So long as these Pandavas still live, how can the sons of Dhritarashtra, for all their rank and wealth, ever rejoice? If they should defeat us in battle even with the help of the very gods headed by Indra, then the practice of vice would be better than virtue, and surely nothing resembling righteousness would remain on earth. If a man's actions determine his fate, if we prevail over Duryodhana, then, I trust, with Vasudeva as my second, I shall slay Duryodhana and all his kin. O lord of men, if the plundering of our kingdom is an unrighteous act, if our own good deeds are not to prove fruitless, then, weighing the one against the other, it seems to me that the overthrow of Duryodhana is inevitable. O Kauravas, you will see with your own eyes that, should they fight, the sons of Dhritarashtra will surely perish. If, instead of fighting, they act otherwise, then they may live; but once battle is joined, not one of them will remain alive. Having slain all the sons of Dhritarashtra together with Karna, I shall surely tear open a breach in their kingdom. Meanwhile, you may do as you think best, and enjoy your wives and the other pleasures of life. Among us are many aged brahmanas, learned in various sciences, of gentle bearing, of noble birth, versed in the cycle of years, devoted to the study of astrology, able to discern with certainty the movement of the planets and the conjunctions of the stars, to expound the mysteries of fate, and to answer questions touching the future — men versed in the signs of the zodiac and skilled in the happenings of every hour — who foretell the great destruction of the Kurus and Srinjayas and the final victory of the Pandavas, so that Yudhishthira, who has never had an enemy, already counts his aims as accomplished through the slaughter of his foes. And Janardana, that lion among the Vrishnis, endowed with knowledge of the unseen future, undoubtedly perceives all this. And I too, with unerring foresight, behold this future myself, for my foresight, acquired long ago, is unimpaired. The sons of Dhritarashtra, should they fight, will not survive. My bow Gandiva yawns for want of being taken up; my bowstring trembles, ungirded; and the arrows, issuing from the mouth of my quiver, strain again and again to take flight. My gleaming scimitar slides from its sheath like a serpent leaving its old slough; and from the top of my standard sound terrible voices: 'When shall your chariot be yoked, O Kiritin?'