ONCE upon a time there was a king named Nala, who ruled over a people
known as the Nishadas. Now this Nala was the first of kings. In person he was
strong and handsome, full of kingly honour, and gracious in his bearing. He
loved archery and hunting, and all the sports of monarchs. And one special gift
was his, in an extraordinary degree, the knowledge, namely, of the management
of horses. Thus in beauty, in character, in fortune, and in power, there was
scarcely in the whole world another king like Nala.
If there were one, it could only be Bhima, King of the Vidarbhas, a
sovereign of heroic nature and great courage, deeply loved by all his subjects.
Now Bhima had three sons and one daughter, the Princess Damayanti. And the fame
of Damayanti, for her mingling of beauty and sweetness, and royal grace and
dignity, had gone throughout the world. Never had one so lovely been seen
before. She was said to shine, even in the midst of the beauty of her
handmaidens, like the bright lightning amidst the dark clouds. And the hearts
of the very gods were filled with gladness whenever they looked upon this
exquisite maiden.
It happened that constantly before Damayanti, the minstrels and heralds
chanted the praises of Nala, and before Nala those of Damayanti, till the two began
to dream of each other, with an attachment that was not born of sight. And
Nala, conscious of the love that was awakening within him, began to pass much
of his time in the gardens of his palace, alone. And it came to pass that one
day he saw there a flock of wild swans with golden wings, and from amongst them
he caught with his hands one. And the bird was much afraid, and said, “O King,
slay me not I Release me, and I will go to Damayanti and so speak to tier of
thee, that she will desire to wed thee, and no other in the world!” Musing, and
stroking the wings of the swan, Nala heard his words, and saying, “Ah, then do
thou indeed even so!” opened his hands, and let him go free.
Then the swans flew up and away to the city of the Vidarbhas, and
alighted in the palace gardens before Damayanti and her maidens. And all the
beautiful girls scattered immediately, to run after the fleeing birds, trying
each to catch one, But that after which Damayanti ran, led her away to a lonely
place, and addressed her in human speech. “Peerless amongst men, O Damayant!”
it said, “is Nala, King of the Nishadas. Accept thou him! Wed thou with him!
Ever happy and blessed is the union of the best with the best!” The Princess
stood with head bowed and folded hands, as soon as she understood what the swan
would say; but when he ended, she looked up with a smile and a sigh. “Dear
bird!” she said, “speak thou even thus unto him also!"
And the handmaidens of Damayanti, from this time on, began to notice
that she grew abstracted. She wandered much alone. She sighed and became pale,
and in the midst of merriment. her thoughts would be far away. Then, delicately
and indirectly, they represented the matter to Bhima, and be, reflecting that
his daughter was now grown up, realised that her marriage ought to be arranged,
and sent out messages all over the country, that on a certain day her swayamvara would be held.
From every part, at this news, came the kings, attended by their
bodyguards, and travelling in the utmost splendour, with horses and elephants
and chariots. And all were received in due state by Bhima, and assigned royal
quarters, pending the day of Damayanti's swayamvara. And even
amongst the gods did the news go forth, and Indra, and Agni and Varuna, and
Yama himself, the King of Death, set out from high Heaven for the city of the
Vidarbhas, each eager to win the hand of the Princess.
But as the proud gods went, they overtook a mortal wending his way on
foot, and his beauty and greatness, of mind as well as body, were such that they
immediately determined to leave their chariots in the skies, and tread the
earth in the company of this man. Then, suddenly alighting before him—for the
gods know all—they said, “Nala! thou art a man to be trusted. Wilt thou promise
to carry a message for us?"
Nala, seeing four luminous beings appear before him, and hearing them
ask him to be their messenger, answered immediately, “Yea! That will I!” and
then, drawing nearer, he added, “But tell me first who are ye who address me?
and what is the message, further, that I should carry for you?” Said Indra,
"We are the Immortals, come hither for the sake of Damayanti. Indra am I.
Here at my side is Agni, God of Fire. There is Varuna, Lord of Waters. And next
to him stands Yama, destroyer of the bodies of men. Do thou, on our behalf,
appear before Damayanti, saying, 'The Guardians of the World are coming to
thy swayamvara. Choose
thou, I pray thee, one of the gods for thy lord!’"
“But,” said Nada, "I myself am come hither with the self-same
object. How can a man plead with
the woman whom he loves on behalf of others? Spare me, ye Gods! Send me not
upon this errand!"
“Then why, O King!” answered the gods gravely, “didst thou first
promise? Why, having promised, dost thou now seek to break thy word?"
