Indian Myth and Legend

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.307

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 tree308: 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.309 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,310 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 Manibhadra311, 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....”312

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.

CHAPTER XXII

Nala in Exile

Nala's Wanderings—The Magic Fire—King of Serpents Rescued—Nala Transformed—His Service as a Charioteer—Life in Ayodhya—The Evening Song of Sorrow—Search for Damayantí—How she was Discovered—Her Departure from Chedi—Search for Nala—A Woman's Faith—Journey to the Swayamvara—The Tree Wonder—Demon Leaves Nala's Body—The Coming of the Chariot—Damayanti's Vow.

Soon after Nala had fled into the forest depths, deserting the faithful Damayantí, he beheld a great fire which blazed furiously. As he drew nigh he heard a voice crying over and over again from the midst of the sacred flames: “Hasten, Nala! Oh, hasten, Nala, and come hither!”

Now, Agni had given Nala power over fire, so crying: “Have no fear,” he leapt through the flames.... In the space within that blazing circle be beheld the king of serpents lying coiled up in a ring with folded hands and unable to move.313 “Lo! I am Karkotaka,” the serpent said, “and am suffering this punishment because that I deceived the holy sage Nárada, who thereupon cursed me, saying: ‘Thou wilt remain here in the midst of the flames until Nala cometh nigh to free thee from my curse’.... So do I lie without power to move. O mighty rajah, if thou wilt rescue me even now, I will reward thee abundantly with my noble friendship, and help thee to attain great happiness. Oh lift me all speedily from out of this fiery place, thou noble rajah!”

When he had spoken thus, Karkotaka, king of the serpents, shrank to the size of a man's finger, whereupon Nala uplifted and carried him safely through the flames to a cool and refreshing space without.

The serpent then said: “Now walk on and count thy steps, so that good fortune may be assured to thee.”

Nala walked nine steps, but ere he could take the tenth the serpent bit him, whereat the rajah was suddenly transformed into a misshapen dwarf with short arms.

Then Karkotaka said: “Know now that I have thus changed thy form so that no man may know thee. My poison, too, will cause unceasing anguish to the evil one who possesseth thy soul; he will suffer greatly until he shall set thee free from thy sorrow. So wilt thou be delivered from thine enemy, O blameless one.... My poison will harm thee not, and henceforth, by reason of my power, thou wilt have no need to fear the wild boar, or any foeman, or a Brahman, or the sages. Ever in battle thou wilt be victorious.... Now, go thy way, and be called ‘Váhuka, the charioteer’. Hasten thou unto the city of Ayodhya314 and enter the service of the royal Rajah Rituparna, the skilful in dice. Thou wilt teach him how to subdue horses, and he will impart to thee the secret of dice. Then wilt thou again have joy. Sorrow not, therefore, for thy wife and thy children will be restored unto thee, and thou wilt regain thy kingdom.”

Then the serpent gave unto Nala a magic robe, saying: “When it is thy desire to be as thou wert, O king, think of me and put on this garment, and thou wilt immediately resume thy wonted form.”

Having spoken thus, the king of serpents vanished from sight. Thereupon Nala went towards the city of Ayodhyá, and he stood in the presence of the royal Rajah Rituparna, unto whom he spoke thus: “My name is Váhuká. I am a tamer of steeds, nor is my equal to be found in the world; and I have surpassing skill in cooking viands.”

The rajah welcomed him and took him into his service, saying: “Thou shalt cause my horses to be fleet of foot. Be thou master of mine own steed, and thy reward will be great.”

He was well pleased and gave unto Váhuka for comrades Várshneya, who had been in Nala's service, and Jívala also. So the transformed rajah abode a long time at Ayodhya, and every evening, sitting alone, he sang a single verse:

Where is she all worn but faithful, weary, thirsty, hung'ring too?Thinks she of her foolish husband?… Doth another man her woo?

Ever thus he sang, and his comrades heard him and wondered greatly. So it came that one evening Jívala spoke to Nala and said: “For whom do you sorrow thus, O Váhuka? I pray you to tell me. Who is the husband of this lady?”

