Surrounded on all sides by streams of chariots, the unconquered Bhishma blazed up, burning the enemies, like fire let loose in a forest thicket. The fire of Bhishma, in which the chariots were hearths, the bow was the flame, swords, shaktis, and maces were fuel, and the arrows were sparks, burned the finest of the kshatriyas. With gold-feathered, sharp arrows plumed with vulture feathers — karnis, nalikas, and naracas — he covered that army. With sharp arrows he brought down banners and charioteers, and turned the rows of chariots into shorn palm groves. The mighty-armed one, the foremost of all who bear weapons, left chariots in battle without men, and elephants and horses without warriors. Hearing the twang of his bowstring, like the roar of a thunderbolt, all beings trembled, O Bharata. Unfailingly fell the arrows of your father, O bull of the Bharatas; loosed from Bhishma's bow, they never lodged in armor. We saw, great king, how on the field of battle swift horses carried off chariots whose heroes had been slain. Fourteen thousand maharathas of the Chedis, Kashis, and Karushas — noble sons ready to give up their bodies, all unturning, with banners adorned in gold — having met Bhishma in battle, like death with its mouth agape, sank down to the other world together with their horses, chariots, and elephants.'