Waged the war with fearful slaughter, Drona onward urged his way,
Fate alone and battle's chances changed the fortunes of the day,
Aswa-thaman, son of Drona, was a chief of peerless fame,
And an elephant of battle bore that chieftain's warlike name,
And that proud and lordly tusker, Bhima in his prowess slew,
Rank to rank, from friend to foeman, then a garbled message flew:
“Aswa-thaman son of Drona is by mighty Bhima slain!”
Drona heard that fatal message, bent his anguished head in pain!
“Speak Yudhishthir, soul of virtue!” thus the proud preceptor cried,
“Thou in truth hast never faltered, and thy lips have never lied,
Speak of valiant Aswa-thaman, Drona's hope and pride and joy,
Hath he fallen in this battle, is he slain, my gallant boy?
Feeble are the hands of Drona and his prowess quenched and gone,
Fleecy are his ancient tresses and his earthly task is done!”
Said Yudhishthir: “Lordly tusker, Aswa-thaman named, is dead,”
Drona heard but half the accents, feebly drooped his sinking head!
Then the prince of fair Panchala swiftly drove across the plain,
Marked his father's cruel slayer, marked his noble father slain!
Dhrista-dyumna bent his weapon and his shaft was pointed well,
And the priest and proud preceptor, peerless Drona lifeless fell!