महामेघाव् इवोदीर्णौ मिश्रवातौ हिमात्यये ॥
सेनाग्रे विप्रकाशेते रुचिरे रथभूषिते ॥
समेत्य तु महासेने चक्रतुर् वेगम् उत्तमम् ॥
जाह्नवीयमुने नद्यौ प्रावृषीवोल्बणोदके ॥
नानाशस्त्रपुरोवातो द्विपाश्वरथसंवृतः ॥
गदाविद्युन् महारौद्रः संग्रामजलदो महान् ॥
mahāmeghāv ivodīrṇau miśravātau himātyaye ||
senāgre viprakāśete rucire rathabhūṣite ||
sametya tu mahāsene cakratur vegam uttamam ||
jāhnavīyamune nadyau prāvṛṣīvolbaṇodake ||
nānāśastrapurovāto dvipāśvarathasaṃvṛtaḥ ||
gadāvidyun mahāraudraḥ saṃgrāmajalado mahān ||
Like two great clouds risen up with mingled winds at the end of winter, [the two hosts] shone at the front of the army, beautiful, adorned with chariots. And having met, the two great hosts produced the highest surge, [like] the rivers Ganga and Yamuna in the rains, with turbulent waters. With diverse weapons as its fore-wind, surrounded by elephants, horses and chariots, with maces as its lightning, most terrible — the great cloud of battle…
d876c7f6efb7 · 发布于 2026年7月19日 15:45:02 UTC
可用语言RUEN用方向键翻颂
The poet builds an extended storm-metaphor: the armies are clouds, weapons are wind, maces are lightning, and battle itself is 'saṃgrāmajaladaḥ,' the thundercloud of war. The merging of the two hosts is like the meeting of Ganga and Yamuna in flood. It is telling that the carnage is likened to a force of nature, beyond human mastery. The verse teaches us to see in war the riot of the elements rather than the triumph of will: the clash of armies is like the meeting of swollen rivers and thunderclouds — and the man who has unleashed it is no longer master over it, any more than he is master over a storm.