BOOK IX.

Scarce Varshneya had departed — still the king of men played on,

Till to Pushkara his kingdom — all that he possessed, was lost.

Nala then, despoiled of kingdom — smiling Pushkara bespake:

“Throw we yet another hazard — Nala, where is now thy stake?

There remains but Damayanti — all thou hast beside, is mine.

Throw we now for Damayanti — come, once more the hazard try.”

Thus as Pushkara addressed him — Punyasloka's inmost heart

By his grief was rent asunder — not a single word he spake.

And on Pushkara, king Nala — in his silent anguish gazed.

All his ornaments of splendour — from his person stripped he off,

With a single vest, scarce covered,—‘ mid the sorrow of his friends.

Slowly wandered forth the monarch — fallen from such an height of bliss.

Damayanti with one garment — slowly followed him behind.

Three long nights Nishadha's monarch — there without the gates had dwelt.

Proclamation through the city — then did Pushkara bid make,

“Whosoe'er befriendeth Nala — shall to instant death be doomed.”

Thus, as Pushkara gave order — in the terror of his power,

Might the citizens no longer — hospitably serve the king.

Near the walls, of kind reception — worthiest, but by none received;

Three nights longer staid the monarch — water was his only drink,

He in unfastidious hunger — plucked the fruits, the roots of earth.

Then went forth again the outcast:— Damayanti followed slow.

In the agony of famine — Nala, after many days,

Saw some birds around him settling — with their golden tinctured wings.

Then the monarch of Nishadha — thought within his secret heart,

These to-day my welcome banquet — and my treasure these will be.

Over them his single garment — spreading light he wrapped them round:

Up that single garment bearing — to the air they sprang away;

And the birds above him hovering — thus in human accents spake,

Naked as they saw him standing — on the earth, and sad, and lone:—

“Lo, we are the dice, to spoil thee — thus descended, foolish king!

While thou hadst a single garment — all our joy was incomplete.”

When the dice he saw departing — and himself without his robe,

Mournfully did Punyasloka — thus to Damayanti speak:

“They, O blameless, by whose anger — from my kingdom I am driven,

Life-sustaining food unable — in my misery to find —

They, through whom Nishadha's people — may not house their outcast king —

They, the forms of birds assuming — my one robe have borne away.

In the dark extreme of misery — sad and frantic as I am,

Hear me, princess, hear and profit — by thy husband's best advice.

Hence are many roads diverging — to the region of the south,

Passing by Avanti's city— and the height of Rishavàn;

Vindhya here, the mighty mountain— and Payoshni's seaward stream;

And the lone retreats of hermits — on the fruits of earth that live;

This will lead thee to Vidarbha — this to Cosala away,

Far beyond the region stretches — southward to the southward clime.”

In these words to Damayanti — did the royal Nala speak,

More than once to Bhima's daughter — anxious pointing out the way.

She, with voice half choked with sorrow — with her weight of woe oppressed,

These sad words did Damayanti — to Nishadha's monarch speak:—

“My afflicted heart is breaking — and my sinking members fail,

When, O king, thy desperate counsel — once I think of, once again.

Robbed of kingdom, robbed of riches — naked, thirst and hunger worn;

How shall I depart and leave thee — in the wood by man untrod.

When thou sad and famine-stricken — thinkest of thy former bliss,

In the wild wood, oh, my husband,— I thy weariness will soothe.

Like a wife, in every sorrow — this the wise physicians own,

Healing herb is none or balsam — Nala,‘ tis the truth I speak.”

Slender-waisted Damayanti — true, indeed, is all thou'st said;

Like a wife no friendly medicine — to afflicted man is given.

Fear not that I thee abandon — Wherefore, timid, dread'st thou this?

Oh, myself might I abandon — and not thee, thou unreproached.

If indeed, oh mighty monarch — thou wilt ne'er abandon me,

Wherefore then towards Vidarbha — dost thou point me out the way.

Well, I know thee, noble Nala — to desert me far too true,

Only with a soul distracted — would'st thou leave me, lord of earth.

Yet, again, the way thou pointest — yet, again, thou best of men,

Thus my sorrow still enhancing — oh, thou like the immortal gods;

If this be thy better counsel —‘ to her kindred let her go,’

Be it so, and both together — to Vidarbha set we forth.

Thee Vidarbha's king will honour — honour'd in his turn by thee;

Held in high respect and happy — in our mansion thou shall dwell.