Hearing this, Nala spoke again, saying, “But even if I went, how could I
hope to enter the apartments of Damayanti? Is not the palace of Bhima well
guarded?"
But lndra replied, “Leave that to us! If thou wilt go, thou shalt have
the power to enter!” and saying “Then, O Gods, I obey your will!” Nala found
himself, on the moment, in the presence of Damayanti, within the private apartments
of the palace of Bhima.
Damayanti sat amongst her ladies. The next day was to be her swayamvara, and feeling sure that Nala would attend it,
the smiles had come back to her lips, and the colour to her cheeks. Her eyes
were full of light, and the words she spoke were both witty and tender. Seeing
his beloved thus for the first time, Nala felt how deep and overflowing was his
love for her. Truly, her beauty was so great, that the very moon was put to
shame by it. He had not thought, he had not heard, he could not even have
imagined, anything so perfect. But his word was given, and given to the gods,
and he controlled his own feeling.
This determination did not take even so much as that instant which it
required for him to become visible to the assembled maidens. As he did so, they
sprang to their feet in amazement, feeling no fear, but struck with wonder at
the beauty of the spirit who appeared thus before them, and full of the
question, "Who can it be?” Yet were they too shy to venture to speak to
him. Only Damayanti came, forward gently, and smilingly addressed the heroic
vision, saying, “Who art thou? And how! hast thou contrived to enter
unperceived? Are not my apartments well guarded, and the King's orders
severe?"
Hearing these words, the King answered, "My name, O Princess, is
Nala. I have entered here undiscovered, by the power of the gods. I come as
their messenger. Indra, Agni, Varuna, and Yama, all alike desire, O beauteous
one! at the morrow's swayamvara to be
chosen by thee. As their messenger, I say, 'Choose thou one of them for thy
lord!'"
Damayanti bowed as she heard the names of the gods. Then, with a smile,
she turned herself to Nala. “Nay, O Hero!” she answered, "it is not the
gods, but thee thyself whom I shall choose. Thy message reached me, borne
hither by the swans. Thee have I accepted in my heart. For thee has the swayamvara been called. Failing thee, I refuse to he won
by any!"
“Nay,” answered Nab, "in the presence of the gods, wouldst thou
choose a man? Ah, for thine own sake, turn thy heart, I pray thee, to those
high-smiled lords, the creators of the worlds, unto the dust of whose feet I am
not equal I Misguided is the mortal who setteth them at nought. Be warned, I
beg of thee. Choose thou one of these heavenly beings. What woman would not be
proud, to be sought by the Protectors of Men? Truly, do I speak unto thee, as
thy friend!’
Tears were by this time running down the cheeks of Damayanti. Trembling,
and standing before Nala with folded hands, she answered, "I bow to the
gods, but thee, O King, have I chosen for my lord!"
“Blessed one!” answered Nala gently. "Do even as thou wilt. How
dare I, having given my word to another, turn the occasion to my own profit?
Yet, if that had consisted with honour, I would have sought my will! Knowing
this, do thou decide."
The face of Damayanti had changed as Nala spoke these words. Under the
tears were now smiles. For his secret was told. A moment she stood and thought,
and then she raised her head. "I see a way, O monarch,” she said, “by
which no blame whatever can attach itself to thee. Come thou to the swayamvara with the gods. Then, in their presence, shall
I choose thee. And the choice will be mine alone. Thou shalt be without
sin."
Nala realised nothing, save the promise that Damayanti on the morrow
would give herself to him. With throbbing pulses, but quiet manner, he bowed
his head in farewell, and, immediately becoming once more invisible, returned
to the presence of the gods and told them all that had happened. “The maiden
said to me, Let the gods, O Hero, come with thee to my swayamvara. I shall, in their presence, choose thee. Yet
shalt thou be without sin.'“ And the gods accepted the report of their
messenger, for he had been faithful to his trust.
The morning of the swayamvara dawned
brightly, and the kings entered the lofty portals of the amphitheatre, even as
lions might enter into the mountain wilds. The scene was all magnificence.
Amongst the great pillars sat each royal guest on a shining throne. Each bore
his sceptre and turban of slate. Each was surrounded by his own heralds and
minstrels, and amongst the blaze of silks and banners and jewels shone the flowers
and foliage that decorated the hall.
At the appointed hour, preceded by her trumpeters, and surrounded by
her escort, the Princess Damayanti entered. And her loveliness was such that,
to the assembled monarchs, she seemed to be surrounded with dazzling light. All
drew in their breath, and remained almost without stirring, at the sight of
such matchless beauty. One by one the names and achievements of each monarch
were proclaimed. The heralds of the Princess would challenge, and those of each
king in turn would reply, and Damayanti stood listening, ready to give the
signal, when her choice should be made.
