Sanjaya said: On the eve of Arjuna’s resolve, there came a time when he approached Krishna with humility and devotion, beseeching him to relieve Draupadi, Subhadra, and Uttara from the crushing burden of grief. Then, for the first time, the Lord himself experienced a stirring of profound sorrow. The cause lay deep within his heart: his beloved sister Subhadra had lost her son, Abhimanyu—that gentle and radiant youth who had grown under his loving care. To see him fallen in the bloom of youth, before tasting the fullness of life, weighed heavily upon Krishna’s mind, agitating his serene spirit with an unfamiliar anguish.
Moved by compassion, Krishna went to Subhadra’s abode. Addressing her with solemn tenderness, he spoke: “O Subhadra, upon the field of battle, to advance without turning back, blazing like a consuming fire against the forces of unrighteousness, is the sacred duty of one born in a royal lineage. For a warrior, to fight with unyielding courage and attain the destined end upon the battlefield is no tragedy, but a fulfillment of dharma. Your son Abhimanyu has not fallen into loss; rather, he has ascended from this transient world to realms far superior—realms not easily gained even by those who practice virtue, austerity, charity, and sacred rites. Is it fitting, then, to grieve for one so blessed?”
He continued, his voice firm yet soothing: “You, O noble lady, are adorned with threefold greatness—you are born of a royal house, you are the mother of a son who has brought glory to our lineage, and you are the wife of a mighty warrior. Your son’s valor was celebrated with pride by all who witnessed his deeds. Instead of sorrow, should you not cherish his heroism? For when the appointed hour decreed by fate arrives, none can remain in this mortal realm. To be consumed by grief like the ignorant is unworthy of your strength.”
Having thus consoled her, Krishna further said: “Cast away also the sorrow of your daughter-in-law Uttara. You are the embodiment of courage; let not despondency overtake you. When your heart regains its firmness, the burden of sorrow will be lifted from us all. Be assured, Subhadra, that your husband Arjuna shall slay Jayadratha on the morrow and lay his severed head at your feet. Arjuna, endowed with immeasurable might, does not fail in his vows. Should he falter, the earth itself would tremble, the sun would lose its brilliance, and the oceans would dry to their depths. Trust in my word—the wicked Jayadratha shall fall, and you shall yet taste the sweetness of justice. This is not born of personal vengeance, but of the restoration of dharma and the honor of our lineage.”
These words, imbued with wisdom and compassion, brought some measure of solace to Subhadra’s afflicted heart. Yet, overwhelmed by maternal sorrow, she spoke in anguish: “O my son Abhimanyu, blessed was I to bear you and to receive your tender affection. Yet fate has denied me the joy of watching your children grow and delight in their innocent play. What path remains for me now? Tell me, my child. You, who with youthful valor confounded great warriors like Drona and others, were destined to be the wonder of the world. Once you rested partly upon my lap and partly upon your couch—how shall I forget that tender closeness? And now, how do you lie upon the harsh earth?”
Her lament deepened: “You, who awoke to the melodious praises of court bards and the blessings of learned priests, must now hear the cries of wild beasts and carrion birds—how unbearable is this thought! They proclaim Bhima as the mightiest, Satyaki as a peerless warrior, Drupada as master of arms, and Virata as a symbol of kingly power—yet none could save you, my tender son. What shall I say? Without you, this world is to me like a crumbling house, bereft of life and light. Your courage filled our hearts with joy, like a fleeting dream now vanished.”
With a voice trembling between grief and yearning, she added: “Strange indeed is fate, that the son of Arjuna and the nephew of Krishna should fall at the hands of enemies. When shall I behold again your radiant face? Look upon your young wife Uttara—gentle and devoted—who waits in anguish for your words of comfort. Come, if only once, to soothe her heart, that she may find strength to endure this cruel destiny. You are the grandson of Indra, adorned with noble conduct; may you attain the highest realms in heaven, those won by great austerities, righteous deeds, generous gifts, and sacred sacrifices. May your path beyond be resplendent and eternal.”
Thus did a mother’s grief transform itself into blessings for her departed son, her sorrow flowing into prayers for his exalted journey. And Sanjaya, continuing his narration, described the deep anguish that pervaded the encampment of the Pandavas, where hearts were weighed down by loss even as the call of duty beckoned them toward the trials of the coming dawn.
