BOOK XIII.

This, the lovely princess hearing — from the captain of the band,

With the caravan set forward — seeking still her royal lord.

Long their journey through the forest — through the dark and awful glens;

Then a lake of loveliest beauty — fragrant with the lotus flowers,

Saw those merchants, wide and pleasant — with fresh grass and shady trees;

Flowers and fruits bedecked its borders — where the birds melodious sang:

In its clear delicious waters — soul-enchanting, icy cool,

With their horses all o'erwearied — thought they then to plunge and bathe;

At the signal of the captain — entered all that pleasant grove.

At the close of day arriving — there encamped they for the night.

When the midnight came, all noiseless — came in silence deep and still,

Weary slept the band of merchants — lo, a herd of elephants,

Oozing moisture from their temples — came to drink the troubled stream.

When that caravan they gazed on — with their slumbering beasts at rest,

The tame elephants they scented — those wild forest elephants;

Forward rush they fleet and furious — mad to slay, and wild with heat;

Irresistible the onset — of the rushing ponderous beasts,

As the peaks from some high mountain — down the valley thundering roll;

Strewn was all the way before them — with the boughs, the trunks of trees;

On they crash'd to where the travellers — slumbered by the lotus lake.

Trampled down without a struggle — helpless on the earth they lay,

“Woe, oh, woe!” shrieked out the merchants — wildly some began to fly,

In the forest thickets’ plunging;— some stood gasping, blind with sleep;

And the elephants down beat them — with their tusks, their trunks, their feet.

Many saw their camels dying — mingled with the men on foot,

And in frantic tumult rushing — wildly struck each other down;

Many miserably shrieking — cast them down upon the earth,

Many climbed the trees in terror — on the rough ground stumbled some.

Thus in various wise and fatal — by the elephants assailed,

Lay that caravan so wealthy — scattered all abroad or slain.

Such, so fearful was the tumult — the three worlds seemed all appalled,

“‘ Tis a fire amid th’ encampment — save ye, fly ye, for your lives.

Lo, your precious pearls ye trample — take them up, why fly so fast?

Save them,‘ tis a common venture — fear ye not that I deceive.”

Thus t’ each other shrieked the merchants — as in fear they scattered round.

“Yet again I call upon you — cowards! think ye what ye do.”

All around this frantic carnage — raging through the prostrate host,

Damayanti, soon awakened — with her heart all full of dread;

There she saw a hideous slaughter — the whole world might well appal.

To such sights all unfamiliar — gazed the queen with lotus eyes,

Pressing in her breath with terror — slowly rose she on her feet.

And the few that scaped the carnage — few that scaped without a wound,

All at once exclaimed together — “Of whose deeds is this the doom?

Hath not mighty Manibhadra — adoration meet received.

And Vaisravana the holy— of the Yakshas lord and king,

Have not all that might impede us — ere we journied, been addressed?

Was it doomed, that all good omens — by this chance should be belied!

Were no planets haply adverse?— how hath fate, like this, befall'n!”

Others answered in their misery — reft of kindred and of wealth,

“Who is that ill-omened woman — that with maniac-staring eyes,

Joined our host, misshaped in aspect — and with scarcely human form?

Surely all this wicked witchcraft — by her evil power is wrought;

Witch or sorceress she, or dæmon — fatal cause of all our fears,

Hers is all the guilt, the misery — who such damning proof may doubt?

Could we but behold that false one — murtheress, bane of all our host,

With the clods, the dust, the bamboos — with our staves, or with our hands,

We would slay her on the instant — of our caravan the fate.”

But no sooner Damayanti — their appalling words had heard,

In her shame and in her terror — to the forest shade she fled.

And that guilt imputed dreading — thus her fate began to wail:

“Woe is me, still o'er me hovers — the terrific wrath of fate;

No good fortune e'er attends me — of what guilt is this the doom?

Not a sin can I remember — not the least to living man.

Or in deed, or thought, or language — of what guilt is this the doom?

In some former life committed— expiate I now the sin.

To this infinite misfortune — hence by penal justice doomed?

Lost my husband, lost my kingdom — from my kindred separate;

Separate from noble Nala — from my children far away,

Widowed of my rightful guardian — in the serpent-haunted wood.”

Of that caravan at morning — then the sad surviving few,

Setting forth from that dread region — o'er that hideous carnage grieve;

Each a brother mourns, or father — or a son, or dearest friend,

Still Vidarbha's princess uttered — “What the sin that I have done?

