Indian Myth and Legend

Many of the onlookers trembled with fear, until they beheld Bhishma and Drona, clad in armour, standing aloft in their chariots in splendour and in pride; then came Arjuna's son, the noble Abhimanyu, and Bhima's Asura son. Soon Gandhari beheld Duryodhana and all his brethren, while Pritha looked with glad eyes upon Karna, and Draupadi welcomed her brother Dhrishta-dyumna and her five children who had all been slain by vengeful Aswatthaman. All the warriors who had fallen in battle returned again on that night of wonder.

With the host came minstrels who sang of the deeds of the heroes, and beautiful girls who danced before them. All strife had ended between kinsmen and old-time rivals; in death there was peace and sweet companionship.

The ghostly warriors crossed the Ganges and were welcomed by those who waited on the bank around Vyasa. It was a night of supreme and heart-stirring gladness. Fathers and mothers found their sons, widows clung to their husbands, sisters embraced their brothers, and all wept tears of joy. The elders who were living conversed with those who were dead; the burdens of grief and despair fell from all hearts after lone years of mourning; the past was suddenly forgotten in the rapture of beholding those who had died.

Swiftly passed the night as if it had endured but for an hour. Then when dawn began to break, the dead men returned to their chariots and their horses and their elephants and bade farewells....

Vyasa spoke to the widows and said that those of them who desired to be with their husbands could depart with them. Then the Kaurava princesses and other high-born ladies, who never ceased to mourn for their own, kissed the feet of the Maharajah Dhritarashtra and Queen Gandhari and plunged into the Ganges with the departing hosts.... Vyasa chanted mantras, and all the drowned widows were transported to heaven with their husbands....

The Pandavas returned to Hastinapur, and when two years had gone past a new sorrow fell upon them. One day Narada, the sage, stood before Yudhishthira and told that a great fire had swept through the jungle, and that Dhritarashtra, and Gandhari, and Pritha, and all who were with them, had perished.

Soon afterwards the Pandavas came to know, by reason of dread omens which appeared, that a great calamity was drawing nigh, but no man could tell what it was or when it would take place.

Ere long it became known that the city of Dwaraka was doomed to be destroyed. A horror in human shape was beheld in the night; it was coloured yellow and black, its head was bald and its limbs misshapen, and men said it was Yama, god of the dead.... Visions of headless men contending in battle were beheld at sunset.... The moon was eclipsed, a dread tempest ravaged the land, and a plague of rats afflicted the city.

Krishna forbade all the people, on pain of death, to drink wine, and commanded them to perform devotions on the seashore....

Then the night was haunted by a black woman with yellow teeth who grinned horribly at house doors. All the inhabitants of the city were stricken with terror.... Evil spirits came also and robbed the jewels of the women and the weapons of the men.... At length the chakra[291] of Krishna went up to heaven, and his chariot and horses followed it.... The end of the Yádavas was not afar off, and the day came when Apsaras called out of heaven: “Depart from hence,” and all the people heard them.

When the people gathered on the seashore they held a feast, and being allowed to drink wine for one day, they drank heavily and began to quarrel. At length Satyaki slew Kritavarman, who had gone to the Pandava camp with Drona's son on the night of slaughter. Then Kritavarman's friends killed Satyaki and one of Krishna's sons. Krishna slew the rebels, but he could not quell the tumult and the fighting which ensued; fathers slew their sons, and sons their fathers, and kinsmen contended fiercely against kinsmen.

Then Krishna and Balarama left the city, and both died in the jungle. From Balarama's mouth issued a mighty snake, for he was the incarnation of the world serpent.... Krishna was mistaken for a gazelle by a hunter, who shot an arrow which pierced his foot at the only spot where he could be mortally wounded. He then departed to his heaven, which is called Goloka.

Ere Krishna had left Dwaraka he caused messengers to hasten for Arjuna, who came speedily, to find the women wailing for the dead. Then Vasudeva, father of Krishna, died, and Arjuna laid the body of the old man upon the pyre, and he was burned with four of his widows, who no longer desired to live. The bodies of Krishna and Balarama were cremated also.

Arjuna then set forth towards Indra-prastha with a remnant of the people; and when they had left Dwaraka, the sea rose up and swallowed the whole city, with those who had refused to depart from it.... Such was the end of the power of the Yadavas.

Deep gloom fell upon the Pandavas after this, and Vyasa, the sage, appeared before them, and revealed that their time had come to depart from the world.

Then Yudhishthira divided the kingdom. He made Parikshit, son of Abhimanyu, Rajah of Hastinapur; and Yuyutsu, the half-brother of Duryodhana, who had joined the Pandava army on the first day of the great war, was made Rajah of Hastinapur. He counselled them to live at peace one with another.

The Pandavas afterwards cast off their royal garments and their jewels and put on the garb of hermits, and the bright-eyed and faithful Draupadi did likewise. Yudhishthira departed first of all, and his brethren walked behind him one by one, and Draupadi went last of all, followed by a hound. They all walked towards the rising sun, and by the long circuitous path which leads to Mount Meru, through forests and over streams and across the burning plains, never again to return.

One by one they fell by the way, all save Yudhishthira. Draupadi was the first to sink down, and Bhima cried: “Why hath she fallen who hath never done wrong?”

Said Yudhishthira: “Her heart was bound up in Arjuna, and she hath her reward.”

Sahadeva was next to fall, and then Nakula. At length Yudhishthira heard the voice of Bhima crying in distress: “Lo! now the noble Arjuna hath fallen. What sin hath he committed?”

