t is the grief that I feel. Indeed,
on beholding thee, O Bhima of terrible prowess, afflicted with such
calamity, sunk as I already am in grief on account of Yudhishthira, I do
not desire to live. That youth who on a single car had vanquished all
celestials and men, is now, alas, the dancing master of king Virata's
daughter. That Pritha's son of immeasurable soul, who had gratified Agni
in the forest of Khandava, is now living in the inner apartments (of a
palace) like fire hid in a well. Alas, the bull among men, Dhananjaya,
who was ever the terror of foes, is now living in a guise that is
despaired by all. Alas, he whose mace-like arms have been cicatrized in
consequence of the strokes of his bow-string, alas that Dhananjaya is
passing the days in grief covering his wrists with bracelets of conchs.
Alas, that Dhananjaya the twang of whose bow-string and the sound of
whose leathern fences made every foe tremble, now entertains only
gladdened women with his songs. Oh, that Dhananjaya whose head was
formerly decked with a diadem of solar splendour, is now wearing braids
ending in unsightly curls. O Bhima, beholding that terrible bowman,
Arjuna, now wearing braids and in the midst of women, my heart is
stricken with woe. That high-souled hero who is master of all the
celestial weapons, and who is the repository of all the sciences, now
weareth ear-rings (like one of the fair sex). That youth whom kings of
incomparable prowess could not overpower in fight, even as the waters of
the mighty ocean cannot overleap the continents, is now the
dancing-master of king Virata's daughters and waits upon them in
disguise. O Bhima, that Arjuna the clatter of whose car-wheels caused
the entire earth with her mountains and forests, her mobile and immobile
things to tremble, and whose birth dispelled all the sorrows of Kunti,
that exalted hero, that younger brother of thine, O Bhimasena, now
maketh me weep for him. Beholding him coming towards me, decked in
golden ear-rings and other ornaments, and wearing on the wrists
bracelets of conchs, my heart is afflicted with despondency. And
Dhananjaya who hath not a bowman equal unto him on earth in prowess, now
passeth his days in singing, surrounded by women. Beholding that son of
Pritha who in virtue, heroism and truth, was the most admired in the
world, now living in the guise of a woman, my heart is afflicted with
sorrow. When I behold, the godlike Partha in the music-hall like an
elephant w