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[71]—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.[72]
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,[73]—
"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.