Said Yudhishthira: “He boasted confidently that he could destroy all his enemies in one day, and because he failed in his vow he hath fallen by the way.”

The two surviving brothers walked on in silence; but the time came when mighty Bhima sank down. He cried: “O Yudhishthira say, if thou canst tell, why I have fallen now.”

Said Yudhishthira: “O wolf-bellied one, because of thy cursing and gluttony and thy pride thou hast fallen by the way.”

Yudhishthira walked on, calm and unmoved, followed by his faithful hound. When he drew nigh to sacred Mount Meru, the world-spine, Indra, king of the gods, came forth to welcome him, saying: “Ascend, O resolute prince.”

Said Yudhishthira: “Let my brethren who have fallen by the way come with me also. I cannot enter heaven without them, O king of the gods. Let the fair and gentle princess come too; Draupadi hath been a faithful wife, and is worthy of bliss. Hear my prayer, O Indra, and have mercy.”

Said Indra: “Thy brethren and Draupadi have gone before thee.”

Then Yudhishthira pleaded that his faithful hound should enter heaven also; but Indra said: “Heaven is no place for those who are followed by hounds. Knowest thou not that demons rob religious ordinances of their virtues when dogs are nigh?”

Said Yudhishthira: “No evil can come from the noble. I cannot have joy if I desert this faithful friend.”

Indra said: “Thou didst leave behind thy brethren and Draupadi. Why, therefore, canst thou not abandon thine hound?”

Said Yudhishthira: “I have no power to bring back to life those who have fallen by the way: there can be no abandonment of the dead.”

As he spake, the hound was transformed, and behold Dharma, god of justice, stood by the rajah's side.

Dharma said: “O Yudhishthira, thou art indeed mine own son. Thou wouldst not abandon me, thy hound, because that I was faithful unto thee. Thine equal cannot be found in heaven.”

Then Yudhishthira was transported to the city of eternal bliss, and there he beheld Duryodhana seated upon a throne. All the Kauravas were in heaven also, but the rajah could not find his brethren or fair Draupadi.

Said Indra: “Here thou shalt dwell, O Yudhishthira, in eternal bliss. Forget all earthly ties and attain to perfection; thy brethren have fallen short, therefore they sank by the way.”

Yudhishthira said: “I cannot remain here with the Kauravas who have done me great wrong. Where my brethren are, there would I be also with our wife Draupadi.”

Then a celestial being conducted Yudhishthira to the abode of his brethren and the Princess of Panchala. He entered the forest of the nether regions, where the leaves were like to sharp weapons and the path was covered with knives. Darkness hung heavily, and the way was miry with blood and strewn with foul and mutilated corpses. Shapes of horror flitted round about like to shadows; fierce birds of prey feasted upon human flesh. The damned were burning in everlasting fires, and the air reeked with foul odours. A boiling river went past, and Yudhishthira saw the place of torture with thorns, and the desert of fiery sand: he gazed mutely upon each horror that was unfolded before his eyes.

Fain would Yudhishthira have turned back, but he heard in the darkness the voices of his brethren and Draupadi bidding him to stay a little while to comfort them while they suffered torment.

Then Yudhishthira said to the celestial being: “Depart now from me, for I must remain here to assuage the sufferings of my brethren and Draupadi.”

As he spake the gods appeared, and the scene of horror vanished from before the eyes of Yudhishthira, for it was an illusion conjured up to test his constancy.

Then Yudhishthira was led to the heavenly Ganges, and having bathed in its sacred waters, he cast off his mortal body and became a celestial. Then, rejoicing, he entered Swarga, the celestial city of Indra, and was welcomed by Krishna in all his divine glory, and by his brethren and by Draupadi, and all whom he had loved upon earth.

Indra spoke and said: “This is the beautiful and immortal one, who sprang from the altar to be thy wife, and these bright beings are her five children. Here is Dhritarashtra, who is now the king of the Gandharvas; there is Karna, son of Surya, the peerless archer who was slain by Arjuna. Here cometh towards thee Abhimanyu, son of Arjuna; he is now the star-bright companion of the lord of night.... Here are Pandu, thy sire, and Pritha, thy mother, now united in heaven. Behold! also, Yudhishthira, the wise Bhishma, whose place is with the Vasus round my throne: Drona sits with Dharma, god of wisdom. Here are all the peerless warriors who fell in battle and have won heaven by their valour and their constancy. So may all mortals rise to eternal bliss, casting off their mortal bodies and entering by the shining door of the celestial city, by doing kindly deeds, by uttering gentle words, and by enduring all suffering with patience. The holy life is prepared for all the sons of men.”

Thus ends sublimely the story of the Great War of the Bharatas.

CHAPTER XX
Nala and Damayantí

A Noble Prince and Fair Princess—Swan Messengers of Love—A Royal Romance—The Love-sick Maiden—Indra and the Rishis—The Swayamvara—Gods Descend from Heaven—Nala's Mission—Interview with Damayantí—A Faithful Lover—Gathering of Rajahs—Gods Rejected by Damayantí—The Choice of Nala—Wedding Gifts of the Gods—The Royal Marriage—Kali the Demon—Plot to Ruin Nala.

