On the battlefield were seen fallen heads still wearing earrings, turbans, and golden garlands. The earth seemed covered with bodies, with arms still holding bows, and other arms adorned with ornaments. Amid the heads falling under sharp arrows, it was as though a rain of stones fell from the sky. Thus Partha, who for thirteen years had lived under restraint, revealed a terrible form and the might of Rudra; the Pandava unleashed a dreadful fire of wrath upon the sons of Dhritarashtra. Seeing him consume their army, and beholding his valor, all of Duryodhana's warriors began to seek peace. Having terrified that army and put its great chariot-warriors to flight, Arjuna, the best of victors, turned back. He had made a terrible river of blood, its waves a flood of blood, its bones like water-weeds, fashioned by time itself as at the end of an age. Arrows and bows were its rafts, flesh and blood its mire, the great chariot-warriors its islands, and conches and drums its roar. Thus Partha made a great river of blood in the northern quarter. As he drew his arrows, nocked them, released them, and drew back the Gandiva, not the slightest interval could be seen.'