In their fury, warriors bit their own lips with their teeth and gazed at one another with faces twisted by frowning brows. Others, tormented, suffering from wounds and pierced by arrows, fell silent — mighty men of firm and steadfast spirit. Other heroes, having lost their chariots, sought another's chariot in the battle but fell, crushed by the finest elephants; they shone, O great king, like flowering kimshukas. Amid the armies arose many terrible sounds, while that most fearsome destruction of the finest heroes went on. In that battle the father slew the son, and the son the father; the nephew slew the uncle, and the uncle the nephew; friend slew friend, O king, and kinsman by marriage slew kinsman by blood. Thus the Kurus fought there with the Pandavas. While that terror continued in the boundless, measureless battle, the army of the sons of Pritha, coming up against Bhishma, trembled. Then, O king, the mighty-armed Bhishma shone upon his great chariot beneath his raised silver banner bearing the palm and five stars, like the moon above Mount Meru.