Once upon a time there reigned in Nishadha[292] a great rajah of choicest virtues whose name was Nala. He had great skill in taming steeds; he was a peerless archer, and was devoted to truth. Nala commanded a mighty army: like to the sun was his splendour, and he was exalted over all other kings as is the monarch of the gods. He had withal great piety, and he was deeply read in the Vedas, but he was ever a passionate lover of dice. Many a high-born lady spoke his praises, for he was generous of heart, and self-controlled, and the guardian of law. Indeed, Nala was a very present Manu.[293]

Now there ruled over the neighbouring state of Vidarbha the mighty rajah Bhíma, the terrible in strength, who was likewise of choicest virtues. He was childless, and he yearned for children. For long he had been wont to perform many holy deeds intent upon offspring, but without avail.[294] It chanced, however, that one day there came to his court a Bráhman named Damana, and hospitable welcome was accorded him by the child-desiring Bhíma, for the seer was feasted in the hall with the rajah and his royal consort. Thereafter a boon was conferred upon the queen: she became the mother of one sweet girl, the pearl of maidens, who was named Damayantí, and of three noble sons, Dama, Danta, and the renowned Dam´ana, who all grew great and powerful.

When fair Damayantí had attained the full bloom of her beauty, she was unequalled throughout the world for her brilliance and for her grace. Upon the faultless and slender-waisted maiden there waited, as about Indra's queen, a hundred female slaves and a hundred virgin handmaids, and she shone among them, decked with jewels and rich ornaments, like to the goddess of beauty, unrivalled and without a peer. Never among the gods, or the Yakshas, or among mortal men was a maiden more fair ever heard of or ever beheld than soul-disturbing Damayantí, who disturbed the souls of the gods.

In presence of Bhima's sweet daughter the high-born ladies of Vidarbha took joy in constantly praising Nala, that tiger among rajahs. Likewise before Nishadha's king was Damayantí ever extolled because of her beauty. So it fell that, hearing much of each other's virtues, the silent passion of love was nurtured in both their hearts.

Impatient grew Nala as his love increased, and he was wont to wander in a grove within his palace garden musing secretly upon the maiden of faultless form. One day he saw disporting in the grounds a flock of beautiful swans with wings all flecked with gold. The rajah crept forward softly and seized one, and much he marvelled to hear it cry out in human language.

“Slay me not, O gentle king, and to thee I will render a service, for I will praise thee in the presence of Damayantí so that ever after she shall think of no other mortal man but thee.”

Immediately Nala set the bird at liberty, and it flew away rejoicing with its bright companions towards Vidarbha. When they reached the ladies' garden of Bhima's palace they settled down at the feet of Damayantí, who was reposing in the shade with her virgin handmaids. All the fair young women gazed in wonder on the swans, admiring their graceful forms and their plumage gleaming with gold, and ere long they began to pursue them among the trees. Then of a sudden the bird which Damayantí followed spoke to her in human language and said:

“Damayantí, hear! The noble king Nala dwells in Nishadha. Comely is he as a god, nor can his equal be found in the world. Thou art the pearl of women, and he is the pride of men. If thou wert wed to him, then would perfect beauty and noble birth be united. Blessed indeed would be the union of the peerless with the peerless.”

Wondering, the maiden listened while the bird conversed thus strangely, and then she said: “Speak also unto Nala in this manner.”

The swan made answer: “So be it,” and thereupon took flight with the others to Nishadha, where it related unto Nala all that had taken place.

Ever after that day Damayantí ceased to live for herself alone; all her thoughts were given up to Nala. She desired most to sit apart in silent reverie; the bloom faded from her cheeks, and she grew dejected and melancholy. Indeed, the maiden yielded up her soul to sorrow, and much she sighed in secret, gazing upward and meditating, for love had taken possession of her heart; nor did she find pleasure in sleep, or in gentle converse, or in merry banquets. In the midst of her broken slumbers she was wont to weep and cry out: “Oh, woe is me!”

The virgin handmaidens read her heart, and they went before her sire and told that his gentle daughter was pining for the monarch among men. When Bhima heard this, he pondered deeply what should be done for Damayantí, and he perceived that her time for the swayamvara[295] had come. So he summoned all the high-born rajahs upon earth, saying: “O heroes of the world, come ye to the swayamvara.”

Then did the whole land resound with the trampling of elephants and horses and the rumbling of chariots, for the stately princes, followed by their armies, swarmed towards the court of Bhima. By the strong lord of Vidarbha were they welcomed with honour, and they sat upon their thrones.

Now it happened that at this time these two wise sages, Nárada and Párvata,[296] ascended Mount Meru to Swarga, the heaven of Indra, and they saluted the Cloud-compeller within his palace. The immortal lord bade them welcome, and asked how it fared with the world. Narada said it fared well with the world and with all the mighty kings. Then Indra spake, saying: “Where are all the royal heroes? Why do they not come hither as my honoured guests?”[297]

The wise sage made answer and said: “O Cloud-compeller, the great rajahs cannot appear before thee because even now they are hastening one and all to the swayamvara of Damayantí, the renowned daughter of Bhima, the fairest woman upon earth. O slayer of drought demons, every king seeks to woo this maid of transcending beauty, for she is the pearl of all the world.”

As Narada spake, the other gods drew nigh and listened to his stately utterance. Then together they exclaimed with rapture: “We also will go thither....” In an instant they were hastening through the air in their chariots towards the city of Vidarbha to mingle with the wooers of Bhima's fair daughter.

Meanwhile Nala had set forth with joy, his heart full of love for Damayantí. The gods beheld him standing upon the surface of the earth with radiance like to the sun, and they arrested their course, gazing in mute wonder, for he was as comely as the god of love. Then, dropping down through the blue air, they hailed the stately hero, saying: “Do as we now beseech thee, O most excellent of princes; be thou the bearer of our message.”

Nala adored the gods with folded hands and promised to obey their will, saying humbly: “Who are ye that now command my service?”

