the dead. By indulging in
grief, one does not himself die. When the course of the world is such,
why dost thou indulge in sorrow? Death drags all creatures, even the
gods. There is none dear or hateful to death, O best of the Kurus! As the
wind tears off the tops of all blades of grass, even so, O bull of
Bharata's race, death overmasters all creatures. All creatures are like
members of a caravan bound for the same destination. (When death will
encounter all) it matters very little whom he meets with first. It
behoveth thee not, O king, to grieve for those that have been slain in
battle. If the scriptures are any authority, all of them must have
obtained the highest end. All of them were versed in the Vedas; all of
them had observed vows. Facing the foe all of them have met with death.
What matter of sorrow is there in this? Invisible they had been (before
birth). Having come from that unknown region, they have once more become
invisible. They are not thine, nor art thou theirs. What grief then is
there in such disappearance? If slain, one wins heaven. By slaying, fame
is won. Both these, with respect to us, are productive of great merit.
Battle, therefore, is not bootless. No doubt, Indra will contrive for
them regions capable of granting every wish. These, O bull among men,
become the guests of Indra. Men cannot, by sacrifices with profuse gifts,
by ascetic penances and by learning, go so speedily to heaven as heroes
slain in battle. On the bodies of hostile heroes constituting the
sacrificial fire, they poured their arrowy libations. Possessed of great
energy, they had in return to endure the arrowy libations (poured upon
them by their enemies). I tell thee, O king, that for a Kshatriya in this
world there is not a better road to heaven than battle! They were all
high-souled Kshatriyas; possessed of bravery, they were ornaments of
assemblies. They have attained to a high state of blessedness. They are
not persons for whom we should grieve. Comforting thyself by thy own self
cease to grieve, O bull among men! It behoveth thee not to suffer thyself
to be overwhelmed with sorrow and to abandon all actions. There are
thousands of mothers and fathers and sons and wives in this world. Whose
are they, and whose are we? From day to day thousands of causes spring up
for sorrow and thousands of causes for fear. These, however, affect the
ignorant but are nothing to him that is wise. There is none dear or
hateful to Time, O best