  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. 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 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; 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 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, |
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