Indra spoke and said: “Lo! we are the dread guardians of the world. I am Indra, lord of heaven; yon is Agni, god of fire; here is Varuna, king of the waters; and there is Yama, lord of the dead.[298] Thou must inform Damayantí that we have come to woo her and say to her: ‘Choose for thine husband one of the celestial beings’.”

Nala made answer with folded hands, saying: “Send me not, I entreat thee, upon this mission. How can I who am enamoured with the maiden, plead aright the cause of another. In mercy spare me, ye gods—spare me this unwelcome service.”

But the gods would not be moved from their purpose. They reminded Nala he had already promised to do their will, and they therefore urged him to set forth without delay lest he should belie his words.

Then the lord of Nishadha pleaded: “The palace of Bhima is strongly guarded, and I cannot enter there.”

Indra said: “Thou wilt indeed enter.”

And lo! even as the god spake, Nala found himself standing before Damayantí in her secret bower.

The beauteous maiden was surrounded by her virgin band, and he gazed upon her faultless limbs and slender waist and into her entrancing eyes. Her shining beauty excelled even the tender rays of the moon. The love of Nala grew deeper and stronger as he looked upon the smiling princess; but he curbed his passion, remembering his mission.

All the maidens gazed with wonder and joy at the noble form, and in their hearts they exclaimed: “Oh! the splendid one; oh! the strong and mighty hero—who is he?... Is he god, or Yaksha, or Gandharva?” But they spoke not a word, for they were made bashfully silent by reason of his beauty.

Nala smiled upon Damayantí, and first she smiled softly in return; then she exclaimed in her wonder: “Who art thou that hast come hither like a celestial being to awaken all my love. Speak and tell, O sinless lord. How didst thou contrive to enter the palace unseen, for surely all the chambers are strongly guarded by stern orders of the king?”[299]

The rajah made answer, saying: “O thou fairest one, know now that I am even Nala, and that I come hither as the messenger of the gods Indra and Agni, Varuna and Yama, and through their power have I entered here, unseen nor stayed, for it is their desire that I should say unto thee: ‘Choose, O princess, for thine husband one of the celestial beings’. Such is the purpose of my mission from the great world guardians. Having heard me, thou mayst decide as thou wilt.”

Damayanti at once did homage to the gods. Then she smiled upon Nala and spoke, saying: “Lo! I am thine already, and whatsoever I possess is thine also. O give me thy love in return, Nala. For know that my heart's love was increased by the endearing words of the swan, and it is because of thee that the rajahs are all gathered here now. If thou wilt despise me, I will suffer death for thy sake by fire, or by water, or even by the noose[300].”

The rajah made answer and said: “Wilt thou despise these, the gods, and choose for thine husband a mortal who is more lowly than the dust they walk upon? Let thy heart aspire to them. Remember, too, that the man who incurs the anger of the world's dread guardians will meet with certain death. From such a fate oh shield me, thou fairest one!... So choose one of the perfect gods, and thou shalt have robes unsullied by dust, garlands that never fade, and celestial joy without end.”

Trembling, and with tear-dimmed eyes, Damayantí said: “I do homage with due humility to all the gods, but oh! I desire thee for my husband, thee and thee only.”

But Nala spake, saying: “I am charged with the mission of the celestial beings, and cannot plead for myself now. But afterwards I will come to claim thee, and will speak boldly, O bright one, so remember me in thine heart.”

The maiden smiled through her tears. “Ah!” she said, “I see now a way of escape.... When thou comest to the swayamvara, enter thou together with the gods, and I will name thee as mine own, so that no sin may be charged against thee.”

Then Nala returned to the gods, who waited him eagerly, and he told them all that the maiden had said, word for word. “In thy wisdom,” he added, “thou wilt judge of what remains, O ye excelling gods.”

When at length the day of happy omen, the day of the swayamvara, arrived, Bhima summoned at noontide all the love-sick rajahs, and they passed through the court of golden columns and under the bright portal arch, and entered the Hall of State like to lions on the mountains. The rajahs were then seated on their thrones, adorned with garlands and with dangling ear gems. The arms of some were robust and powerful like the battle mace; those of others were delicate and smooth as a serpent. With profuse and flowing hair, shapely noses, and arching eyebrows, the faces of these great lords were radiant as the stars in heaven. As a mountain cave is full of tigers, so was Bhima's great Hall full of rajah tigers on that day.

When Damayantí entered in state, every eye and every soul was entranced by her dazzling beauty; all these lords of earth gazed upon her with unmoving eyes.... The name of each rajah was proclaimed in turn, and Nala, looking about her, was suddenly stricken with dismay, for she perceived that there were present five Nalas who were undistinguishable in form and attire one from another. The four gods who desired to win her had each assumed the likeness of her beloved one. Whichsoever of these she gazed upon, he seemed to be her rajah, and in her secret heart she wailed: “How can I discern Nala among the celestial beings?”

In her sore distress the trembling maiden folded her hands and did homage before the gods, to whom she prayed, saying:

“When I heard the sweet words of the swans, I pledged my heart to Nala. I adjure thee by this truth, O ye gods. Oh! reveal my lord.

“From my faith I have never swerved either by word or by deed. I adjure thee by this truth, O ye all-knowing Powers. Oh! reveal my lord.

“The gods have destined that Nala should be mine husband. I adjure thee by this truth. Oh! reveal my lord.

“The vow which I so pledged to Nala is holy, and I must ever keep it. I adjure thee by this truth. Oh! reveal my lord.

“O ye mighty ones, ye guardians of the world, assume now your forms divine, so that I may know Nala, the monarch of men.”

