स भित्त्वा तु शरो राजन् पाञ्चाल्यं कुलनन्दनम् ॥
अभ्यगाद् धरणीं तूर्णं लोहितार्द्रो ज्वलन्न् इव ॥
ततो ऽपतद् रथात् तूर्णं पाञ्चाल्यः कुलनन्दनः ॥
पर्वताग्राद् इव महांश् चम्पको वायुपीडितः ॥
तस्मिन् हते महेष्वासे राजपुत्रे महाबले ॥
पाञ्चालास् त्वरिता द्रोणं समन्तात् पर्यवारयन् ॥
sa bhittvā tu śaro rājan pāñcālyaṃ kulanandanam ||
abhyagād dharaṇīṃ tūrṇaṃ lohitārdro jvalann iva ||
tato 'patad rathāt tūrṇaṃ pāñcālyaḥ kulanandanaḥ ||
parvatāgrād iva mahāṃś campako vāyupīḍitaḥ ||
tasmin hate maheṣvāse rājaputre mahābale ||
pāñcālās tvaritā droṇaṃ samantāt paryavārayan ||
That arrow, O king, piercing the son of Pāñcāla, the delight of his line, sank swiftly into the earth, wet with blood, blazing. Then the son of Pāñcāla, the delight of his line, fell swiftly from his chariot, like a great champaka tree broken by the wind from a mountain peak. When that great archer, the mighty king's son, was slain, the Pāñcālas, in haste, encircled Droṇa on every side.
ca40a64dc5f8 · published Jul 19, 2026, 4:08:02 PM UTC
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Young Vīraketu falls "campako vāyupīḍitaḥ," like a champaka trunk broken by the wind: the death of youth at the threshold of its bloom is beauty-in-horror. It is telling that the epic mourns the fallen boy through the image of a flowering tree. The verse teaches that war cuts life down in its prime, and the comparison of the fallen youth to a blossoming tree broken by the storm is a sorrowful rebuke to strife — for it is the young, scarcely come into their strength, whom war destroys most bitterly of all.