Hindu literature Part 25

Attend! Hence be there many roads which go Southwards: some pa.s.s Avanti's walls, and some Skirt Rikshavan, the forest of the bears; This wends to Vindhya's lofty peaks, and this To the green banks where quick Payoshni runs Seaward, between her hermitages, rich In fruits and roots; and yon path leadeth thee Unto Vidarbha; that to Kosala, And therefrom southward--southward--far away."

So spake he to the Princess wistfully, Between his words pointing along the paths, Which she should take (O King!). But Bhima's child Made answer, bowed with grief, her soft voice choked With sobs, these piteous accents uttering:-- "My heart beats quick; my body's force is gone, Thinking, dear Prince, on this which thou hast said, Pointing along the paths. What! robbed of realm, Stripped of thy wealth, bare, famished, parched with thirst, Thus shall I leave thee in the untrodden wood?

Ah, no! While thou dost muse on dear days fled, Hungry and weeping, I in this wild waste Will charm thy griefs away, solacing thee.

The wisest doctors say, 'In every woe No better physic is than wifely love,'

And, Nala, I will make it true to thee."

"Thou mak'st it true," he said; "thou sayest well, Sweet Damayanti; neither is there friend To sad men given better than a wife.

I had not thought to leave thee, foolish Love!

Why didst thou fear? Alas, 't is from myself That I would fly--not thee, thou Faultless One!"

"Yet, if," the Princess answered, "Maharaja!

Thou hadst no thought to leave me, why by thee Was the way pointed to Vidarbha's walls?

I know thou wouldst not quit me, n.o.blest Lord, Being thyself, but only if thy mind Were sore distraught; and see, thou gazest still Along the southward road, my dread thereby Increasing, thou that wert as are the G.o.ds!

If it be thy fixed thought, 'Twere best she went Unto her people'--be it so; I go; But hand in hand with thee. Thus let us fare Unto Vidarbha, where the King, my sire, Will greet thee well, and honor thee; and we Happy and safe within his gates shall dwell."

"As is thy father's kingdom," Nala said, "So, once, was mine. Be sure, whatever betide, Never will I go thither! How, in sooth, Should I, who came there glorious, gladdening thee, Creep back, thy shame and scorn, disconsolate?"

So to sweet Damayanti spake the Prince, Beguiling her, whom now one cloth scarce clad-- For but one garb they shared; and thus they strayed Hither and thither, faint for meat and drink, Until a little hut they spied; and there, Nishadha's monarch, entering, sat him down On the bare ground, the Princess by his side-- Vidarbha's glory, wearing that scant cloth, Without a mat, soiled by the dust and mire.

At Damayanti's side he sank asleep, Outworn; and beauteous Damayanti slept, Spent with strange trials--- she so gently reared, So soft and holy. But while slumbering thus, No peaceful rest knew Nala. Trouble-tossed He woke, forever thinking of his realm Lost, lieges estranged, and all the griefs Of that wild wood. These on his heart came back, And, "What if I shall do it? What, again, If I shall do it not?" So murmured he.

"Would death be better, or to leave my Love?

For my sake she endures this woe, my fate Too fondly sharing; freed from me, her steps Would turn unto her people. At my side, Sure suffering is her portion; but apart, It might be she would somewhere comfort find."

Thus with himself debating o'er and o'er, The Prince resolves abandonment were best.

"For how," saith he, "should any in the wood Harm her, so radiant in her grace, so good, So n.o.ble, virtuous, faithful, famous, pure?"

Thus mused his miserable mind, seduced By Kali's cursed mischiefs to betray His sleeping wife. Then, seeing his loin-cloth gone, And Damayanti clad, he drew anigh, Thinking to take of hers, and muttering, "May I not rend one fold, and she not know?"

