"Bhishma said, 'Next morning, O king, when the sun rose brightly, the combat between myself and him of Bhrigu's race, again, commenced. Then Rama, that foremost of smiters, stationed on his quickly-moving car, rained on me a thick downpour of arrows like the clouds on the mountain-breast. My beloved charioteer then, afflicted by that arrowy shower, swerved from his place in the car, filling me with grief on his account. A total unconsciousness then came over him. And thus wounded by that arrowy downpour he fell down upon the earth in a swoon. And afflicted as he had been by Rama's shafts, he soon gave up his life. Then, O great king, fear entered my heart. And when, on the death of