But when the name of Nala was called, and she raised her head and looked
up, before stepping to his side, what was not the terror of Damayanti to find that
there, seated side by side on different thrones, all equally splendid, all
equally noble, were no less than five Nalas, and she had no means of
distinguishing him whom she would choose?
The Princess looked and tried to choose. Then she hesitated, and stepped
back. Then she tried again, but all to no purpose. She knew of course that this
was a trick of the gods. Four of these five were lndra, Agni, Varuna, and Yama.
One was Nala. But which one? She tried to remember the marks of the celestial
beings, as they had been told to her in her childhood by old people. But none
of these marks did she see on the persons before her, so exactly had they all
reproduced the form of Nala. What must she do? At this supreme moment of her
life she dared not make a mistake.
Pondering deeply in her own mind, it suddenly occurred to Damayanti that
she should appeal for protection to the gods themselves! Immediately, bowing
down unto them in mind and speech, and folding her hands reverently, she
tremblingly addressed them :‑
“From that moment, O ye Gods, when I gave ear to the words of the wild
swan, did I choose Nala, the King of the Nishadas, to be my lord. That I may be
true to this, let the gods now reveal him to me. In as much as neither in
thought nor word have I ever yet wavered in that resolve, oh, that I may
hereafter he true to it, let the gods now reveal him to me! And since, verily,
it was the gods themselves who destined the King of the Nishadas to be my lord,
let them now, that themselves may be true to themselves, reveal him to me! To
Nala alone did I vow to give myself. That I may be true to this vow, let them
now reveal him to me! I take refuge in the mercy of the exalted Guardians of
the Worlds! Let them now resume their proper forms, that I may know my rightful
lord!"
Touched by these pitiful words of Damayanti, and awed by her fixed
resolve and her pure and womanly love, the gods immediately did what they
could, in that public place, to grant her prayer, by taking back, without
change of form, their divine marks. And straightway she saw that they were not
soiled by dust or sweat. Then garlands were unfading, their eyes on winking.
They cast no shadows. Nor did their feet touch the earth. And Nala stood
revealed by his shadow and his fading garlands; the stains of dust and sweat;
his standing on the ground, and his human eyes. And no sooner did Damayanti
thus perceive the difference bet weed him and the gods, than she stepped
forward eagerly to fulfil her troth. Stooping shyly, she caught in her left
hand the hem of Nala's garment, and then raising herself proudly, she threw
round his neck a wreath of beautiful flowers. Acid all present, seeing her thus
choose the one human Nala for her husband, broke out into sudden exclamations,
and the gods themselves cried, “Well done! Well done!”
And Nala stepped down from his high place, and said, “Since thou, O
blessed one, lust chosen me, a mortal, from the midst of the immortals, know me
for a spouse to whom shall thy every wish be sacred. Truly do I promise thee,
that as long as life lasts I shall remain thine and thine alone!” And so with
mutual vows and homage, they both sought and received the protection of the
gods. Then did all guests, royal and divine, depart; and the marriage of Nala
and Damayanti was performed; and they went, in great happiness, to the city of
the Nishadas.
Now as the gods were returning to their own regions, they met Koli, the
King of Darkness, and Dwapara, Spirit of Twilight, coming to the earth, And
when they asked where they were going, Koli replied, "To Damayanti's swayamvara. My heart is fixed on wedding with that
damsel.” Hearing this, Indra smiled, and answered, "But her swayamvara is already ended. In our sight she bath chosen
Nala for her husband.” To this said Koli, that vilest of the celestials, in
great wrath, "If, spurning the Immortals, Damayanti in their presence bath
wedded with a mortal, then is it meet she should suffer a heavy doom !”But the
gods answered, “Nay, with our sanction was it that Damayanti chose Nala. And
what damsel is there who would not have done the same? Great and manly and
learned, that tiger amongst men, that mortal who resembles one of the Divine
Protectors, has truthfulness and forbearance and knowledge, and purity and
self-control, and perfect tranquillity of soul. Whoever, O Koli, wisheth to
curse this Nala, will end in cursing and destroying himself by his own act!’
Having spoken thus solemnly, the gods turned, leaving Koli and Dwapara,
and went to heaven. But when they had gone, Koli whispered to Dwapara, “I must
he revenged! I must be revenged! I shall possess Nala, and deprive him of wife
and kingdom. And thou, entering into the dice, shalt help me to do this!"