So meditating, round the cabin crept Prince Nala, feeling up and down its walls; And, presently, within the purlieus found A naked knife, keen-tempered; therewithal Shred he away a piece, and bound it on; Then made with desperate steps to seek the waste, Leaving the Princess sleeping; but, anon, Turns back again in changeful mood and glides Into the hut, and, gazing wistfully On slumbering Damayanti, moans with tears:-- "Ah, Sweetheart! whom nor wind nor sun before Hath ever rudely touched; thou to be couched In this poor hut, its floor thy bed, and I, Thy lord, deserting thee, stealing from thee Thy last robe! O my Love with the bright smile, My slender-waisted Queen! Will she not wake To madness? Yea, and when she wanders lone In the dark wood, haunted with beasts and snakes, How will it fare with Bhima's tender child, The bright and peerless? O my life, my wife!

May the great sun, may the Eight Powers of air, The Rudras, Maruts, and the Aswins twain, Guard thee, thou true and dear one, on thy way!"

So to his sleeping Queen--on all the earth Unmatched for beauty--spake he piteously; Then breaks away once more, by Kali driven.

But yet another and another time Stole back into the hut, for one last gaze-- That way by Kali dragged, this way by love.

Two hearts he had--the trouble-stricken Prince-- One beating "Go," one throbbing "Stay"; and thus Backwards and forwards swung his mind between, Till, mastered by the sorrow and the spell, Frantic flies Nala, leaving there alone That tender-sleeper, sighing as she slept.

He flies--the soulless prey of Kali flies; Still, while he hurries through the forest drear, Thinking upon that sweet face he hath left.

Far distant (King!) was Nala, when, refreshed, The slender-waisted wakened, shuddering At the wood's silence; but when, seeking him, She found no Nala, sudden anguish seized Her frightened heart, and, lifting high her voice, Loud cries she: "Maharaja! Nishadha's Prince!

Ha, Lord! ha, Maharaja! ha, Master! why Hast thou abandoned me? Now am I lost, Am doomed, undone, left in this lonesome gloom.

Wert thou not named, O Nala, true and just?

Yet art thou such, to quit me while I slept?

And hast thou so forsaken me, thy wife-- Thine own fond wife--who never wrought thee wrong When by all others wrong was wrought on thee?

Mak'st thou it good to me, now, Lord of men, That love which long ago before the G.o.ds Thou didst proclaim? Alas! Death will not come, Except at his appointed time to men, And therefore for a little I shall live, Whom thou hast lived to leave. Nay, 't is a jest!

Ah, Truant, Runaway, enough thou play'st!

Come forth, my Lord!--I am afraid! Come forth!

Linger not, for I see--I spy thee there; Thou art within yon thicket! Why not speak One word, Nishadha? Nala, cruel Prince!

Thou know'st me, lone, and comest not to calm My terrors, and be with me in my need.

Art gone indeed? Then I'll not mourn myself, For whatso may befall me; I must think How desolate thou art, and weep for thee.

What wilt thou do, thirsty and hungry, spent With wandering, when, at nightfall, 'mid the trees Thou hast me not, sweet Prince, to comfort thee?"

Thereat, distracted by her bitter fears, Like one whose heart is fire, forward and back She runs, hither and thither, weeping, wild.

One while she sinks to earth, one while she springs Quick to her feet; now utterly overcome By fear and fasting, now by grief driven mad, Wailing and sobbing; till anon, with moans And broken sighs and tears, Bhima's fair child, The ever-faithful wife, speaks thus again:-- "By whomsoever's spell this harm hath fall'n On Nishadha's Lord, I pray that evil one May bear a bitterer plague than Nala doth!

To him, whoever set my guileless Prince On these ill deeds, I pray some direr might May bring far darker days, and life to live More miserable still!"

Thus, woe-begone, Mourned that great-hearted wife her vanished lord, Seeking him ever in the gloomy shades, By wild beasts haunted. Roaming everywhere, Like one possessed, frantic, disconsolate, Went Bhima's daughter. "Ha, ha! Maharaja!"

So crying runs she, so in every place Is heard her ceaseless wail, as when is heard The fish-hawk's cry, which screams, and circling screams, And will not stint complaining.