Scarcely in this desert forest — had I met this host of men,

By the elephants they perish — this is through my luckless fate;

A still lengthening life of sorrow — I henceforth must sadly lead.

Ere his destined day none dieth — this of aged seers the lore;

Therefore am not I too trampled — by this herd of furious beasts.

Every deed of living mortal — by over-ruling fate is done.

Yet no sin have I committed — in my blameless infancy,

To deserve this dire disaster — or in word, or deed, or thought.

For the choosing of my husband — are the guardians of the world,

Angry are the gods, rejected — for the noble Nala's sake?

From my lord this long divorcement — through their power do I endure.”

Thus the noblest of all women — to bewail her fate began,

The deserted Damayanti — with these sad and bitter words;

With some Veda-reading Brahmins — that survived that scattered host,

Then she went her way in sadness — like the young moon's sickle pale,

And ere long a mighty city — that afflicted queen drew near:

‘ Twas the king of Chedi's city — truth-discerning Subahu.

Scantly clad in half a garment — entered she that stately town;

Her disturbed, emaciate, wretched — with dishevelled hair, unwashed,

Like a maniac, onward-moving — saw that city's wondering throng;

Gazing on her as she entered — to the monarch's royal seat;

All the boys her footsteps followed — in their curious gamesome play;

Circled round by these she wandered — near the royal palace gate.

From that palace lofty terrace — her the mother of the king

Saw, and thus her nurse addressed she — “Go, and lead that wanderer in!

Sad she roves, without a refuge — troubled by those gazing men;

Yet in form so bright, irradiate — is our palace where she moves.

Though so maniac-like, half-clothed — like Heaven's long-eyed queen she seems.”

She those crowding men dispersing — quickly to the palace top

Made her mount — and in amazement — her the mother-queen addressed:

“Thus though bowed and worn with sorrow — such a shining form thou wear'st,

As through murky clouds the lightning — tell me who thou art and whence:

For thy form is more than human — of all ornament despoiled:

Men thou fear'st not, unattended — in celestial beauty safe.”

Hearing thus her gentle language — Bhima's daughter made reply,

“Know me like thyself a mortal — a distressed, devoted wife;

Of illustrious race an handmaid — making where I will mine home;

On the roots and wild-fruits feeding — lonely, at the fall of eve.

Gifted with unnumber'd virtues — is my true, my faithful lord,

And I still the hero followed — like his shadow on the way.

‘ Twas his fate, with desp'rate fondness — to pursue the love of play,

And in play subdued and ruined — entered he yon lonely wood;

Him, arrayed in but one garment,— like a madman wandering wild,

To console my noble husband — I too entered the deep wood;

He within that dreary forest — for some cause, to me unknown,

Wild with hunger, reft of reason — that one single robe he lost.

I with but one robe, him naked— frantic, and with mind diseased,

Following through the boundless forest — many a night I had not slept;

Then, when I had sunk to slumber — me the blameless leaving there,

Half my garment having severed — he his sinless consort fled;

Seeking him, my outcast husband — night and day am I consumed:

Him I see not, ever shining — like the lotus cup, beloved;

Find him not, most like th’ immortals — lord of all, my life, my soul.”

Even as thus, with eyes o'erflowing — uttered she her sad lament,

Sad herself, sad Bhima's daughter — did the mother queen address:

“Dwell with me, then, noble Lady — deep the joy in thee I feel,

And the servants of my household — shall thy royal husband seek;

Haply hither he may wander — as he roams about the world:

Dwelling here in peace and honour — thou thy husband wilt rejoin.”

To the king of Chedi's mother — Damayanti made reply;

“On these terms, O nurse of heroes!— I with thee may make abode:

That I eat not broken victuals— wash not feet with menial hand:

Nor with stranger men have converse — in my chaste, secluded state;

If that any man demand me — be he punished; if again,

Be he put to death on th’ instant — this the vow that I have sworn.

Only, if they seek my husband — holy Brahmins will I see.

Be my terms by thee accepted — gladly will I sojourn here,

But on other terms no sojourn — will this heart resolved admit.”

Then to her with joyful spirit — spake the mother of the king:

“As thou wilt shall all be ordered — be thou blest, since such thy vow.”

Speaking thus to Bhima's daughter — did the royal mother then,

In these words address her daughter — young Sunanda was her name:

“See this handmaid, my Sunanda — gifted with a form divine;

She in age thy lovely compeer — be she to thee as a friend;

Joined with her in sweet communion — take thy pleasure without fear.”

Young Sunanda, all rejoicing — to her own abode went back,

Taking with her Damayanti — circled with her virgin peers.