Yet was it twelve long years ere Koli, watching Nala, could find in his
conduct any slightest flaw by which he might be able to enter in and possess
him. At last, however, there came an evening when he performed his worship
without having completed all his ablutions. Then, through this error, Koli took
possession of Nala. Also he appeared before his brother, Pushkara, tempting him
to challenge Nala to a game of dice. And Dwapara also, at the same time, placed
himself in the hands of Pushkara as the principal die. Such was the beginning
of that terrible gambling that lasted month after month, and ended by depriving
Nala of all that he had.
Many times, in the course of that play, came Damayanti and the citizens
and subjects of Nala, and begged him to desist. But he, maddened by the
indwelling Koli, turned a deaf ear to his queen, and grew only the more intent
upon the dice. Till she, seeing that evil was about to come upon them, sent for
the royal charioteer. "O charioteer,” she said, “I seek thy protection. My
mind misgiveth me. The King may come to grief. Take thou therefore these my
children, my son Indrasen and my daughter Indrasena, and carry them to my
father's house. And when thou hast given them into the care of my kindred, do
thou even as thou wilt.” And when the royal councillors had been consulted,
they found the bidding of the Queen to be good, and the children were sent to
the care of Bhima.
And when the charioteer had gone, Pushkara won from Nala his kingdom and
all else that was left to him. And laughing he said, "O King, what stake
hast thou now? Damayanti alone remaineth. Let us play for her!’ And Nala gazed
at Pushkara in anguish, but spake never a word.
Then, taking off all his ornaments, and covered only with a single
garment, leaving behind him all his wealth, the King set out to leave the city.
But Damayanti, clothing herself also in one long scarf, followed after him
through the gates. And for three days and nights they wandered together,
without food and without rest. For Pushkara had made proclamation that any who
gave help to Nala should be condemned to death; so that, partly for fear of the
sentence, and partly lest they should bring further harm on their king himself,
none of his subjects dared to offer them anything.
At last, on the fourth day, wandering in the forest seeking for roots
and fruits, Nala saw some birds of golden colour, and thinking, “Here is food!”
snatched off his one piece of clothing, and threw it over them to catch them.
But lo I the birds rose upwards to the sky, bearing the garment with them! And
then, looking down and beholding the once mighty lord of the Nishadas standing
naked in the forest, his mind full of gloom, and his gaze rooted to the earth,
the birds spake mockingly, and said to him, “Oh thou of little wit, we are none
other than the dice with which thou playedst. We followed thee to take away thy
garment. For it pleased us not that thou shouldst take with thee even a single
cloth!” Hearing these words, and realising his terrible plight, since he had,
it was evident, mysterious beings for his foes, Nala turned himself to Damayanti,
and said over and over again, “Yonder, my gentle one, is the road to thy
father's kingdom. I have lost all, Damayanti. I am doomed and deprived of my
senses. But I am thy lord. Listen to me. Yonder is the road to thy father's
kingdom."
But Damayanti answered him with sobs. “O King, how could I go?” she
asked him, “leaving thee in the wild woods alone, deprived of all things, and
worn with hunger and toil. Nay, nay, whenever, in these ill-starred days, thy
heart may turn to the thought of thy former happiness, thou shalt find me near
thee, to soothe thy weariness! Remember what the physicians say, In sorrow is
there no physic equal to the wife'! Is it not true, O Nala, that which I say
unto thee?"
"O my gentle Damayanti,” answered Nala, "it is even as thou
sayest. Truly there is no friend, no medicine, equal unto the wife. But I am
not seeking to renounce thee. Why dost thou tremble so? I could forsake myself,
beloved, but thee I could not forsake. Wherefore, my timid one, shouldst thou
dread this?"
But on Damayanti lay the prevision of the wife, and she answered, “I
know, O King, that thou wouldst not willingly desert me. Yet maddened and
distracted, many things are possible. Why dost thou repeatedly point out to me
the way to my father's home? Or if thou really desirest to place me with my
kindred, then let us wend together to the country of the Vidarbhas. Thou shalt
there be received with honour by the King, and, respected by all, shalt dwell
happily in our home.” “Surely,” answered Nala, “thy father's kingdom is to me even
as my own. Yet could I not by any means go there at such a crisis. Once did I
appear there in fortune, bringing glory upon thee. How could I go in this
misery, causing thee shame?"
Talking together in this fashion, Damayanti had contrived to share her own
clothing with her husband, and thus wandering slowly on together, they came to
a shed reserved for travellers. Here they sat down on the bare earth to rest,
and then, worn out with hunger and weariness and sorrow, both, unawares, fell
fast asleep.
