Part II.

Not long (O Maharaja!) was Nala fled From Damayanti, when, in midmost gloom Of the thick wood a flaming fire he spied, And from the fire's heart heard proceed a voice Of one imperilled, crying many times:— "Haste hither, Punyashloka, Nala, haste!" "Fear not," the Prince replied; "I come!" and sprang Across the burning bushes, where he saw A snake—a king of serpents—lying curled In a great ring, which reared its dancing crest Saluting, and in human accents spoke:— "Maharaja, kindly lord, I am the snake Karkôtaka; by me was once betrayed The famous Rishi Narada; his wrath Doomed me, thou Chief of men! to bear this spell— 'Coil thy false folds,' said he, 'forever here, A serpent, motionless upon this spot, Till it shall chance that Nala passeth by And bears thee hence; then only from my curse Canst thou be freed,' And prisoned by that curse I have no power to stir, though the wood burns; Nay, not a coil! good fellowship I'll show If thou wilt succor me. I'll be to thee A faithful friend, as no snake ever yet. Lift me, and quickly from the flames bear forth: For thee I shall grow light." Thereat shrank up That monstrous reptile to a finger's length; And grasping this, unto a place secure From burning, Nala bore it, where the air Breathed freshly, and the fire's black path was stayed. Then made the Prince to lay the serpent down, But yet again it speaks: "Nishadha's Lord, Grasp me and slowly go, counting thy steps; For, Raja, thou shalt have good fortune hence." So Nala slowly went, counting his steps; And when the tenth pace came, the serpent turned And bit the Prince. No sooner pierced that tooth Than all the likeness of Nishadha changed; And, wonder-struck, he gazed upon himself; While from the dust he saw the snake arise A man, and, speaking as Karkôtaka, Comfort him thus:— "Thou art by me transformed That no man know thee: and that evil one (Possessing, and undoing thee, with grief) Shall so within thee by my venom smart, Shall through thy blood so ache, that—till he quit— He shall endure the woe he did impart. Thus by my potent spell, most noble Prince! (Who sufferest too long) thou wilt be freed From him that haunts thee. Fear no more the wood, Thou tiger of all princes! fear thou not Horned nor fanged beasts, nor any enemies, Though they be Bráhmans! safe thou goest now, Guarded from grief and hurt—Chieftain of men! By this kind poison. In the fields of war Henceforth the victory always falls to thee; Go joyous, therefore, Prince; give thyself forth For 'Vahûka, the charioteer:' repair To Rituparna's city, who is skilled In play, and dwells in fair Ayodhyâ. Wend thou, Nishadha! thither; he will teach Great subtlety in numbers unto thee, Exchanging this for thine own matchless gift Of taming horses. From the lordly line Descended of Ikshvaku, glad and kind The King will be; and thou, learning of him His deepest act of dice, wilt win back all, And clasp again thy Princess. Therefore waste No thought on woes. I tell thee truth! thy realm Thou shalt regain; and when the time is come That thou hast need to put thine own form on, Call me to mind, O Prince, and tie this cloth Around thy body. Wearing it, thy shape Thou shalt resume." Therewith the serpent gave A magic twofold robe, not wove on earth, Which (O thou son of Kuru!) Nala took; And so the snake, transformed, vanished away. The great snake being gone, Nishadha's Chief Set forth, and on the tenth day entered in At Rituparna's town; there he besought The presence of the Raja, and spake thus:— "I am the chariot-driver, Vahûka. There is not on this earth another man Hath gifts like mine to tame and guide the steed; Moreover, thou mayest use me in nice needs And dangerous, where kings lack faithful hearts. Specially skilful I am in dressing meats; And whatso other duties may befall, Though they be weighty, I shall execute, If, Rituparna, thou wilt take me in." "I take thee," quoth the King. "Dwell here with me. Such service as thou knowest, render us. 