  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, 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 Vindhya here, the mighty mountain 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; 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." Nala spake. 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. Damayanti spake. 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. |
|