But Nala, whose mind was distraught by Koli, could not rest. As soon as
Damayanti slept, he woke, and began to turn over in his mind all the disaster
he had brought upon her. Reflecting on her devotion, he began to think that if
only he were not with her, she would surely find her way to her father's
kingdom. And out of the very honour in which he held her, it was unimaginable
to him that she should be in danger on the way. Thinking thus, the question
occurred to him, how could he cut their common garment without her being
awakened by his act? and with this question in his mind, under the influence of
Koli, he strode up and down the shed. At that very moment, he caught sight of a
sword lying a step or two away, unsheathed. Seizing this, he cut the veil in
half, and then, throwing the sword away, he turned and left Damayanti, in her
sleep, alone.
Yet again and again, his heart failing him, did the King of the Nishadas
return to the hut to look once more, and yet once more, at his sleeping wife.
“Dragged away,” says the chronicler, “by Koli, but drawn back by love,” it
seemed as if the mind of the wretched King were rent in twain, and one half
fought against the other, “Alas! alas!” he lamented, “there sleepeth my beloved
on the bare earth, like one forlorn I What will she do when she awaketh? How
will she wander alone through the perils of these woods? May the Sun
himself–thou blessed One!—and the Guardian Spirits, and the Stars and the
Winds, be thy protectors, thy womanly honour being its own best guard!” And addressing
thus his dear wife, peerless in beauty, Nala strove to go, being left of his
reason by Koli. Till at last, stupefied and bereft of his senses, Nala forsook
his sleeping wife. In sorrow departed he, maddened and distraught, leaving her
alone in that solitary forest.
Three years had gone by, and once more Damayanti was dwelling, but now
with her children by her side, in her father's house. For Bhima had sent out
messengers in all directions to seek for her, and by them had she been found
and brought back to her own people. But always she wore but half a veil, never
would she use ornaments, and ever she waited sorrowfully for the coming again
of her husband, Nala. For in all this time he had never been heard of.
Now it had happened to Nala that on finally leaving Damayanti he saw a
mighty forest-fire, and from its midst he heard the voice of some creature
crying, “Come to my aid, O mighty Nala!"
Saying, “Fear not!” the King stepped at once within the circle of fire,
and beheld an enormous snake lying there coiled up.
And the snake spoke, saying, "I have been cursed, O King, to remain
here, unable to move, till one named Nala carry me hence. And only on that spot
to which he shall carry me can I be made free from this curse. And now, O Nala,
if thou wilt lift me in thy hands, I shall be thy friend, and do to thee great
good. Moreover, there is no snake equal unto me. I can make myself small and
light in thy hands. I beseech thee to lift me and let us go hence!"
Then that great snake made himself as small as the human thumb, and
taking him in his hands, Nala carried him to a place outside the fire. But as
he was about to place him on the ground, the snake bit him, and Nala perceived
that as he was bitten, his form had been changed.
And the snake spoke, saying, “Nala, he comforted! I have deprived thee
of thy beauty, that none may recognise thee. And he who has wronged and
betrayed thee shall dwell in thee from this time in uttermost torture.
Henceforth art thou in peace, and that evil one in torment from my venom. But
go thou now to Ayodhya, and present thyself before the king there, who is
skilled in gambling. Offer him thy services as a charioteer. Give to him thy
skill with horses, in exchange for his knowledge of dice. When thou lost
understand the dice, thy wife and children will be thine once more. And
finally, O King, when thou desirest to regain thy proper form, think of me and
wear these garments.” And saying these words that lord of Nagas gave unto Nala
two pieces of enchanted clothing, and immediately became invisible.
And Nala made his way to Ayodhya, and entered the service of Rituparna
the King, receiving great honour as the Master of the Horse. And all the
stables and their attendants were placed under him; for Rituparna desired
nothing so much as that his steeds should be fleet.
But night after night the fellow officers of the charioteer—who was
known in the palace of Ayodhya as Vahuka—would hear him alone, groaning and
weeping, and listening they distinctly heard the words: “Alas! where layette she
now her head, a-hungered and a-thirst, helpless and worn with toil, thinking
ever of him who was unworthy? Where dwelleth she now? On whose bidding cloth
she wait?” And once, when they begged him to tell them who it was that he thus
lamented, he told them in veiled words his whole story. "A certain
person,” he said, “had a beautiful wife, but little sense. The wretch was false
He kept not his promises. Fate came upon him, and they were separated. Without
her, he wandered ever to and fro oppressed with woe, and now, burning with
grief, he resteth not by day nor night. At last he has found a refuge, but each
hour that passes only reminds him of her. When calamity had overtaken this man,
his wife followed him into the wild woods. He repaid her by deserting her there
I Abandoned by him, lost in the forest, fainting with hunger and thirst, ever
exposed to the perils of the wilderness, her very life was put by him in
danger. Yea, my friends, it was by him —by him that she was thus deserted, by
him, that very man, so foolish and ill-fated, that she was left thus alone in
the great and terrible forest, surrounded on every side by beasts of prey, by
him, by him!"