The gods heard the sad maiden's piteous prayer and marvelled greatly. They perceived that her resolve was firm, that she was constant in truth and in love, and was holy and wise, and that she remained faithful to her lord. So they revealed the tokens of their greatness....[301] Then Damayantí was able to discern the four celestial beings because their skins were without moisture and their eyes never winked, there was no dust on their garlands and their feet did not touch the earth. She also knew Nala because he cast a shadow; there was dust on his raiment, and his garland was beginning to fade; drops of moisture stood on his skin, and his eyelids moved.

Gazing first upon the celestial beings and then upon him who was her heart's desire, Damayantí named Nala as her lord. She modestly touched the hem of his garment and threw round his neck a wreath of bright flowers, and thus chose him for her husband.

All the rivals of Nala uttered cries of sorrow, but the gods and the sages exclaimed aloud: “Well done! Well done!” and honoured the lord of Nishadha.

Nala spake in his joy to fair Damayantí, saying: “Since thou, O maiden with serene smile, hast chosen me for thine husband in the presence of the gods, know that I will be a faithful consort who will ever take delight in thy words. I am thine, and so long as my life endures I will be thine only.”

So did the lord of Nishadha pledge his faith, and the heart of the maiden was made glad. The happy pair then did homage before the gods, and these resplendent guardians of the earth bestowed, in their joy, eight surpassing gifts upon Nala. Indra gave him power to behold the godhead in the sacrifice, and power to walk unhindered by any obstacle wheresoever he desired; Agni gave him power over fire, and power over the three worlds;[302] Varuna gave him power over water, and power to obtain fresh garlands at will; and Yama gave him subtle skill in preparing food, and eminence in every virtue. Each of the gods also conferred his double blessing upon Nala, and thereafter they departed.

All the rajahs wondered greatly when they beheld the maiden's choice confirmed in this manner, and they went away as they came, with joy, and returned unto their own domains.

Bhima rejoiced greatly when the happy bridal was celebrated in pomp and with state, and he bade Nala adieu with great courtesy when that great lord of Nishadha, after fitting sojourn at Vidarbha, set out to return to his native city with the pearl of women whom he had won.

Now it chanced that when the gods had left the swayamvara they met in the midst of the blue air Kali[303], the demon of evil, who was accompanied by the wicked spirit Dwápara. Indra, the slayer of giants, spoke and said: “Whither art thou going with Dwápara, O Kali?”

Kali made answer: “We are hastening to the swayamvara, for it is my desire to obtain Damayantí as my bride.”

Smiling, the king of gods spake, saying: “The bridal is now arranged and ended, for lo! the fair Damayantí has chosen Nala for her husband in our presence.”

When he heard these words, the heart of Kali was made angry, and he exclaimed: “Since she has preferred a mortal in presence of the celestial beings, let her choice be her own doom.”

But the gods said: “Know thou that our consent was freely given, because Damayantí has chosen for herself a husband endowed with all the virtues, and equal even to the guardians of the world. If anyone should chance to curse Nala, the curse will recoil fatally, and the curser will be cast into the torments of the dark lake of hell.” Having spoken thus, the bright deities ascended the heavens.

Then said Kali to Dwapara: “I cannot now control my fierce wrath. Lo! I will be avenged upon Nala, for I will enter his body, and he will be bereft of his kingdom and of his bride. Thou, Dwapara, wilt enter the dice and give me thine aid.”

So was a malignant compact arranged between the demon of evil and his darksome ally, and together they went towards Nishadha to haunt the stately palace of Nala, waiting for the fatal moment.

CHAPTER XXI
Wanderings in the Forest

Nala Possessed by a Demon—A Brother's Challenge—The Game of Dice—The Rajah's Stakes—Alarm of Citizens—Damayantí's Grief—Flight of Children—A Kingdom Gambled away—The Exiled King—His Faithful Wife—Departure to the Forest—Damayantí Deserted—Seized by a Serpent—Rescued by a Huntsman—A Terrible Curse—Forest Perils—Appeal to a Tiger—The Holy Mountain—Prophecy of Hermits—Address to the Asoka Tree—The Caravan—Disasters of a Night—Damayantí's Flight to Chedi.

For twelve bright years Nala and Damayantí lived happily together. The great rajah ruled his people justly; he offered up every sacrifice to the gods, and he gave sumptuous gifts to holy men. Fair Damayantí became the mother of a beauteous daughter, who was named Indrasena, and of a comely son, who was named Indrasen. So were the blessings of life showered upon the blissful pair.

But at length there came a day when, after performing an unclean act, Nala sipped holy water and went to prayer with unwashed feet.[304] The watchful Kali seized this fatal opportunity, and straightway entered the rajah and possessed his inmost soul. Then that evil demon summoned Push´kara, the brother of Nala, saying: “Come now and throw dice with the king. I will give thee mine aid, so that thou wilt be enabled to win the whole realm for thyself.”

Pushkara at once challenged his brother, whereupon the wicked spirit Dwapara entered the dice.

Nala gave ready consent to take part in the game of hazard, for he was swayed by evil Kali. Then the two rivals began to play together in the presence of Damayantí.

The great rajah staked his wealth, and he was worsted; he staked his golden treasures and he staked his chariots, and still he was worsted; he staked his rich attire, and he continued to lose. The passion for dice had possessed Nala like to sudden madness, and it was in vain that his friends endeavoured to restrain him.