Nala answered him with sad voice and said: “Once there was a peerless lady, and she had a husband of weakly will. And lo! as they wandered in a forest together, he fled from her without cause, and yet he sorrowed greatly. Ever by day and by night is he consumed by his overwhelming grief, and brooding ever, he sings this melancholy song. He is a weary wanderer in the wide world, and his sorrow is without end; it is never still.... His wife wanders all forlorn in the forest. Ah! she deserved not such a fate. Thirsting and anhungered she wanders alone because her lord forsook her and fled; wild beasts are about her, seeking to devour; the wood is full of perils.... It may be that she is not now alive....”

Thus did Nala sorrow in his secret heart over Damayantí during his long sojourn at Ayodhya, while he served the renowned Rajah Rituparna.

Meanwhile King Bhima was causing search to be made for his lost daughter and her royal husband. Abundant rewards were offered to Bráhmans, who went through every kingdom and every city in quest of the missing pair. It chanced that a Brahman, named Sudeva, entered Chedi when a royal holiday was being celebrated, and he beheld Damayantí standing beside the Princess Sunanda and the queen mother at the royal palace.

Sudeva perceived that her loveliness had been dimmed by sorrow, and to himself he said as he gazed upon her: “Ah! the lady with lotus eyes is like to the moon, darkly beautiful; her splendour hath shrunken like the crescent moon veiled in cloud—she who aforetime was beheld in the full moonlight of her glory. Pining for her lost husband, she is like to a darksome night when the moon is swallowed; her sorrow hath stricken her like to a river which has become dry, like to a shrunken pool in which lotus blooms shrivel and fade; she is, indeed, like to withered lotus.... Doth Nala live now without the bride who thus mourns for him?… When, oh when shall Damayantí be restored once again unto her lord as the moon bride is restored unto the peerless moon?315 … Methinks I will speak....”

The Brahman then approached Damayantí and said: “I am Sudeva. Thy royal sire and thy mother and thy children are well.... A hundred Brahmans have been sent forth throughout the world to search for thee, O noble lady.”

Damayantí heard him and wept.

The Princess Sunanda spoke to her queen mother, saying: “Lo! our handmaid weeps because that the Brahman hath spoken unto her.... Who she is we shall speedily know now.”

Then the queen mother conducted the holy man to her chambers and spoke to him, saying: “Who is she—this mysterious and noble stranger, O holy man?”

Sudeva spoke in answer: “Her name is Damayantí, and her sire is King Bhima, lord of Vidarbha. Her husband is Nala.... From birth she has had a dark beauty spot like to a lotus between her fair eyebrows. Although it is covered with dust, I perceived it, and so I knew her. By Brahma was this spot made as the sign of his beauty-creating power.”

The queen mother bade Sudeva to remove the dust from the beauty spot of Bhima's daughter. When this was done, it came forth like to the unclouded moon in heaven, and the royal lady and her daughter wept together and embraced the fair Damayantí316.

Then the queen mother said: “Lo! thou art mine own sister's daughter, O beauteous one. Our sire is the Rajah Sudáman who reigns at Dasárna317.... Once I beheld thee as a child.... Ah! ask of me whatsoever thou desirest and it shall be thine.”

“Alas! I am a banished mother,” Damayantí said with fast-flowing tears. “Permit me, therefore, to return unto my children who have been orphaned of mother and sire.”

The queen mother said: “Be it so.”

Then Damayantí was given an army to guard her on her journey towards her native city, and she was welcomed there by all her kindred and friends with great rejoicing. King Bhima rewarded Sudeva with a thousand kine, and a town's revenue for a village.318

When Damayantí was embraced by her mother she said: “Now our chief duty is to bring home Nala.”

The queen wept, and spoke to her husband, the royal Bhima, saying: “Our daughter still mourns heavily for lost lord and cannot be comforted.”

Then Bhima urged the Brahmans to search for Nala, offering munificent reward when that he should be found. Damayantí addressed these holy men ere they departed and said unto them: “Wheresoever thou goest, speak this my message over and over again:

“Whither art thou gone, O gambler, who didst sever my garment in twain? Thou didst leave thy loved one as she lay slumbering in the savage wood. Lo! she is awaiting thy return: by day and by night she sitteth alone, consumed by her grief. Oh hear her prayer and have compassion, thou noble hero, because that she ever weepeth for thee in the depths of her despair!”

So the holy men went through every kingdom and every city repeating the message of Damayantí over and over again; but when they began to return one by one, each told with sadness that his quest had been in vain.