“King and elder!” uttered Bhima, and his words were few and brave,
“Vain were wrath and righteous passion in the sold and bounden slave!
Would that son of chariot-driver fling on us this insult keen,
Hadst thou, noble king and elder, staked nor freedom nor our queen?”
Sad Yudhishthir heard in anguish, bent in shame his lowly head,
Proud Duryodhan laughed in triumph, and in scornful accents said:
“Speak, Yudhishthir, for thy brothers own their elder's righteous sway,
Speak, for truth in thee abideth, virtue ever marks thy way,
Hast thou lost thy new-built empire, and thy brothers proud and brave?
Hast thou lost thy fair Draupadi, is thy wedded wife our slave?”
Lip nor eye did move Yudhishthir, hateful truth would not deny,
Karna laughed, but saintly Bhishma wiped his old and manly eye!
Madness seized the proud Duryodhan, and inflamed by passion base,
Sought the prince to stain Draupadi with a deep and foul disgrace!
On the proud and peerless woman cast his loving, lustful eye,
Sought to hold the high-born princess as his slave upon his knee!
Bhima penned his wrath no longer, lightning-like his glance he flung,
And the ancient hall of Kurus with his thunder accents rung:
“May I never reach those mansions where my fathers live on high,
May I never meet ancestors in the bright and happy sky,