Suddenly, Straying too near his den, a serpent's coils Seized Bhima's daughter. A prodigious snake, Glittering and strong, and furious for food, Knitted about the Princess. She, o'erwhelmed With horror, and the cold enfolding death, Spends her last breaths in pitiful laments For Nala, not herself. "Ah, Prince!" she cried, "That would have saved me, who must perish now, Seized in the lone wood by this hideous snake, Why art thou not beside me? What will be Thy thought, Nishadha! me remembering In days to come, when, from the curse set free, Thou hast thy n.o.ble mind again, thyself, Thy wealth--all save thy wife? Then thou'lt be sad, Be weary, wilt need food and drink; but I Shall minister no longer. Who will tend My Love, my Lord, my Lion among kings, My blameless Nala--Damayanti dead?"

That hour a hunter, roving through the brake, Heard her bewailing, and with quickened steps Made nigh, and, spying a woman, almond-eyed, Lovely, forlorn, by that fell monster knit, He ran, and, as he came, with keen shaft clove, Through gaping mouth and crown, th'unwitting worm, Slaying it. Then the woodman from its folds Freed her, and laved the snake's slime from her limbs With water of the pool, comforting her And giving food; and afterwards (my King!) Inquiry made: "What doest, in this wood, Thou with the fawn's eyes? And how earnest thou, My mistress, to such pit of misery?"

And Damayanti, spoken fair by him, Recounted all which had befallen her.

But, gazing on her graces, scantly clad With half a cloth, those smooth, full sides, those b.r.e.a.s.t.s Beauteously swelling, form of faultless mould, Sweet youthful face, fair as the moon at full, And dark orbs, by long curving lashes swept; Hearing her tender sighs and honeyed speech, The hunter fell to hot desire; he dared Essay to woo, with whispered words at first, And next by amorous approach, the Queen; Who, presently perceiving what he would, And all that baseness of him--being so pure, So chaste, and faithful--like a blazing torch Took fire of scorn and anger 'gainst the man, Her true soul burning at him, till the wretch, Wicked in heart, but impotent of will, Glared on her, splendidly invincible In weakness, loftily defying wrong, A living flame of lighted chast.i.ty.

She then--albeit so desolate, so lone, Abandoned by her lord, stripped of her state-- Like a proud princess stormed, flinging away All terms of supplication, cursing him With wrath which scorched: "If I am clean in heart And true in thought unto Nishadha's King, Then mayest thou, vile pursuer of the beasts, Sink to the earth, stone dead!"

While she did speak, The hunter breathless fell to earth, stone dead, As falls a tree-trunk blasted by the bolt.

That ravisher destroyed, the lotus-eyed Fared forward, threading still the fearful wood, Lonely and dim, with trill of jhillikas[22]

Resounding, and fierce noise of many beasts Laired in its shade, lions and leopards, deer, Close-hiding tigers, sullen bisons, wolves, And s.h.a.ggy bears. Also the glades of it Were filled with fowl which crept, or flew, and cried.

A home for savage men and murderers, Thick with a world of trees, whereof was sal, Sharp-seeded, weeping gum; knotted bambus, Dhavas with twisted roots; smooth aswatthas, Large-leaved, and creeping through the cloven rocks; Tindukas, iron-fibred, dark of grain; Ingudas, yielding oil; and kinsukas, With scarlet flowerets flaming. Thronging these Were arjuns and arishta-clumps, which bear The scented purple cl.u.s.ters; syandans, And tall silk-cotton trees, and mango-belts With silvery spears; and wild rose-apple, blent 'Mid lodhra-tufts and khadirs, interknit By clinging rattans, climbing everywhere From stem to stem. Therewith were intermixed-- Round pools where rocked the lotus--amalaks, Plakshas with fluted leaves, kadambas sweet, Udumbaras; and, on the jungle-edge, Tangles of reed and jujube, whence there rose Bel-trees and nyagrodhas, dropping roots Down from the air; broad-leaved priyalas, palms And date-trees, and the gold myrobalan, With copper-leaved vibhitikas. All these Crowded the wood; and many a crag it held, With precious ore of metals interveined; And many a creeper-covered cave wherein The spoken word rolled round; and many a cleft Where the thick stems were like a wall to see; And many a winding stream and reedy jheel, And gla.s.sy lakelet, where the woodland beasts In free peace gathered.

Wandering onward thus, The Princess saw far-gliding forms of dread-- Pisachas, Rakshasas, ill sprites and fiends Which haunt, with swinging snakes, the undergrowth.

