons of King Drupada, strong and eager for victory—rode out with their father, Drupada himself, resplendent with a white turban as his banner. With a white fan and parasol and a white-bannered vehicle, Drupada shone, surrounded by his sons, like the full moon among stars, his banner-tops waving and his advance unwavering. The Drupada army charged at the Kuru forces, and on both sides a tumultuous clamor arose. As the two armies surged forward like the currents of mighty rivers, their ranks became scattered—chariots, elephants, and horses thrown into confusion. Like scattered lights, they shone on every side as drums and conches resounded, announcing the beginning of the great tumult. Then the great-souled Pandavas, filled with righteous indignation, mounted their chariots, which thundered like storm clouds and were yoked with supreme steeds. The best of the Bharatas, their banners shining, shook them as they ascended their chariots. When the kings saw the sons of Pandu standing ready with drawn bows, a tremor seized their hearts. Yet, as the Pandavas advanced, joy and delight regarding victory filled Drupada’s army. A great exhilaration and gladness arose in their ranks at the prospect of triumph, and for a long moment, the two mighty armies clashed in fierce and intense engagement.