In time rumours of dire happenings went abroad through the city, whereupon the rajah's faithful subjects, accompanied by high counsellors of state, assembled at the palace gate with desire to prevail upon him to cease playing. They urged upon Damayantí to intervene, and the spirit-broken daughter of Bhima approached Nala in anguish and in dismay, and with tear-choking voice she spoke to him, saying: “All thy subjects are gathered without, for they cannot endure the thought that misfortune should fall upon thee.”

Nala heard her, but answered not a word, because his soul was clouded by evil Kali. Then the wise men said: “It is not he;” and they departed to their homes in sorrow and in shame....

So the play went on; daily it went on through many weary months, and Nala was always worsted.

When, in the end, Damayantí perceived that all the treasures were lost, she sent for the faithful charioteer, Várshneya, and spoke to him, saying: “Hasten now and yoke Nala's speedy and much-loved steeds, and place my children in the chariot. Then drive quickly to the city of my kindred and leave them in care of my father, the Rajah Bhima. When thou hast done me that service, O Varshneya, thou mayst go wheresoever thou wilt.”

So the charioteer conveyed the beauteous girl Indrasena and the comely boy Indrasen to the city of Vidarbha, and he delivered them safely unto Bhima, whom he informed fully regarding the fall of Nala. Thereafter he departed, sorrowing greatly, and went to the city of Ayodhyá,[305] where he took service with the renowned Rajah Rituparna.

Nala played on; he continued to throw the dice, until at length he had lost all his possessions. Then Pushkara smiled and spoke to his stricken brother, saying: “Now, throw but one more hazard. Where is your stake? Ah! you have naught left now save Damayantí. Let us throw the dice for her.”

At these words Nala's heart was rent in twain. Mute with sorrow, he gazed upon his brother.... He arose and stripped off his rich vestments one by one in the presence of his lamenting friends. Then slowly and in silence he went forth, naked and alone. Damayantí, wearing but a single garment, followed him behind. Together they stood at the city gates.

Then Pushkara, who had become rajah, caused to be proclaimed throughout the city the dread decree: “Whosoever giveth food or drink unto Nala shall be immediately put to death”.

In their terror the people could not give further help to the fallen king, and for three days and three nights he drank water only. Then he plucked wild fruit and roots from the earth, and these he ate. Nala thereafter wandered away from Nishadha, an outcast among men, and Damayantí followed him behind.

Tortured by hunger, the fallen king at length beheld on the ground a flock of birds with gold-flecked wings, and he said in his heart: “Now I will make me a welcome feast.”

So he crept forward and flung over them his single garment; but they rose in the air, carrying it away with them. As they went they cried out mockingly in human language and said: “Know now, O foolish king, that we are the dice. We came hither on purpose to despoil thee utterly, for so long as thou hadst left a single garment our joy was incomplete.”

Thereupon Nala spoke to Damayantí in his anguish, saying: “O blameless one, by whose anger have I been driven from my kingdom and rendered thus unable to procure any food? Listen now to my counsel. The roads diverge here before us, and one leads southward past the caves of holy hermits, which are stored with food, towards the kingdom of thy royal sire.”

Anxiously did Nala point out the way and urge upon Bhima's fair daughter to take refuge in Vidarbha ere he would enter the great forest.

Weighed down by her heavy sorrow, Damayantí made answer with tear-choking voice: “Alas! thy words of counsel cause my heart to break and my limbs to fail me. How can I leave thee all alone in trackless forest when thou hast lost thy kingdom and thy riches, and whilst thou art athirst and tortured by hunger? Rather let me comfort thee, O my husband, when in thy grief, and, famine-stricken as thou now art, thou dost ponder wearily over thy lost happiness, for in truth have wise physicians said that a wife is the only balsam and the only healing herb for her husband's sorrow.”

Said Nala: “Thou hast spoken truly. There is indeed no medicine for a stricken man like to his wife's love. Think not that I desire to part from thee.... Would that I could abandon myself!”

Damayantí wept and said: “If thou wouldst not leave me, why, O king, dost thou make heavier my sorrow by pointing out the way to Vidarbha? Thou art too noble to abandon me, yet thou dost show me the road southward. If it is meet that I should return unto my father, come thou with me and he will bid thee welcome, and we could dwell together happily in his palace.”

Nala made answer sadly: “Ah! never can I return in my shame to that city where I have appeared aforetime in pride and in splendour.”

Then, comforting Damayantí, Nala wandered on with her through the deep forest, and they made one garment serve them both. Greatly they suffered from hunger and from thirst, and when at length they came to a lonely hut, they sat down on the hard ground, nor had they even a mat to rest upon. Damayantí was overcome with weariness, and soon she sank asleep; she lay all naked on that bare floor. But there was no rest for Nala; he thought with pain of his lost kingdom and the friends who had deserted him, and of the weary journey he must make in the midst of the great forest. “Ah! were it better to die now and end all,” he mused, “or to desert her whom I love? She is devoted unto me more deeply than I deserve. Perchance if she were abandoned she would return to Vidarbha. She is unable to endure my sufferings and the constant sorrow which must be mine.”

Long he pondered thus, until Kali swayed him to desert his faithful wife. So he severed her garment and used half of it. He turned away from the fair princess as she lay fast asleep.

Repenting in his heart, Nala returned speedily and gazed upon fair Damayantí with pity and with love. He wept bitterly, saying: “Ah! thou dost sleep on the bare hard ground whom neither sun nor storm hath ever used roughly. O my loved one, thou hast ever awakened to smile. How wilt thou fare when thou dost discover that thy lord hath abandoned thee in the midst of the perilous forest?... May sun and wind and the spirits of the wood protect thee, and may thou be shielded ever by thine own great virtue!”

