I bow at your feet
I bow at your feet, my brother, O king
To slay Bheema and his wretched gang
Won’t a delay prove harmful, my Kuru chief?
The flames of enmity are burning in our hearts
Shouldn’t we quench that fire with their blood?
Our spirited soldiers impatient for war
are arrayed in formation. Isn’t it time to move?
Strategists and ministers have come to see you;
Shall we proceed to the ministry then?