With his mind dwelling thus on Damayanti, did Vahuka the charioteer live
in the palace of Rituparna. And Damayanti, sheltered once more in her father's
house, had one thought, and one only, and that was the possibility of recovering
Nala. Now it was the custom amongst the Vidarbhas to send out Brahmins
periodically, who, bearing the King's orders, wandered from town to town and
from country to country, telling stories to the people from the holy books, and
giving religious instruction wherever it was needed. It had indeed been by the
aid of these strolling teachers that Damayanti herself had been discovered,
when she was acting as lady-in-waiting to a foreign princess. Now, therefore,
it was decided that she should give them their directions, and try by their
means to trace out her long-lost husband. They came to her therefore for instructions,
and she gave them a song which they were to sing in all the assemblies that
they should come to in every realm.
“Whither, beloved Gambler, whither art thou gone,
Cutting off one half my veil,
Abandoning me, thy devoted wile,
Asleep in the forest?
Ever do I await thee,
As thou wouldst desire me,
Wearing but half a veil,
Enwrapt in sorrow.
Relent, O King! O Hero!
Relent and return thee,
To her who weepeth incessantly
For thy departure!’
"Crying thus, add to the part your own words,” she said to the Brahmins,
“that his pity be awakened. Fanned by the wind, the fire consumeth the
forest!"
Again‑
“Surely a wile should be protected
And maintained by her husband.
Strange that, noble as thou art,
Thou neglectest both these duties!
Wise thou wast, and famous,
High-born and full of kindness.
Why didst thou then deal to me this blow?
Alas, the fault was mine!
My good fortune had departed from me!
Yet even so, thou greatest, thou noblest
Amongst men, even so, have pity,
Be merciful to me!"
“If, after ye have sung in this wise,” said Damayanti to the Brahmins,
“any should chance to speak with you, oh, bring me word of him! I must know who
he is, and where he dwelleth. But take ye great heed that none may guess the
words ye speak to be at my bidding, nor that ye will afterwards return to me.
And do not fail, I beseech ye, to seek out all that is to be known regarding
that man who shall answer to your song!"
Having received these orders, the Brahmins set out in all directions to
do the bidding of Damayanti. And their quest led them far and near, through
cities and villages, into strange kingdoms, amongst forests, hermitages, and
monasteries, and from one camp of roving cowherds to another. And wherever they
went they sang the songs and played the part that Damayanti had laid upon them,
seeking in every place, if by any means they might bring back to her news of
Nala.
And when a long time had passed away, one of these Brahmins returned to
Damayanti, and said to her, "O Damayanti, seeking Nala, the King of the
Nishadas, I came to the city of Ayodhya, and appeared before Rituparna. But
though I repeatedly sang thy songs, neither that King nor any of his courtiers
answered anything. Then, when I had been dismissed by the monarch, I was
accosted by one of his servants, Vahuka the charioteer. And Vahuka is of
uncomely looks and figure, and possessed of very short arms. But he is skilful.
In the management of horses, and is also acquainted with the art of cookery.
And this Vahuka, with many sighs and some tears, came up to me and asked
about my welfare. And then he said, 'She should not be angry with one whose
garment was carried off by birds, when he was trying to procure food for both!
The honour of a woman is its own best guard. Let her not be an-angered, against
one who is consumed with grief. Noble women are ever faithful, ever true to
their own lords, and whether treated well or ill, they will forgive one who has
lost all he loved! Hearing this, O Princess, I hastened back to tell thee. Do
now what seemeth best unto thyself."
Words cannot describe the joy of Damayanti as she heard this news. She
knew now where Nala was, and the task with which he was entrusted. It lay only
with her woman's wit to find some means of bringing him to her father's house.
Having pondered long and carefully over the matter, she went to her mother, and
in her presence sent for the same confidential servant —a kind of chaplain to
the royal household—who had found herself and brought her back from exile to
the city of the Vidarbhas. Having her mother's full sanction, but keeping the
matter secret from Bhima, Damayanti turned to this Brahmin, Sudeva, and said,
"Go straight as a bird, Sudeva, to the city of Ayodhya and tell Rituparna
the King that Bhima's daughter, Damayanti, will once more hold a swayamvara. Kings and princes from all parts are coming to
it. Knowing not whether the heroic Nala lives or not, it is decided that she is
again to choose a husband. Tomorrow at sunrise, say thou, when thou seest him,
the ceremony will take place.” And Sudeva, bowing before the Queen-mother and
her daughter, left the royal presence, and proceeded to Ayodhya.
