Arjuna reaches the raw centre of his pain. Better to live as a beggar in this world, he says, than to kill these great souls who are my teachers. If I do kill them for the sake of wealth and pleasure, every joy I taste afterward will be smeared with their blood. The image is visceral — a feast where every morsel drips red.
This is not a calculated argument. It comes from Arjuna's gut. He would rather give up everything — kingship, wealth, honour — than carry the weight of having killed the people who shaped him. A student raising a weapon against the hand that taught him to hold it: that is the picture Arjuna cannot bear.
Krishna will address this anguish in the coming shlokas. He will show Arjuna that grief rooted in attachment to the body misses a deeper truth. But for now, Arjuna's words reveal the depth of his character — a warrior who values reverence over victory.