Dark pools she saw, and drinking-holes, and peaks Wherefrom break down in tumbling cataracts The wild white waters, marvellous to hear.

Also she pa.s.sed--this daughter of a king-- Where snorted the fierce buffaloes, and where The gray boars rooted for their food, and where The black bears growled, and serpents in the gra.s.s Rustled and hissed. But all along that way Safe paced she in her majesty of grace, High fortune, courage, constancy, and right-- Vidarbha's glory--seeking, all alone, Lost Nala; and less terror at these sights Came to sad Damayanti for herself-- Threading this dreadful forest--than for him.

Most was her mind on Nala's fate intent.

Bitterly grieving stood the sweet Princess Upon a rock, her tender limbs a-thrill With heavy fears for Nala while she spake:-- "Broad-chested Chief! my long-armed Lord of men!

Nishadha's King! Ah! whither art thou gone.

Leaving me thus in the unpeopled wood?

The Aswamedha sacrifice thou mad'st, And all the rites and royal gifts hast given, A lion-hearted Prince, holy and true To all save me! That which thou didst declare, Hand in hand with me--once so fond and kind-- Recall it now--thy sacred word, thy vow, Whithersoever, Raja, thou art fled.

Think how the message of the gold-winged swans Was spoken, by thine own lips, then to me!

True men keep faith; this is the teaching taught In Vedas, Angas, and Upangas all, Hear which we may; wilt thou not, therefore, Prince-- Wilt thou not, terror of thy foes, keep faith, Making thy promise good to cleave to me?

Ha, Nala, Lord! Am I not surely still Thy chosen, thy beloved? Answerest not Thy wife in this dark, horror-haunted shade?

The tyrant of the jungle, fierce and fell, With jaws agape to take me, crouches nigh, And thou not here to rescue me--not thou, Who saidst none other in the world was dear But Damayanti! Prove the fond speech true, Uttered so often! Why repliest not To me, thy well-beloved; me, distraught, Longed for and longing; me, my Prince and pride, That am so weary, weak, and miserable, Stained with the mire, in this torn cloth half clad, Alone and weeping, seeing no help near?

Ah, stag of all the herd! leav'st thou thy hind Astray, regarding not these tears which roll?

My Nala, Maharaja! It is I Who cry, thy Damayanti, true and pure, Lost in the wood, and still thou answerest not!

High-born, high-hearted, full of grace and strength In all thy limbs, shall I not find thee soon On yonder hill? Shall I not see, at last, In some track of this grim, beast-peopled wood, Standing, or seated, or upon the leaves Lying, or coming, him who is of men The glory, but for me the grief-maker?

If not, whom shall I question, woe-begone, Saying, 'In any region of this wood Hast thou, perchance, seen Nala?' Is there none, In all the forest, would reply to me With tidings of my lord, wandered away, Kingly in mind and form, of hosts of foes The conqueror? Who will say, with blessed voice, 'That Raja with the lotus-eyes is near, Whom thou dost seek'?--Nay, here comes one to ask, The yellow forest-king, his great jaws armed With fourfold fangs. A tiger standeth now Face to face on my path; I'll speak with him Fearlessly: 'Dreadful chief of all this waste, Thou art the sovereign of the beasts, and I Am daughter of Vidarbha's King; my name, The Princess Damayanti; know thou me, Wife of Nishadha's Lord--of Nala--styled "Subduer of his Foes"? Him seek I here-- Abandoned, sorrow-stricken, miserable.

Comfort me, mighty beast, if so thou canst, Saying thou hast seen Nala; but if this Thou canst not do, then, ah, thou savage lord, Terrible friend, devour me, setting me Free from all woes!' The tiger answereth not; He turns, and quits me in my tears, to stalk Down where the river glitters through the reeds, Seeking its seaward way. Then will I pray Unto yon sacred mount of cl.u.s.tered crags, Broad-shouldered, shining, lifting high to heaven Its diverse-colored peaks, where the mind climbs Its hid heart rich with silver veins, and gold, And stored with many a precious gem unseen.

