"What heroes followed this slayer of foes into the gathering of the enemy? Tell me how the battle of Bhishma with the Pandavas came about. My son's army, O Sanjaya, is now like a woman whose defenders have been slain, like a bewildered herd without its herdsman. When in Bhishma, whose manhood was supreme in all the world, that strength was spent in the great battle, what was then in their hearts? What strength even to go on living remains in us now, O Sanjaya, once that mighty father, righteous toward the world, has been destroyed? I think my sons, seeing Bhishma slain, grieve with intense sorrow, as travelers at a crossing grieve on seeing a boat sunk in bottomless water. My heart, surely, is made of the very substance of stone, since it does not break upon hearing that Bhishma, tiger among men, has been slain. In that unassailable bull of the Bharatas, weapon-lore, wisdom, and statecraft were boundless; how then was he struck down in battle? Neither by weapon nor by valor, neither by austerity nor by wisdom, neither by fortitude nor by renunciation does anyone escape death. Time, surely, is of great might, insurmountable for the whole world, since you tell me that Bhishma, son of Shantanu, is slain. Consumed by grief for my sons and pondering this heavy sorrow, I had once hoped for protection from Bhishma, the joy of Shantanu."