Then the distracted rajah, prompted by Kali again, hastened away; but his heart was torn by his love, which drew him back.... So time and again he came and went, like to a swing, backward and forward, until in the end the evil spirit conquered him, and he departed from Damayantí, who moaned fitfully in her sleep; and he plunged into the depths of the forest.

Ere long the fair princess awoke, and when she perceived that she was all alone she uttered a piteous scream and cried out: “Oh! where art thou, my king, my lord, my sole protector?... I am lost; oh! I am undone. I am helpless and alone in the perilous wood.... Ah! now thou art but deceiving me. Do not mock me, my lord. Art thou hidden there among the bushes? Oh, speak!... Why dost thou not make answer?... I do not sorrow for myself only. I cannot well endure that thou shouldst be alone, that thou shouldst thirst and be anhungered and very weary, and without me to give thee comfort....”

So she wailed as she searched through the forest for Nala, now casting herself upon the ground, now sitting to pine in silence, and anon crying out in her grief. At length she said: “Oh, may he who causeth Nala to suffer endure even greater agony than he endureth, and may he live for ever in darkness and in misery!”

Hither and thither she wandered, seeking her lord, and ever was she heard crying: “Alas! O alas! my husband.”

Suddenly a great serpent rose up in its wrath and coiled itself round her fair body....

“Oh! my guardian,” she cried, “I am now undone. The serpent hath seized me. Why art thou not near?... Ah! who will comfort thee now in thy sorrow, O blameless Nala?”

As she lamented thus, a passing huntsman heard her cries; he broke through the jungle and beheld Damayantí in the coils of the serpent.... Nimbly he darted forward and with a single blow smote off the monster's head, and thus rescued the beauteous lady from her awesome peril. Then he washed her body and gave her food, and she was refreshed.

“Who art thou, O fair-eyed one?” he asked. “Why dost thou wander thus alone in the perilous wood?”

Damayantí of faultless form thereupon related to the huntsman the story of her sorrow. As she spoke, his frail heart was moved by her great beauty, and he uttered amorous words with whining voice.... Perceiving his evil intent, she was roused to fierce anger. Her chastity was her sole defence, and she cursed him so that he immediately fell down dead like to a tree that has been smitten by lightning and is suddenly blasted.[306]

Freed thus from the savage huntsman of wild beasts, the lotus-eyed Damayantí wandered on through the deep forest, which resounded everywhere with the song of the cricket. All around her were trees of every form and name, and she beheld shady arbours, deep valleys, and wooded hill summits, and lakes and pools, loud resounding waterfalls, and great flowing rivers. The forest was drear and appalling: it was full of lions and tigers, of countless birds and fierce robbers. She saw buffaloes and wild boars feeding, and the fierce and awesome forms that were there also—serpents and giants and terrible demons.... But, protected by her virtue, she wandered on all alone without fear. Her sole anxiety was for Nala, and she wept for him, crying: “Ah! where art thou? O blameless one, remember now thy vows and thy plighted faith. Remember the words which the gold-winged swan addressed unto thee.... Am I not thy loved one?... Oh! why dost thou not make answer in this dark and perilous forest? The savage beasts are gaping to devour me. Why art thou not near to save?... I am weak and pallid and dust-stained, and have need of thee, my protector.... Whom can I ask for Nala? The tiger is before me, the king of the forest, and I am not afraid. I address him, saying: ‘Oh! I am lonely, and wretched, and sorrowful, seeking for my exiled husband. If thou hast seen him, console me; if thou hast not seen him, devour me, and set me free from this misery.’ ... But the tiger turns down to the river bank, and I wander onward towards the holy mountain, the monarch of hills.

“'Hear me!' I cry. I salute thee, O Mountain.... I am a king's daughter and the consort of a king, the illustrious lord of Nishadha, the pious, the faultless one, who is courageous as the elephant.... Hast thou seen my Nala, O mighty Mountain?... Ah! why dost thou not answer me?... Comfort thou me now as if I were thine own child.... Oh! shall I ever behold him again, and ever hear again his honey-sweet voice, like music, saying: ‘Daughter of Vidarbha,’ while it doth soothe all my pain with its blessed sound?...”

Having thus addressed the mountain, Damayantí turned northward and wandered on for three days and three nights. Then she reached a holy grove, and entered it humbly and without fear. She beheld there the cells of hermits and their bright sacred fires. The holy men were struck with wonder by reason of her beauty, and they bade her welcome, saying: “Art thou a goddess of the wood, or of the mountain, or of the river? O speak and tell.”

Damayantí made answer: “I am not a goddess of the wood, or a mountain spirit, or yet a river nymph, but a mortal woman.”

Then she related to the holy men the story of her sorrow and her wandering, and these seers spoke to her and said: “A time cometh soon, a time of beauty, when thou wilt again behold Nala in splendour and sin-released ruling over his people.”

When they had spoken thus, all the holy men vanished, and their sacred fires vanished also. Damayantí stood a while in silent wonder, and in her heart she said: “Have I seen a vision?...” Then she went towards another region.

Lamenting for Nala, the fair one came to a beauteous asoka tree[307]: its green branches were gemmed with gleaming fruit, and were melodious with the songs of birds. “O happy tree,” she cried, “take away all my grief.... Say, hast thou beheld my Nala, the slayer of his enemies, my beloved lord? Oh! hast thou seen my one love, with smooth, bright skin, wandering alone in the forest? Answer me, O blessed Asoka, so that I may depart from thee in joy. Ah! hear and speak thou happy tree....”