Clear towers it o'er the forest, broad and bright Like a green banner; and the sides of it House many a living thing--lions and boars, Tigers and elephants, and bears and deer.

Softly around me from its feathered flocks The songs ring, perched upon the kinsuk trees, The asokas, vakuls, and punnaga boughs, Or hidden in the karnikara leaves, And tendrils of the dhava or the fig; Full of great glens it soars, where waters leap And bright birds lave. This king of hills I sue For tidings of my lord. O Mountain Lord, Far-seen and celebrated hill! that cleav'st The blue of the sky, refuge of living things, Most n.o.ble eminence, I worship thee; Thee I salute, who am a monarch's child, The daughter and the consort of a prince, The high-born Damayanti, unto whom Bhima, Vidarbha's chief--that puissant lord-- Was sire, renowned o'er earth. Protector he Of the four castes, performer of the rites Called Rajasuya and the Aswamedha-- A bounteous giver, first of rulers, known For his large shining eyes; holy and just, Fast to his word, unenvious, sweet of speech, Gentle and valiant, dutiful and pure; The guardian of Vidarbha, of his foes The slayer. Know me, O Majestic Mount!

For that King's daughter, bending low to thee.

In Nishadha lived the father of my lord, The Maharaja Virasena named, Wealthy and great; whose son, of regal blood, High-fortuned, powerful, and n.o.ble-souled, Ruleth by right the realm paternal: he Is Nala, terror of all enemies; Dark Nala, praised-in-song; Nala the just, The pure; deep-seen in scriptures, sweet of speech, Drinker of Soma-juice, and worshipper Of Agni; sacrificing, giving gifts; First in the wars, a perfect, princely lord.

His wife am I, Great Mountain! and come here Fortuneless, husbandless, and spiritless, Everywhere seeking him, my best of men.

O Mount, whose doubled ridge stamps on the sky Yon line, by fivescore splendid pinnacles Indented! tell me, in this gloomy wood Hast thou seen Nala? Nala, wise and bold, Like a tusked elephant for might; long armed, Indomitable, gallant, glorious, true; Nala, Nishadha's chief--hast thou seen him?

O Mountain, why consolest thou me not, Answering one word to sorrowful, distressed, Lonely, lost Damayanti?"

Then she cried:-- "But answer for thyself, Hero and Lord!

If thou art in the forest, show thyself!

Alas! when shall I hear that voice, as low, As tender as the murmur of the rain When great clouds gather; sweet as Amrit-drink?

Thy voice, once more, my Nala, calling to me Full softly, 'Damayanti!'--dearest Prince, That would be music soothing to these ears As sound of sacred Veda; that would stay My pains and comfort me, and bring me peace."

Thereafter, turning from the mount, she went Northwards, and journeying on three nights and days Came to a green incomparable grove By holy men inhabited; a haunt Placid as Paradise, whose indwellers Like to Vasistha, Bhrigu, Atri, were-- Those ancient saints. Restraining sense they lived, Heedful in meats, subduing pa.s.sion, pure, Breathing within; their food water and herbs; Ascetics; very holy; seeking still The heavenward road; clad in the bark of trees And skins--all gauds of earth being put by.

This hermitage, peopled by gentle ones, Glad Damayanti spied, circled with herds Of wild things grazing fearless, and with troops Of monkey-folk o'erheard; and when she saw, Her heart was lightened, for its quietness.

So drew she nigh--that lovely wanderer-- Bright-browed, long-tressed, large-hipped, full-bosomed, fair, With pearly teeth and honeyed mouth, in gait Right queenly still, having those long black eyes-- The wife of Virasena's son, the gem Of all dear women, glory of her time; Sad Damayanti entered their abode, Those holy men saluting reverently, With modest body bowed. Thus stood she there And all the saints spake gently, "_Swagatam_-- Welcome!" and gave the greetings which are meet; And afterwards, "Repose thyself," they said; "What wouldst thou have of us?" Then, with soft words The slender-waisted spake: "Of all these here, So worshipful in sacrifice and rite-- 'Mid gentle beasts and birds--in tasks and toils And blameless duties--is it well?" And they Answered: "We thank you, n.o.ble lady, well.

