  Slain that savage wild-beast hunter—onward went the lotus-eyed, Through the dread, and desert forest—ringing with the cricket's song; Full of lions, pards, and tigers—stags, and buffalos, and bears, Where all kinds of birds were flocking—and wild men and robbers dwelt. Trees of every form and stature Pregnant with rich mines of metal—many a mountain it enclosed, Many a shady resonant arbour—many a deep and wondrous glen; Many a lake, and pool, and river—birds and beasts of every shape. She, in forms terrific round her—serpents, elves, and giants saw: Pools, and tanks of lucid water—and the shaggy tops of hills, Flowing streams and headlong torrents—saw, and wondered at the sight. And the princess of Vidarbha—gazed where in their countless herds, Buffalos and bears were feeding—boars, and serpents of the wood. Safe in virtue, bright in beauty—glorious and of high resolve, Now alone, Vidarbha's daughter—wandering, her lost Nala sought. Yet no fear king Bhima's daughter—for herself might deign to feel, Travelling the dreary forest—only for her lord distressed; Him she mourned, that noble princess—him in bitterest anguish wailed, Every limb with sorrow trembling—stood she on a beetling rock; "Monarch, with broad chest capacious—monarch with the sinewy arm, Me in this dread forest leaving—whither hast thou fled away? Thou the holy Aswamedha—thou each sacrificial rite, Hast performed, to me, me only—in thy holy faith thou'st failed. That which thou, O best of husbands—in mine hearing hast declared, Of the swift-winged swans the language—uttered, monarch, by thy side, That thyself, before my presence—didst renew, bethink thee well. Thou the Vedas, thou the Angas—with the Upangas oft hast read, Of each heaven-descended volume—one and simple is the truth. Therefore, of thy foes the slayer!—reverence thou the sacred truth Of thy solemn plighted promise—in my presence sworn so oft. Am not I the loved so dearly—purely, sinlessly beloved; In this dark and awful forest—wherefore dost thou not reply? Here with monstrous jaws wide yawning—with his fierce and horrid form, Gapes the forest king to slay me—and thou art not here to save. None but I, thou'st said, for ever—none but I to thee am dear! Make this oft-repeated language—make this oft-sworn promise true. To thy queen bereft of reason—to thy weeping wife beloved, Why repliest thou not—her only thou desir'st—she only thee. Meagre, miserable, pallid—tainted with the dust and mire, Scantly clad in half a garment—lone, with no protector near; Like a large-eyed hind that wanders—separate from the wonted herd, Thou regard'st me not, thus weeping—oh thou tamer of thy foes. Mighty king, a lonely wanderer—in this vast and trackless wood, Damayanti, I address thee—wherefore answerest not my voice? Nobly born, and nobly minded—beautiful in every limb, Do I not e'en now behold thee—in this mountain, first of men, In this lion-haunted forest—in this tiger-howling wood, Lying down or seated, standing—or in majesty and might Moving, do I not behold thee—the enhancer of my woe? Who shall I address, afflicted—wasted by my grief away; 'Hast thou haply seen my Nala—in the solitary wood?' Beautiful and royal-minded—conqueror of an host of foes! 'Him thou seek'st with eyes of lotus—Nala, sovereign of men— Lo, he's here!' whose voice of music—may I hear thus sweetly speak? Lo, with fourfold tusks before me—and with wide and gaping jaws, Stands the forest king, the tiger—I approach him without fear. Of the beasts art thou the monarch—all this forest thy domain, For the daughter of Vidarbha—Damayanti, know thou me, Consort of Nishadha's sovereign—Nala, slayer of his foes— Seeking here my exile husband—lonely, wretched, sorrow-driven, Thou, O king of beasts, console me—if my Nala thou hast seen; Or, O lord of all the forest—Nala if thou canst not show, Best of savage beasts, devour me—from my misery set me free. Hearing thus my lamentation-now does that fell king of beasts Go towards the crystal river—flowing downward to the sea.'— To this mountain then the holy—crowned with many a lofty peak, In its soul-exalting splendour—rising, many-hued, to heaven; Full within of precious metal—rich with many a glowing gem, Rising o'er the spreading forest—like a banner broad and high, Ranged by elephants and lions—tigers, bears, and boars, and stags; And of many birds the voices—sweetly sound o'er all its cliffs; All the trees of richest foliage All the flowers and golden fruitage—on its crested summits wave, Down its peaks in many a streamlet—dip the water-birds their wings: This, the monarch of all mountains—ask I of the king of men; 'O, all-honoured Prince of Mountains, with thy heaven-ward soaring peaks, Refuge of the lost, most noble—thee, O Mountain, I salute; I salute thee, lowly bowing—I, the daughter of a king; Of Vidarbha the great sovereign—mighty hero is my sire. Named the lord of earth, king Bhima—of each caste the guardian he; Of the holy Aswamedha—of the regal sacrifice, |
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