Linux
Turn pages
Mahabharata · 7.61.15–16
॥
Дхритараштра
Devanāgarī
द्रोणपुत्रं महेष्वासं गायना नर्तकाश् च ये ॥
अत्यर्थम् उपतिष्ठन्ति तेषां न श्रूयते ध्वनिः ॥
विन्दानुविन्दयोः सायं शिबिरे यो महाध्वनिः ॥
श्रूयते सो ऽद्य न तथा केकयानां च वेश्मसु ॥
Transliteration (IAST)
droṇaputraṃ maheṣvāsaṃ gāyanā nartakāś ca ye ||
atyartham upatiṣṭhanti teṣāṃ na śrūyate dhvaniḥ ||
vindānuvindayoḥ sāyaṃ śibire yo mahādhvaniḥ ||
śrūyate so 'dya na tathā kekayānāṃ ca veśmasu ||
Word-by-word
SanskritIASTMeaning
द्रोणपुत्रम् महेष्वासम्droṇaputram maheṣvāsamthe son of Drona, the great archer; the son of Drona, the mighty bowman
गायनाः नर्तकाः च येgāyanāḥ nartakāḥ ca yesingers and dancers, who; singers and dancers, who
अत्यर्थम् उपतिष्ठन्तिatyartham upatiṣṭhantidiligently attend [him]; diligently wait upon him
तेषाम् न श्रूयते ध्वनिःteṣām na śrūyate dhvaniḥtheir clamor is not heard; their clamor is not heard
विन्दानुविन्दयोः सायम्vindānuvindayoḥ sāyamof Vinda and Anuvinda, in the evening; of Vinda and Anuvinda, at evening
शिबिरे यः महाध्वनिःśibire yaḥ mahādhvaniḥin the camp — what great clamor; in the camp — what great din
श्रूयते सः अद्य न तथाśrūyate saḥ adya na tathāis heard — it now not so; is heard — now not so
केकयानाम् च वेश्मसुkekayānām ca veśmasuand in the dwellings of the Kekayas; and in the dwellings of the Kekayas
Translation
"To the son of Drona, the great archer, the singers and dancers who diligently attend him — their clamor is not heard. The great clamor that used to be heard in the evening in the camp of Vinda and Anuvinda — it is now not so heard, nor in the dwellings of the Kekayas."
Version
8f3c9454970e · published Jul 19, 2026, 3:45:02 PM UTC
Available inRUENPage between verses with
The list of silenced courts continues — Vinda, Anuvinda, the Kekayas: the evening revelry that 'śrūyate saḥ adya na tathā,' is now not heard as before. It is telling how the device repeats itself: the king does not describe death directly, only enumerates what has gone silent, and thereby the foreboding of disaster grows. The verse teaches the power of omission: sometimes silence speaks louder than words about death; and the poem, without naming the deaths, lets us sense their approach through the mere drying-up of life's familiar noise.