तैः स्फुरद्भिर् महाराज शुशुभे लोहितोक्षितैः ॥
पञ्चास्यैः पन्नगैश् छिन्नैर् गरुडेनेव मारिष ॥
सुनासाननकेशान्तैर् अव्रणैश् चारुकुण्डलैः ॥
संदष्टौष्ठपुटैः क्रोधात् क्षरद्भिः शोणितं बहु ॥
चारुस्रङ्मुकुटोष्णीषैर् मणिरत्नविराजितैः ॥
विनालनलिनाकारैर् दिवाकरशशिप्रभैः ॥
हितप्रियंवदैः काले बहुभिः पुण्यगन्धिभिः ॥
द्विषच्छिरोभिः पृथिवीम् अवतस्तार फाल्गुणिः ॥
taiḥ sphuradbhir mahārāja śuśubhe lohitokṣitaiḥ ||
pañcāsyaiḥ pannagaiś chinnair garuḍeneva māriṣa ||
sunāsānanakeśāntair avraṇaiś cārukuṇḍalaiḥ ||
saṃdaṣṭauṣṭhapuṭaiḥ krodhāt kṣaradbhiḥ śoṇitaṃ bahu ||
cārusraṅmukuṭoṣṇīṣair maṇiratnavirājitaiḥ ||
vinālanalinākārair divākaraśaśiprabhaiḥ ||
hitapriyaṃvadaiḥ kāle bahubhiḥ puṇyagandhibhiḥ ||
dviṣacchirobhiḥ pṛthivīm avatastāra phālguṇiḥ ||
With those quivering, blood-drenched [hands], O great sovereign, the earth presented a sight as if of five-headed serpents severed by Garuda, O worthy one. With heads — beautiful of nose, face, and hair, untouched by wounds, with wondrous earrings, lips bitten in anger, oozing abundant blood, with beautiful garlands, crowns, and turbans, shining with gems, appearing like lotuses without their stems, radiant as sun and moon, [heads of those] who in their hour had spoken good and pleasant words, fragrant — with many heads of enemies did the son of Phalguna strew the earth.
4ee20142b7fa · publicado 19 jul 2026, 15:22:09 UTC
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The tradition mourns the severed heads with an image of incomparable beauty: lotuses without stems, the radiance of sun and moon, wondrous earrings, fragrance. And especially grievous — these are the heads of those "who in their hour had spoken good and pleasant words": lips that had uttered goodness fell silent forever. Thus it is shown that war destroys not the faceless, but the beautiful, the good, the beloved. It is significant that the tradition does not gloat over the enemy but grieves for their beauty. The verse teaches that in every fallen one, even in an enemy, something bright and beautiful perishes — a face like a lotus, lips that had spoken good; that human beauty, cut short by the sword, calls for grief, not triumph; and that one who beholds in a severed enemy head the radiance of a heavenly body and the trace of kind words has not hardened his heart, but feels most keenly what beauty enmity destroys.