Chapter X: Book IX

Scarce Varshneya had departed--still the king of men played on,
Till to Pushkara his kingdom--all that he possessed, was lost.
Nala then, despoiled of kingdom--smiling Pushkara bespake:
"Throw we yet another hazard--Nala, where is now thy stake?
There remains but Damayanti--all thou hast beside, is mine.
Throw we now for Damayanti--come, once more the hazard try."
Thus as Pushkara addressed him--Punyasloka's inmost heart
By his grief was rent asunder--not a single word he spake.
And on Pushkara, king Nala--in his silent anguish gazed.
All his ornaments of splendour--from his person stripped he off,
With a single vest, scarce covered,--'mid the sorrow of his friends.
Slowly wandered forth the monarch--fallen from such an height of bliss.
Damayanti with one garment--slowly followed him behind.
Three long nights Nishadha's monarch--there without the gates had dwelt.
Proclamation through the city--then did Pushkara bid make,
"Whosoe'er befriendeth Nala--shall to instant death be doomed."
Thus, as Pushkara gave order--in the terror of his power,
Might the citizens no longer--hospitably serve the king.
Near the walls, of kind reception--worthiest, but by none received;
Three nights longer staid the monarch--water was his only drink,
He in unfastidious hunger--plucked the fruits, the roots of earth.
Then went forth again the outcast:--Damayanti followed slow.
In the agony of famine--Nala, after many days,
Saw some birds around him settling--with their golden tinctured wings.
Then the monarch of Nishadha--thought within his secret heart,
These to-day my welcome banquet--and my treasure these will be.
Over them his single garment--spreading light he wrapped them round:
Up that single garment bearing--to the air they sprang away;
And the birds above him hovering--thus in human accents spake,
Naked as they saw him standing--on the earth, and sad, and lone:--
"Lo, we are the dice, to spoil thee--thus descended, foolish king!
While thou hadst a single garment--all our joy was incomplete."
When the dice he saw departing--and himself without his robe,
Mournfully did Punyasloka--thus to Damayanti speak:
"They, O blameless, by whose anger--from my kingdom I am driven,
Life-sustaining food unable--in my misery to find--
They, through whom Nishadha's people--may not house their outcast king--
They, the forms of birds assuming--my one robe have borne away.
In the dark extreme of misery--sad and frantic as I am,
Hear me, princess, hear and profit--by thy husband's best advice.
Hence are many roads diverging--to the region of the south,[63]
Passing by Avanti's city[64]--and the height of Rishavan;
Vindhya here, the mighty mountain[65]--and Payoshni's seaward stream;[66]
And the lone retreats of hermits--on the fruits of earth that live;
This will lead thee to Vidarbha--this to Cosala away,[67]
Far beyond the region stretches--southward to the southward clime."
In these words to Damayanti--did the royal Nala speak,
More than once to Bhima's daughter--anxious pointing out the way.
She, with voice half choked with sorrow--with her weight of woe oppressed,
These sad words did Damayanti--to Nishadha's monarch speak:--
"My afflicted heart is breaking--and my sinking members fail,
When, O king, thy desperate counsel--once I think of, once again.
Robbed of kingdom, robbed of riches--naked, thirst and hunger worn;
How shall I depart and leave thee--in the wood by man untrod.
When thou sad and famine-stricken--thinkest of thy former bliss,
In the wild wood, oh, my husband,--I thy weariness will soothe.
Like a wife, in every sorrow--this the wise physicians own,
Healing herb is none or balsam--Nala, 'tis the truth I speak."

NALA _spake_.

Slender-waisted Damayanti--true, indeed, is all thou'st said;
Like a wife no friendly medicine--to afflicted man is given.
Fear not that I thee abandon--Wherefore, timid, dread'st thou this?
Oh, myself might I abandon--and not thee, thou unreproached.

DAMAYANTI _spake_.

If indeed, oh mighty monarch--thou wilt ne'er abandon me,
Wherefore then towards Vidarbha--dost thou point me out the way.
Well, I know thee, noble Nala--to desert me far too true,
Only with a soul distracted--would'st thou leave me, lord of earth.
Yet, again, the way thou pointest--yet, again, thou best of men,
Thus my sorrow still enhancing--oh, thou like the immortal gods;
If this be thy better counsel--'to her kindred let her go,'
Be it so, and both together--to Vidarbha set we forth.
Thee Vidarbha's king will honour--honour'd in his turn by thee;
Held in high respect and happy--in our mansion thou shall dwell.