BOOK XI.

Scarcely had king Nala parted — Damayanti now refreshed,

Wakened up, the slender-waisted — timorous in the desert wood.

When she did not see her husband — overpowered with grief and pain,

Loud she shriek'd in her first anguish — “Where art thou, Nishadha's king?

Mighty king! my soul-protector — O, my lord! desert'st thou me.

Oh, I'm lost! undone for ever — helpless in the wild wood left;

Faithful once to every duty — wert thou not, and true in word.

Art thou faithful to thy promise — to desert me thus in sleep.

Could'st thou then depart, forsaking — thy devoted, constant wife;

Her in sooth that never wronged thee — wronged indeed, but not by her.

Keep'st thou thus thy solemn promise — oh, unfaithful lord of men,

There, when all the gods were present — plighted to thy wedded wife?

Death is but decreed to mortals — at its own appointed time,

Hence one moment, thus deserted— one brief moment do I live.—

But thou'st had thy sport — enough then — now desist, O king of men,

Mock not thou a trembling woman — show thee to me, O my lord!

Yes, I see thee, there I see thee — hidden as thou think'st from sight,

In the rushes why conceal thee?— answer me, why speak'st thou not.

Wherefore now ungentle stay'st thou — like to one forsworn, aloof?

Wherefore wilt thou not approach me — to console me in my woe?

For myself I will not sorrow — nor for aught to me befalls.

Thou art all alone, my husband,— I will only mourn for thee.

How will't fare with thee, my Nala — thirsting, famished, faint with toil.

Nor beholding me await thee — underneath the trees at eve.”

Then, in all her depth of anguish — with her trouble as on fire,

Hither, thither, went she weeping — all around she went and wailed.

Now springs up the desolate princess — now falls down in prostrate grief;

Now she pines in silent sorrow — now she shrieks and wails aloud.

So consumed with inward misery — ever sighing more and more,

Spake at length king Bhima's daughter — spake the still devoted wife:

“He, by whose dire imprecation — Nala this dread suffering bears,

May he far surpass in suffering — all that Nala suffers now,

May the evil one, to evil — who the blameless Nala drives,

Smitten by a curse as fatal — live a dark unblessed life.”

Thus her absent lord lamenting — that high-minded raja's queen,

Every-where her lord went seeking — in the satyr-haunted wood.

Like a maniac, Bhima's daughter — wandered wailing here and there;

And “alas! alas! my husband” — every-where her cry was heard.

Her beyond all measure wailing — like the osprey screaming shrill,

Miserably still deploring — still renewing her lament.

Suddenly king Bhima's daughter — as she wandered near his lair,

Seized a huge gigantic serpent — in his raging famine fierce.

In the grasp of that fierce serpent — round about with terror girt,

Not herself she pities only — pities she Nishadha's king.

“O my guardian, thus unguarded — in this savage forest seized,

Seized by this terrific serpent — wherefore art not thou at hand?

How will't be, when thou rememberest — once again thy faithful wife,

From this dreadful curse delivered — mind, and sense, and wealth returned?

When thou'rt weary, when thou'rt hungry — when thou'rt fainting with fatigue,

Who will soothe, O blameless Nala — all thy weariness, thy woe.”

Then a huntsman as he wandered — in the forest jungle thick,

As he heard her thus bewailing — in his utmost haste drew near.

In the grasp when he beheld her — of that long-eyed serpent fell,

Instant did the nimble huntsman — rapidly as he came on,

Pierce that unresisting serpent — with a sharp and mortal shaft:

In her sight he slew that serpent — skill'd in slaughter of the chase.

Her released he from her peril — washed he then with water pure,

And with sylvan food refreshed her — and with soothing words address'd:

“Who art thou that roam'st the forest — with the eyes of the gazelle;

How to this extreme of misery — noble lady, hast thou fallen?”

Damayanti, by the huntsman — thus in soothing tone addressed,

All the story of her misery-told him, as it all befell;

Her, scant-clothed in half a garment — with soft swelling limbs and breast,

Form of youthful faultless beauty — and her fair and moonlike face,

And her eyes with brows dark arching — and her softly-melting speech,

Saw long time that wild beast hunter — kindled all his heart with love.

Then with winning voice that huntsman — bland beginning his discourse,

Fain with amorous speech would soothe her — she his dark intent perceived.

Damayanti, chaste and faithful,— soon as she his meaning knew,

In the transport of her anger — her indignant soul took fire.

In his wicked thought the dastard — her yet powerless to subdue,

On the unsubdued stood gazing — as like some bright flame she shone.

Damayanti, in her sorrow — of her realm, her lord bereft,

On the instant she found language — uttered loud her curse of wrath,—

“As my pure and constant spirit — swerves not from Nishadha's lord,

Instant so may this base hunter — lifeless fall upon the earth.”

Scarce that single word was uttered — suddenly that hunter bold

Down upon the earth fell lifeless — like a lightning blasted tree.