(अश्मनां भिद्यमानानां सायकै: श्रूयते ध्वनि: । घद्मपत्रेषु धाराणां पतन्तीनामिव ध्वनि: ।।) बाणोंसे चूर-चूर होनेवाले पत्थरोंकी ऐसी ध्वनि सुनायी पड़ती थी, मानो कमलदलोंपर गिरती हुई जलधाराओंका शब्द कानोंमें पड़ रहा हो । ततः शब्द: समभवत् तव सैन्यस्य मारिष । माधवेनार्यमानस्य सागरस्येव पर्वणि,आर्य! जैसे पूर्णिमाके दिन समुद्रका गर्जन बहुत बढ़ जाता है, उसी प्रकार सात्यकिके द्वारा पीड़ित हुई आपकी सेनाका महान् कोलाहल प्रकट हो रहा था
sañjaya uvāca |
aśmanāṁ bhidyamānānāṁ sāyakaiḥ śrūyate dhvaniḥ |
padmapatreṣu dhārāṇāṁ patantīnām iva dhvaniḥ ||
tataḥ śabdaḥ samabhavat tava sainyasya māriṣa |
mādhavenāryamāṇasya sāgarasyeva parvaṇi ||
Sanjaya said: “The sound was heard of stones being shattered by arrows—like the soft, continuous murmur of streams falling upon lotus-leaves. Then, O revered one, a great roar arose from your army, tormented by Madhava’s warrior (Sātyaki), like the ocean swelling in thunder on the day of the full moon.”
संजय उवाच
The verse highlights how violence in war multiplies fear and confusion: even the ‘music’ of battle (arrows splitting stone) becomes a deceptive, almost natural-sounding murmur, while the afflicted army’s uproar swells like the sea—showing how collective adharma-driven conflict amplifies suffering and disorder.
Sanjaya reports to Dhṛtarāṣṭra the intensity of the fighting: arrows are striking and splitting stones with a distinctive sound, and as Sātyaki presses the Kaurava forces, their noise and commotion rise dramatically, compared to the ocean’s roar at the full moon.