Damayanti, ever after—she the swan's sweet speech had heard— With herself she dwelt no longer—all herself with Nala dwelt. Lost in thought she sate dejected—pale her melancholy cheek, Damayanti sate and yielded—all her soul to sighs of grief. Upward gazing, meditative—with a wild distracted look, Wan was all her soft complexion—and with passion heart-possessed, Nor in sleep nor gentle converse—nor in banquets found she joy; Night nor day she could not slumber—Woe! oh woe! she wept and said. Her no longer her own mistress—from her looks, her gesture, knew Damayanti's virgin handmaids—to Vidarbha's monarch they Told how pined his gentle daughter—for the sovereign of men. This from Damayanti's maidens—when the royal Bhima heard, In his mind he gravely pondered—for his child what best were done. "Wherefore is my gentle daughter—from herself in mind estranged?" When the lord of earth his daughter—saw in blooming youth mature, Knew he for the Swayembara Straight the lord of many peasants "Come ye to the Swayembara—all ye heroes of the world!" Damayanti's Swayembara—soon as heard the kings of men, All obeyed king Bhima's summons—all to Bhima's court drew near; Elephants, and steeds, and chariots—swarmed along the sounding land; All with rich and various garlands All the lofty-minded rajas—Bhima with the arm of strength, As beseemed, received with honour—on their thrones of state they sate. Moving in their might ascended—up from earth to Indra's world. Great in holiness and wisdom—Narada and Parvata Honoured entered they the palace—of the monarch of the gods. Them salutes the cloud-compeller Of their weal the worlds pervading—courteous asks the immortal lord. Narada spake. Well it fares with us, Immortal—in our weal the world partakes— In the world, O cloud-compeller—well it fares with all her kings. Vrihadasva spake. He that Bali slew and Vritra—asked of Narada again— All earth's just and righteous rulers—reckless of their lives in fight— Who the shafts' descending death-blow—meet with unaverted eye— Theirs this everlasting kingdom Where are they, the Kshetriya heroes?—wherefore see I not approach All the earth's majestic guardians—all mine ever-honoured guests. Thus addressed by holy Sakra "Hear me now, O cloud-compeller—why earth's kings appear not here. Of Vidarbha's king the daughter—Damayanti, the renowned; Through the earth the loveliest women—in her beauty she transcends— Soon she holds her Swayembara—soon her lord the maid will choose. Thither all the kings are hastening—thither all the sons of kings. Suitors for her hand the rajas—her of all the world the pearl, O thou mighty giant slayer!—one and all approach to woo." As they spake, the world-protectors Of the immortals all, the highest—stood before the king of gods. All exclaimed in sudden rapture—thither we likewise will go; All the immortals on the instant,—with their chariots, with their hosts, Hastened down towards Vidarbha—where the lords of earth were met. Nala, too, no sooner heard he—of that concourse of the kings, Set he forth, with soul all sanguine—full of Damayanti's love. Saw the gods, king Nala standing—on the surface of the earth; Standing in transcendent beauty—equal to the god of love. Him beheld the world's high guardians—in his radiance like the sun; Each arrested stood and silent—at his peerless form amazed. All their chariots the celestials—in the midway air have checked. Through the blue air then descending—they Nishadha's king address. Ho! what, ho! Nishadha's monarch—Nala, king, for truth renowned; Do our bidding, bear our message—O, most excellent of men. |