I
The Gathering
Wrathful sons of Dhrita-rashtra, born of Kuru's royal race!
Righteous sons of noble Pandu, god-born men of godlike grace!
Skill in arms attained these princes from a Brahman warrior bold,
Drona, priest and proud preceptor, peerless chief of days of old!
Out spake Drona to the monarch in Hastina's royal hall,
Spake to Bhishma and to Kripa, spake to lords and courtiers all:
“Mark the gallant princes, monarch, trained in arms and warlike art,
Let them prove their skill and valour, rein the steed and throw the dart.”
Answered then the ancient monarch, joyful was his royal heart,
“Best of Brahmans and of warriors, nobly hast thou done thy part!
Name the place and fix the moment, hold a royal tournament,
Publish wide the laws of combat, publish far thy king's consent.
Sightless roll these orbs of vision, dark to me is noonday light,
Happier men will mark the tourney and the peerless princes' fight.
Let the good and wise Vidura serve thy mandate and behest,
Let a father's pride and gladness fill this old and cheerless breast.”