So too those kinsmen who quarrel with one another over wealth, through their very quarrel fall into the hands of the enemy, like the birds I have described. To eat together, to speak together — this is the duty of kinsmen, not discord under any circumstance. Those kinsmen who, with loving hearts, wait upon their elders become unconquerable, like a forest guarded by lions. But those, O bull of the Bharata race, who, having won vast riches, nonetheless behave like base men, always work only for the prosperity of their enemies. Kinsmen, O Dhritarashtra, O bull of the Bharata race, are like charred logs, which flare up when brought together but only smolder when kept apart. Now I shall tell you something more that I once saw on a mountain's breast. Having heard this too, do, O Kaurava, what is best for you. Once we set out for the northern mountain in the company of a few hunters and a few brahmins fond of discoursing on charms and healing herbs. This northern mountain, Gandhamadana, looked like a grove. Since its breast was covered on every side with trees and diverse glowing medicinal plants, Siddhas and Gandharvas dwelt upon it. And there we all saw a quantity of honey, bright yellow in color and the size of a jar, set upon an inaccessible cliff of the mountain.