Why did my son die so?
He was but a boy, sixteen summers, barely a man.
He had just married, he was to be a father!
His life had just begun, yet it was snatched away before he could even dream.
Why, Vasudev, why?
What sin had he committed to deserve such a fate?
Was his crime that he was born to me? That he carried my blood, my name?
They hunted him like jackals, tearing at him from all sides.
Seven great warriors, armored and armed, against one lone boy.
Where was the honor? Where was dharm? Where was mercy?
Tell me, Vasudev, tell me!
Why, Vasudev, why?
He fought! By the gods, he fought!
Even as his bow was severed, even as his chariot was broken,
Even as his sword shattered and his shield bent,
He did not beg. He did not flee.
With nothing but a chariot wheel, he stood before death and laughed!
Was he not worthy of a warrior's end?
Yet they butchered him—beasts in human form!
Unarmed, unarmored, helpless—and still, they struck!
And those wretches,those filth of mankind, those cowards—
They crushed my son's skull with a mace as he stood defenseless!
Why, Vasudev, why?
Had I been there, he would have lived!
Had I been there, my boy would still breathe!
But Jayadrath, that serpent, blocked my way.
He ensured my son would die,
Watched from afar as the wolves devoured my child.
So hear me, Vasudev, hear me, heavens, hear me, gods!
By tomorrow's dawn, Jayadrath's blood will stain the earth.
For every drop my son shed, I shall spill a river!
For every indignity he suffered, I shall return a hundredfold!
I swear it—by my name, by my bow, by my very soul!
Tomorrow, the sun itself shall tremble,
For by sunset, Jayadrath will die by my hands—
Or Arjun shall cease to be.