गतोत्सवं पुरमिव हृतनागमिव हृदम् | स्त्रीवर्षवरभूयिष्ठं वृद्धामात्यैरधिष्ठितम्
sañjaya uvāca | gatotsavaṃ puram iva hṛtanāgam iva hradam | strīvarṣavarabhūyiṣṭhaṃ vṛddhāmātyair adhiṣṭhitam | tat paścāt kuntīke putro 'tha prāviśad duryodhanasya śibiram | yathā darśakānāṃ gateṣu śūnyaṃ raṅgamaṇḍapaṃ śobhāhīnaṃ dṛśyate tathā svāminā hate tasya śibirasya gatotsava-nagaropamaṃ hṛtanāga-hradopamaṃ ca śrīhīnaṃ babhūva | tatra nivāsibhir bahavaḥ striyo napuṃsakāś ca vṛddhā amātyā adhiṣṭhātāraḥ kṛtvā śibirasya rakṣāṃ kurvanti sma ||
Sañjaya sprach: Danach betrat Kuntīs Sohn das Lager Duryodhanas. Es glich einer Stadt, deren Festlichkeiten geendet haben, oder einem See, dem seine Nāgas genommen sind — seines Glanzes beraubt. Wie ein Theater matt wird, sobald die Zuschauer fort sind, so erschien auch jenes Lager, dessen Herr erschlagen war, freudlos und verlassen. Die meisten der Zurückgebliebenen waren Frauen und Eunuchen, während betagte Minister als Verwalter dastanden, das Lager nach dem Sturz seines Führers bewachten und ordneten.
संजय उवाच
The verse underscores the fragility of worldly splendor: when the leader (svāmin) falls, the outward ‘śrī’ of power collapses quickly. It also hints at ethical reality in war—victory and defeat leave behind vulnerable noncombatants, while governance shifts to elders and administrators who must preserve order amid loss.
Sañjaya describes Kuntī’s son entering Duryodhana’s camp after its lord has been slain. The camp appears deserted and joyless, compared to an empty theatre and a lake without nāgas. Those remaining are largely women and eunuchs, with aged ministers overseeing and protecting the encampment.