  Lived of yore, a raja, Nala,—Virasena's mighty son, Gifted he with every virtue,—beauteous, skilled in taming steeds: Head of all the kings of mortals—like the monarch of the gods, Over, over all exalted Holy, deep-read in the Vedas Loving dice, of truth unblemished The admired of noble women—generous, with each sense subdued. Guardian of the state; of archers—best, a present Manu So there dwelt in high Vidarbha With all virtues blest, but childless—long for children had he pined. Many an holy act, on offspring To his court there came a Brahmin,—Damana the seer was named. Him the child-desiring Bhima—in all duties skilled, received, Feasted with his royal consort—in his hospitable hall. Pleased on him the grateful Daman,—and his queen a boon bestowed, One sweet girl, the pearl of maidens—and three fair and noble sons. Damayanti, Dama DÁnta—and illustrious Damana, Richly gifted with all virtues—mighty, fearful in their might. Damayanti with her beauty—with her brilliance, brightness, grace, Through the worlds unrivalled glory—won the slender-waisted maid. Her, arrived at bloom of beauty,—sate a hundred slaves around, And a hundred virgin handmaids—as around great Indra's queen. Mid her handmaids, like the lightning Like the long-eyed queen of beauty—without rival, without peer. Never mid the gods immortal—never mid the Yaksha race, Nor 'mong men was maid so lovely—ever heard of, ever seen, As the soul-disturbing maiden—that disturbed the souls of gods. Nala too, 'mong kings the tiger Like Kandarpa in his beauty All around Vidarbha's princess—praised they Nala in their joy. Ever praised they Damayanti—round Nishadha's noble king. Hearing so each others virtues—all unseen they 'gan to love. Thus of each, O son of Kunti, Nala, in his heart impatient—longer that deep love to bear, To the grove, in secret, wandered—by the palace' inmost court. There the swans he saw disporting Through the grove thus lightly moving—one of these bright birds he caught. But the bird, in human language—thus the wondering king addressed: "Slay me not, O gentle monarch!—I will do thee service true; So in Damayanti's presence—will I praise Nishadha's king, Never after shall the maiden—think of mortal man but thee." Thus addressed, at once the monarch—let the bright-winged bird depart. Flew away the swans rejoicing—to Vidarbha straight they flew; To Vidharba's stately city:—there by Damayanti's feet, Down with drooping plumes they settled—and she gazed upon the flock, Wondering at their forms so graceful—where amid her maids she sate. Sportively began the damsels—all around to chase the birds; Scattering flew the swans before them—all about the lovely grove. Lightly ran the nimble maidens,—every one her bird pursued; Suddenly, in human language—spake to Damayanti thus.— "Damayanti, in Nishadha—Nala dwells, the noble king— Like the Aswinas in beauty, O incomparable princess—to this hero wert thou wed, Noble birth and perfect beauty—not unworthy fruit had borne. Gods, Gandharvas, |
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