So, wailing in her deep anguish, Damayantí moved round the asoka. Then she went towards a lonelier and more fearsome region.... She passed many a river and many mountains, and she saw numerous birds and deer as she wandered on and on, searching for her lost lord.

At length she beheld a great caravan of merchants. Ponderous elephants and eager camels, prancing horses and rumbling cars came through a river. The river banks were fringed by cane and tangled undergrowth; the curlew called aloud there, and the osprey; red geese were clamouring; turtles were numerous, as were the fish and the serpents likewise. All the noble animals of the caravan came splashing noisily across the ford.

The great concourse of travellers stared with wonder on the slender-waisted, maniac-like woman, clad in but half a garment, smeared with dust and pale and sorrowful, her long hair all matted and miry. Some there were who fled from her in fear. But others took pity and said: “Who art thou, O lady, and what seekest thou in the lonely forest? Art thou a goddess of the mountain, or of the forest, or of the plain?... We pray for thy protection; be mindful of our welfare so that we may prosper upon our journey.”

Then Damayantí told the story of her misfortune and sorrow, and all the travellers gathered round about to hear—boys and young men and grey-haired sages. “Oh! have you beheld my lord, my Nala?” she cried unto them.

The captain of the band answered her “Nay”; and she asked him whither the caravan was bound, whereat he said: “We are going towards the realm of Chedi, over which Subáhu is king.” When the merchants resumed their journey, Damayantí went with them.

Through the forest they travelled a long distance, and at eventide they reached the green shore of a beautiful wide lake which sparkled with bright lotus blooms.[308] The camp was pitched in the middle of a deep grove. Gladly did the men bathe with their wearied animals in the delicious, ice-cool waters.

At midnight all slept.... In the deep silence a herd of wild forest elephants, with moisture oozing from their temples,[309] came down to drink from the gurgling stream which flowed nigh to the camp. When they scented the tame elephants lying crouched in slumber, they trumpeted aloud, and of a sudden charged ponderously and fell upon them like to mountain peaks tumbling into the valleys beneath.... Trees and tents were thrown down as they trampled through the camping ground, and the travellers awoke panic-stricken, crying: “Oh! Alas! Ah! Oh!” Some fled through the forest; others, blind with sleep, stood gasping with wonder, and the elephants slew them. The camp was scattered in the dire confusion; many animals were gored; men overthrew one another, endeavouring to escape; many shrieked in terror, and a few climbed trees. Voices were heard calling: “It is a fire!” and merchants screamed, “Why fly away so speedily? Save the precious jewels, O ye cowards.”

Amidst the tumult and the slaughter Damayantí awoke, trembling with fear, and she made swift escape, nor suffered a wound. In the deep forest she came nigh to the few men who had found refuge, and she heard them say one to another:

“What deed have we done to bring this misfortune upon us? Have we forgotten to adore Manibhadra[310], the high king of the Yakshas? Worshipped we not, ere we set forth, the dread spirits which bring disasters? Was it doomed that all omens should be belied? How hath it come that such a disaster hath befallen us?”

Others who had been bereft of their kindred and their wealth, and were in misery, said: “Who was she—that ill-omened, maniac-eyed woman who came amongst us? In truth she seemed scarcely human. Surely it is by reason of her evil power that disaster hath befallen us. Ah! she is a witch, or she is a sorceress, or mayhap a demon.... Without doubt she is the cause of all our woes.... Would that we could find her—oh the evil destroyer! Oh the curse of our host!... Let us slay the murderess with clods and with stones, with canes and with staves, or else with our fists....”[311]

When the terrified and innocent Damayantí heard these fearsome threats, she fled away through the trees, lamenting her fate, and wailing: “Alas! alas! my terrible doom doth haunt me still. Misfortune dogs my footsteps.... I have no memory of any sin of thought or deed—of any wrong done by me to living beings. Perchance, oh, alas! I did sin in my former life, and am now suffering due punishment.... For I suffer, indeed. I have lost my husband; my kingdom is lost; I have lost my kindred; my noble Nala has been taken from me, and I am far removed from my children, and I wander alone in the wood of serpents.”

When morning broke, the sorrowful queen met with some holy Brahmans who had escaped the night's disaster, and she went with them towards the city of Chedi.

The people gazed with wonder on Damayantí when she walked though the streets with her dust-smeared body and matted hair. The children danced about her as she wandered about like to a maniac, so miserable and weary and emaciated.

It chanced that the sorrowing woman came nigh to the royal palace. The mother of the king looked forth from a window, and beheld her and said: “Hasten, and bid this poor wanderer to enter. Although stricken and half-clothed she hath, methinks, the beauty of Indra's long-eyed queen. Let her have refuge from those staring men.”

Damayantí was then led before the queen mother, who spoke gently, saying: “Although bowed down with grief, thou art beautiful of form. Thou fearest not anyone. Who art thou so well protected by thine own chastity?”

Bhima's daughter wept, lamenting her fate, and related all that had befallen her, but did not reveal who she was. Then the queen mother said: “Dwell thou here with me, and our servants shall go in quest of thy husband.”

Damayantí said: “O mother of heroes, if I abide here with thee I must eat not of food remnants, nor do menial service, nor can I hold converse with any man save the holy Brahmans who promise to search for my husband.”

The royal lady made answer: “As thou desireth, so let it be.” Then she spake to Sunanda, her daughter, saying: “This lady will be to thee a handmaiden and a friend. She is of thine own age and thy worthy peer. Be happy together.”

At these words the Princess Sunanda was made glad, and she led the strange woman unto her own abode, where sat all her virgin handmaidens.

There Damayantí dwelt for a time, waiting for her lost husband.