Weak are they in friends and forces, feeble is their fitful star,
Wherefore then in pride and folly seek with us unequal war?
Shall we, who to mighty Indra scarce will do the homage due,
Bow to homeless sons of Pandu and their comrades faint and few?
Bow to them while warlike Drona leads us as in days of old,
Bhishma greater than the bright-gods, archer Karna true and bold?
If in dubious game of battle we should forfeit fame and life,
Heaven will ope its golden portals for the Kshatra slain in strife!
If unbending to our foemen we should press the gory plain,
Stingless is the bed of arrows, death for us will have no pain!
For the Kshatra knows no terror of his foeman in the field,
Breaks like hardened forest timber, bonds not, knows not how to yield!
So the ancient sage Matanga of the warlike Kshatra said,
Save to priest and sage preceptor unto none he bends his head!
Indra-prastha which my father weakly to Yudhishthir gave,
Nevermore shall go unto him while I live and brothers brave!
Kuru's undivided kingdom Dhrita-rashtra rules alone,
Let us sheathe our swords in friendship and the monarch's empire own!
If in past in thoughtless folly once the realm was broke in twain,
Kuru-land is re-united, never shall be split again!