Seeing my brother, Laksmana, wounded, and laying over the dust of the field, even victory, O hero, does not seem to me sweet. If the Moon is hid from the sight, whom does he then delight?
भ्रातरं निहतं दृष्ट्वा लक्ष्मणं रणपांसुषु॥ विजयोऽपि हि मे शूर न प्रियायोपकल्पते। अचक्षुर्विषयश्चन्द्रः कां प्रीतिं जनयिष्यति॥