When Rituparna heard the news, he sent immediately for Vahuka, the
Charioteer. If he desired in one day to reach the city of the Vidarbhas, there
was only one driver in the world who could enable him to do so. “Exert thyself,
O Vahuka!” he exclaimed. “Damayanti, daughter of Bhima, holds to-morrow a
second swayamvara, and I
desire to reach the city this very day!’
Hearing these words Nala felt as if his heart would break. “What!” he
thought to himself, “is this the madness of sorrow? Or is it perhaps a punishment
for me? Ali, cruel is this deed that she would do! It may be that, urged by my
own folly, the stainless Princess cares for me no longer. Yet I cannot believe
that she, my wife, and the mother of my children, could possibly dream of
wedding any other. In any case, however, there is but one thing to be done. By
going there I shall do the will of Rituparna, and also satisfy myself.” Having
thus reflected, Vahuka answered the King, saying, “O monarch, I bow to thy
behest. Thou shalt reach the city of the Vidarbhas in a single day."
Wonderful and eventful was the driving of Vahuka the charioteer that
day. Never had Rituparna, or the servant who attended him, seen such skill.
The servant indeed remembered, as he watched it, the fame of Na.la. But he
turned his eyes upon the driver, and seeing his want of beauty, decided that
this could hardly be he, even though he should be disguised and living as a
servant, in consequence of misfortune. Every now and then the chariot would
rise into the sky, and course along with the fleetness of the wind. Like a bird
would it cross rivers and mountains, woods and lakes. In a few seconds it would
speed over as many miles. And Rituparna knew not how to express his delight in
the skill of his charioteer. Words could not speak his anxiety to reach the
city of the Vidarbhas before nightfall; and more and more, as the hours went
on, did he become convinced that only with the help of Vahuka was this
possible. But about noon the two became involved in a dispute about the number
of leaves and fruits on a certain tree. Rituparna, who was a great
mathematician, said there were so many, and his officer insisted on stopping
the car, cutting down the tree, and counting, to see if the King's words were
true! Rituparna was in despair. He could not go on without Vahuka, and Vahuka
was intent on verifying the numbers. However, the charioteer was sufficiently
amazed and respectful to the King's knowledge when he had counted the fruits
and found them to be correct. Then, in order to coax him onwards, Rituparna
said, “Come on, Vahuka, and in exchange for thy knowledge of horses, I will
give thee my knowledge of dice. For I understand every secret of the
gaming-table. This was the very moment for which Nala had waited and served so
long! However, he preserved his composure, and immediately the King imparted
to him his knowledge. And lo! as he did so, Koli (Kali), the spirit of
darkness, came forth, invisible to others, from within Nala, and he felt
himself suddenly to be released from all weakness and blindness, and to have
again all his old-time energy and power. And radiant with renewal of strength,
the charioteer mounted once more on the chariot, and taking the reins in his
hands, drove swiftly to the city of the Vidarbhas.
As Rituparna, towards evening, entered the city, the sound of the
driving of his chariot fell on the ears of Damayanti in the palace, and she
remembered, with a thrill, the touch of Nala on a horse's reins. But, mounting
to one of the terraces, she looked out, and could see only one who drove like
Nala, but none who had his face and form. “Ah!” she sighed, “if he does not
come to me to-day, to-morrow I enter the funeral fire! I can bear no longer
this life of sorrow!’
The King of Ayodhya meanwhile, hastening to call on Bhima, began to
think there must have been some mistake. He saw no other kings and princes with
their chariots. He heard no word of any swayamvara. He
therefore said that he had come merely to pay his respects. This, thought the
King of the Vidarbhas, was a little strange. A man would not usually come so
far and in such hot haste, in a single day, merely for a passing visit of
courtesy. However, feeling sure that the reason would reveal itself later, he
proceeded to offer Rituparna the attentions due to his rank and importance.
Nala, however, had no eyes for anything about him. Buried in thought, he
gave orders for the disposal of the horses, and having seen them duly carried
out, sat down with arms folded and head bent. At the sound of a woman's voice
he looked up. A maid sent from within the palace was asking him, in the name
of Damayanti, why and for what purpose had he and Rituparna come. "We
came,” answered the charioteer bitterly, “because the King heard that the
Princess of the Vidarbhas would for a second time hold a swayamvara!“ “And who art thou?” again asked the maiden. “Who art
thou? And who yon servant yonder? Might either of ye by chance have heard aught
of Nala? It may even be
that thou knowest whither King Nala is gone!”
