He who survives among enemies brings trouble, for the survivor, gathering his strength, seeks to destroy the surviving victor. In the hope of ending the quarrel, men often strive to wipe out the enemy. Thus victory breeds enmity, and the vanquished lives in sorrow. He who is at peace sleeps happily, having set aside all thought of victory and defeat, whereas he who has stirred up enmity always sleeps unhappily, his heart uneasy, as though sleeping with a serpent in the same chamber. He who destroys rarely wins glory; rather, such a man reaps everlasting disgrace in the eyes of all. Hostilities that have lasted so long do not cease, for if even one member of the enemy's family survives, the storytellers will never let the past be forgotten. Enmity, O Keshava, is never neutralized by enmity; on the contrary, it is inflamed by hostility, like a fire fed with clarified butter. Therefore there can be no peace without the destruction of one side, for flaws can always be found for either side to exploit. This vice belongs to those who go looking for faults. Confidence in one's own valor, like an incurable disease, torments the very heart. Without giving this up at once, or without death, there can be no peace. It is true, O slayer of Madhu, that uprooting the enemy entirely may lead to a good result in the form of great prosperity, but such an act is the most cruel of all. The peace that might be won by our giving up the kingdom is scarcely different from the death implied by the loss of the kingdom through the enemy's design and our own utter ruin. We do not wish to give up the kingdom, nor do we wish to see our line die out. Therefore, in these circumstances, peace achieved even through humiliation is best. When those who strive with all their might for peace, wishing, of course, not for war, fail to achieve reconciliation, then war becomes unavoidable, and the time comes to show one's valor. Indeed, when reconciliation fails, dreadful consequences follow. The wise have observed all of this in the contest of dogs. First comes the wagging of tails, then barking, then barking in reply, then circling, then baring of teeth, then repeated growling, and finally the fight. In such a contest, O Krishna, the stronger dog defeats its rival and takes its meat. It is exactly the same with men — there is no difference at all. The strong should remain indifferent, so as to avoid disputes with the weak, who are always bowing. A father, a king, and one honored in years always deserve respect. Therefore Dhritarashtra, O Janardana, deserves our respect and homage. But, O Madhava, Dhritarashtra's love for his son is great. Obedient to his son, he will reject our submission. What do you, O Krishna, think best at this moment?