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?