“Nay, nay!” answered Vahuka. “That King in his calamity wanders about
the world, disguised, and despoiled even of his beauty. Nala's self only
knoweth Nala, and she also that is his second self. Nala never discovereth his
secret to any!”
"And yet,” replied the maid, "we sent a Brahmin to Ayodhya,
and when he sang‑
'Ah, beloved Gambler, whither art thou gone,
Taking with thee half my veil,
And leaving me, who loved thee,
Sleeping in the woods?
Speak thou, great King, the words I long to hear,
For I who am without stain pant to hear them I'
When he sang thus, thou didst make some reply. Repeat thy words now, I
beseech thee. My mistress longeth again to hear those words!"
At this Nala answered in a voice half choked— “She ought not to be
angry with one whose garment was carried off by birds, when he was trying to
procure food for both! The honour of a woman is its own best guard. Let her not
be angered against one who is consumed with grief. Noble women are ever
faithful, ever true to their own lords, and, whether treated well or ill, they
will forgive one who is deprived of every joy!” As he ended, the King could no
longer restrain himself, but burying his head in his arms, gave way to his
sorrow; and the girl, seeing this, stole away silently to tell all to the
Princess.
News was brought also to Damayanti of the greatness and power of
Rituparna's charioteer. It was told her how on coming to a low doorway he would
not stoop down, but the passage itself would grow higher in his presence, that
he might easily enter it. Vessels at his will filled themselves with water. He
needed not to strike to obtain fire; for on holding a handful of grass in the
sun, it would of its own accord burst into flame in his hand. Hearing these and
other things, Damayanti became sure that the charioteer Vahuka was no other
than Nala, her husband. Yet, that she might put him to one more test, she sent
her maid, with her two children, to wander near him. On seeing them, Nala took
them into his arms and embraced them, with tears. Then, realising how strange
this must seem, he turned to the waiting-woman and said apologetically—
"They are so like my own! But do not thou, maiden, come this way again. We
are strangers here from a far land. We are unknown, and I would fain be
alone."
And now, having heard this, Damayanti could wait no longer, hut sent for
the permission of her father and mother, and had Nala brought to her own
apartments. Corning thus into her presence, and seeing her clad just as he had
left her, wearing only half her veil, the seeming charioteer was shaken with grief.
And Damayanti, feeling sure that he was Nala, and seeing him as a servant,
whose wont it was to be a king, could scarcely restrain her tears. But she composed
herself, and said quietly, “Well, Vahuka, did you ever hear of a good man who
went away and left a devoted wife, sleeping alone, in the forest? Ah, what was
the fault that Nala found in me, that he should so have left me, helpless and
alone? Did I not choose him once in preference to the very gods themselves? And
did he not, in their presence, and in that of the fire, take me by the hand,
and say, Verily, I shall be ever thine'? Where was that promise, do you think,
when he left me thus?"
And Nala answered, “In truth, it was not my fault. It was the act of
Koli, who bath now left me, and for that only, have I come hither! But,
Damayanti, was there ever a true woman who, like thee, could choose a second
husband? At this moment have the messengers of thy father gone out over the
whole world, crying, Bhima's daughter will choose again a husband who shall be
worthy of her.' For this it is that Rituparna is come hither!"
Then Damayanti, trembling and affrighted, folded her hands before Nala,
and said, “O dear and blessed lord, suspect me not of evil! This was but my
scheme to bring thee hither. Excepting thee, there was none in the whole world
who could drive here quickly enough. Let the gods before whom I chose thee, let
the sun and the moon and the air, tell thee truly that every thought of mine
has been for thee!” And at the words, flowers fell from the sky, and a voice
said, “Verily Damayanti is full of faith and honour! Damayanti is without
stain!"
Then was the heart of Nala at peace within him. And he remembered his
change of form, and drawing forth the enchanted garments, he put them on,
keeping his mind fixed on the great Naga. And when Damayanti saw Nala again in
his own form, she made salutation to him as her husband, and began to weep.
Then were their children brought to them, and the Queen-mother gave her
blessing, and hour after hour passed in recounting the sorrows of their
separation.
The next day were Nala and Damayanti received together in royal audience
by Bhima. And in due time, Koli being now gone out from him, Nala made his way
to his own kingdom of the Nishadas and recovered his throne, and then,
returning for his queen, Damayanti, and their children, he took them all back
to their own home, and they lived here happily together ever after.