Tell us, most beauteous one, thy name, and say What thou desirest. Seeing thee so fair, So worthy, yet so sorrowful, our minds Are lost in wonder. Weep not. Comfort take.

Art thou the G.o.ddess of the wood? Art thou The Mountain-Yakshi, or, belike, some sprite Which lives under the river? Tell us true, Gentle and faultless form!"

Whereat reply Thus made she to the Rishis: "None of these Am I, good saints. No G.o.ddess of the wood, Nor yet a mountain nor a river sprite; A woman ye behold, most only ones, Whose moving story I will tell you true.

The Raja of Vidarbha is my sire, Bhima his name, and--Best of Twice-born!--know My husband is Nishadha's Chief, the famed, The wise and valiant and victorious Prince, The high and lordly Nala; of the G.o.ds A steadfast worshipper; of Brahmanas The friend; his people's shield; honored and strong, Truth-speaking, skilled in arms, sagacious, just; Terrible to his foes, fortunate, lord Of many conquered towns; a G.o.dlike man, Princeliest of princes--Nala--one that hath A countenance like the full moon's for light, And eyes of lotus. This true offerer Of sacrifices, this close votary Of Vedas and Vedangas, in the war Deadly to enemies, like sun and moon For splendor--by some certain evil ones Being defied to dice, my virtuous Prince Was, by their wicked acts, of realm despoiled-- Wealth, jewels, all. I am his woful wife, The Princess Damayanti. Seeking him Through thickets have I roamed, over rough hills, By crag and river and the reedy lake, By marsh and waterfall and jungle-bush, In quest of him--my lord, my warrior, My hero--and still roam, uncomforted.

Worshipful brethren! say if he hath come-- Nishadha's Chief, my Nala, hitherward Unto your pleasant homes--he, for whose sake I wander in the dismal pathless wood With bears and tigers haunted--terrible!

Ah! if I find him not, ere there be pa.s.sed Many more nights and days, peace will I win; For death shall set my mournful spirit free.

What cause have I to live, lacking my Prince?

Why should I longer breathe, whose heart is dead With sorrow for my lord?"

To Bhima's child, So in the wood bewailing, made reply Those holy, truthful men: "Beautiful One!

The future is for thee; fair will it fall!

Our eyes, by long devotions opened, see-- Even now--thy lord; thou shalt behold him soon, Nishadha's chief, the famous Nala, strong In battle, loving justice. Yea, this Prince Thou wilt regain, Bhima's sad daughter! freed From troubles, purged of sin; and witness him-- With all his gems and glories--governing Nishadha once again, invincible, Joy of his friends and terror of his foes.

Yea, n.o.blest, thou shalt have thy love anew In days to come."

So speaking, from the sight Of Damayanti, at that instant, pa.s.sed Hermits, with hermitage and holy fires, Evanishing. In wonderment she stood, Gazing bewildered. Then the Princess cried:-- "Was it in dream I saw them? Whence befell This unto me? Where are the brethren gone, The ring of huts, the pleasant stream that ran With birds upon its crystal banks, the grove Delightful, with its fruits and flowers?" Long while Pondered and wondered Damayanti there, Her bright smile fled, pale, strengthless, sorrowful; Then to another region of the wood, With sighs, and eyes welling great tears, she pa.s.sed, Lamenting; till a beauteous tree she spied-- The Asoka, best of trees. Fair rose it there Beside the forest, glowing with the flame Of golden and crimson blossoms, and its boughs Full of sweet-singing birds.

"_Ahovat_--Look!"

She cried: "Ah, lovely tree, that wavest here Thy crown of countless, shining, cl.u.s.tering blooms As thou wert woodland king--Asoka tree, Tree called 'the sorrow-ender,' heart's-ease tree!

Be what thy name saith--end my sorrow now, Saying, ah, bright Asoka! thou hast seen My Prince, my dauntless Nala; seen that lord Whom Damayanti loves and his foes fear; Seen great Nishadha's Chief, so dear to me, His tender princely skin in rended cloth Scantily clad. Hath he pa.s.sed wandering Under thy branches, grievously forlorn?

Answer, Asoka! 'Sorrow-ender,' speak!