The polished sword comes out of the scabbard, as a snake does out of its own worn out skin, and near my banners are heard terrific words like these-'O Kiritin, when will your chariot be yoked?'
खङ्गः कोशान्निःसरति प्रसन्नो हित्वेव जीर्णीमुरगस्त्वचं स्वाम्। ध्वजे वाचो रौद्ररूपा भवन्ति कदा रथो योक्ष्यते ते किरीटिन्॥