  Seeing the profound emotion—of that wisest king of men, Passing back in haste, Kesinia—told to Damayanti all: Then again did Damayanti—mission to Kesinia give, To approach her royal mother—in her haste her lord to see. "Vahuca we've watched most closely—Nala we suspect him still; Only from his form we doubt him—this myself would fain behold. Cause him enter here, my mother—to my wishes condescend; Known or unknown to my father—let it be decided now." By that handmaid thus accosted—then the queen to Bhima told All his daughter's secret counsel—and the raja gave assent. Instant from her sire the princess—from her mother leave obtained, Bade them make king Nala enter—in the chamber where she dwelt. Sudden as he gazed upon her—upon Damayanti gazed, Nala, he was seized with anguish—and with tears his eyes o'erflowed. And when Damayanti gazed on—Nala, thus approaching near, With an agonizing sorrow—was the noble lady seized. Clad, then, in a scarlet mantle—hair dishevelled, mire-defiled, Unto Vahuca this language—Damayanti thus addressed: "Vahuca beheld'st thou ever—an upright and noble man, Who departed and abandoned—in the wood, his sleeping wife? The beloved wife, and blameless—in the wild wood, worn with grief? Who was he who thus forsook her?—who but Nala, king of men? To the lord of earth, from folly—what offence can I have given? That he fled, within the forest—leaving me, by sleep oppressed? Could he leave the true, the loving—her that hath his children borne! By the nuptial fire, in presence—of the gods, he clasped my hand, 'I will be,' While all this in broken accents—sadly Damayanti spoke, From her eyes the drops of sorrow—flowed in copious torrents down. Those dark eyes, with vermeil corners—thus with trembling moisture dewed, When king Nala saw, and gazed on—to the sorrowful he spake. "Gaming that I lost my kingdom—'twas not mine own guilty deed, It was Kali wrought within me—hence it was I fled from thee; Therefore he, in th' hour of trial—smitten by thy scathing curse, In the wild wood as thou wanderest—grieving night and day for me, Kali dwelt within my body—burning with thy powerful curse, Ever burning, fiercer, hotter—as when fire is heaped on fire. He, by my religious patience—my devotion, now subdued, Lo! the end of all our sorrows—beautiful! is now at hand. I, the evil one departed, hither have made haste to come; For thy sake, O round-limbed! only;—other business have I none. Yet, O how may high-born woman—from her vowed, her plighted lord, Swerving, choose another husband—even as thou, O trembler, would'st? Over all the earth the heralds—travel by the kings command, 'Now the daughter of king Bhima—will a second husband choose, 'Free from every tie, as wills she—as her fancy may beseem,' Hearing this, came hither speeding—king Bhangasuri in haste." Damayanti, when from Nala—heard she this his grievous charge, With her folded hands, and trembling—thus to Nala made reply: "Do not me, O noble-minded—of such shameless guilt suspect, Thou, when I the gods rejected—Nala, wert my chosen lord. Chaunting to their holy measures—but the words that I had taught. Then that Brahmin wise, Parnada—such the name he bears, O king, Thee in Kosala, the palace—of king Rituparna saw. There to thee, my words addressed he—answer there from thee received. I this subtle wile imagined—king of men, to bring thee here. Since, beside thyself, no mortal—in the world, within the day, Could drive on the fleetest coursers—for a hundred Yojanas. To attest this truth, O monarch!—thus I touch thy sacred feet; Even in heart have I committed—never evil thought 'gainst thee. He through all the world that wanders—witness the all-seeing wind, Let him now of life bereave me—if in this 'gainst thee I've sinned: And the sun that moveth ever—over all the world, on high, Let him now of life bereave me—if in this 'gainst thee I've sinned. Witness, too, the moon that permeates—every being's inmost thought; Let her too of life bereave me—if in this 'gainst thee I've sinned. These three gods are they that govern—these three worlds, so let them speak; This my sacred truth attest they—or this day abandon me." Thus adjured, a solemn witness—spake the wind from out the air; "She hath done or thought no evil—Nala, 'tis the truth we speak: King, the treasure of her virtue—well hath Damayanti kept, We ourselves have seen and watched her—closely for three livelong years. This her subtle wile she plotted—only for thy absent sake, For beside thyself no mortal—might a hundred Yojanas drive. Thou hast met with Bhima's daughter—Bhima's daughter meets with thee, Cast away all jealous scruple—to thy bosom take thy wife." Even as thus the wind was speaking—flowers fell showering all around: And the gods sweet music sounded—on the zephyr floating light. Of the blameless Damayanti—melted all his jealous doubts. Then by dust all undefiled—he the heavenly vest put on, Thought upon the King of Serpents—and his proper form resumed. Vrihadasva spake. They the livelong night together—slow related, each to each, All their wanderings in the forest—and each wild adventure strange. In king Bhima's royal palace—studying each the other's bliss, With glad hearts, Vidarbha's princess—and the kingly Nala dwelt. In their fourth year of divorcement—reunited to his wife, Richly fraught with every blessing—at the height of joy he stood. Damayanti too re-wedded—still increasing in her bliss, Like as the glad earth to water—opens its half-budding fruits, She of weariness unconscious,—soothed each grief, and full each joy, Every wish fulfilled, shone brightly—as the night, when high the moon. |
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