'Tis, Vahûka, forever in my heart To have my steeds the swiftest; be thy task To train me horses like the wind for speed; My charioteer I make thee, and thy wage Ten thousand gold suvernas. Thou wilt have For fellows, Varshneya and Jivala; With those abiding, lodge thou happy here." So entertained and honored of the King, In Rituparna's city Nala dwelled, Lodging with Varshneya and Jivala. There sojourned he (my Raja!), thinking still Of sweet Vidarbha's Princess day by day; And sunset after sunset one sad strain He sang: "Where resteth she that roamed the wood Hungry and parched and worn, but always true? Doth she remember yet her faultful lord? Ah, who is near her now?" So it befell Jivala heard him ever sighing thus, And questioned: "Who is she thou dost lament? Say, Vahûka! fain would I know her name. Long life be thine; but tell me who he is, The faultful man that was the lady's lord." And Nala answered him: "There lives a man, Evil and rash, that had a noble wife. False to his word he was; and thus it fell That somewhere, for some reason (ask not me!), He quitted her, this rash one. And—so wrenched Apart from hers—his spirit, bad and sad, Muses and moans, with grief's slow fire consumed Night-time and day-time. Thence it is he sings At every sunset this unchanging verse, An outcast on the earth, by hazard led Hither and thither. Such a man thou seest Woful, unworthy, holding in his heart Always that sin. I was that lady's lord, Whom she did follow through the dreadful wood, Living by me abandoned, at this hour; If yet, in truth, she lives—youthful, alone, Unpractised in the ways, not meriting Fortunes so hard. Ah, if indeed she lives, Who roamed the thick and boundless forest, full Of prowling beasts—roamed it, my Jivala, Unguarded by her guilty lord—forsook, Betrayed, good friend!" Thus did Nishadha grieve, Calling sweet Damayanti to his mind. So tarried he within the Raja's house, And no man knew his place of sojourning. While, stripped of state, the Prince and Princess thus Were sunk to servitude, Bhima made quest, Sending his Bráhmans forth to search for them With straight commands, and for their road-money Liberal store. "Seek everywhere," said he Unto the twice-born, "Nala—everywhere My daughter Damayanti. Whoso comes Successful in this quest, discovering her— With lost Nishadha's Lord—and bringing them, A thousand cows to that man will I give, And village-lands whence shall be revenue As great as from a city. If so be Ye cannot bring me Nala and my child, To him that learns their refuge I will give The thousand cows." Thereby rejoiced, they went, Those Bráhmans, hither and thither, up and down, Into all regions, rajaships, and towns, Seeking Nishadha's Chieftain, and his wife. But Nala nowhere found they; nowhere found Sweet Damayanti, Bhima's beauteous child— Until, straying to pleasant Chedipur, One day a twice-born came, Sudêva named, And entered it; and, spying round about (Upon a feast-day by the King proclaimed), He saw forth-passing through the palace gate A woman—Bhima's daughter—side by side With young Sunandâ. Little praise had now That beauty which in old days shone so bright; Marred with much grief it was, like sunlight dimmed By fold on fold of wreathed and creeping mists. But when Sudêva marked the great dark eyes— Lustreless though they were, and she so worn, So listless—"Lo, the Princess!" whispered he;— "'Tis the King's daughter," quoth he to himself; And thus mused on:— "Yea! as I used to see, 'Tis she! no other woman hath such grace! My task is done; I gaze on that one form, Which is like Lakshmi's, whom all worlds adore. I see the bosoms, rounded, dark, and smooth, As they were sister-moons; the soft moon-face Which with its queenly light makes all things bright Where it doth gleam; the large deep lotus-eyes, That, like to Rati's own, the Queen of Love, Beam, each a lovelit star, filling the worlds With longing. Ah, fair lotus-flower, plucked up By Fate's hard grasp from far Vidarbha's pool, How is thy cup muddied and slimed to-day! Ah, moon, how is thy night like to the eclipse When Rahu swallows up the silver round! Ah, tearless eyes, reddened with weeping him, How are ye like to gentle streams run dry! Ah, lake of lilies, where grief's elephant Hath swung his trunk, and turned the crystal black, And scattered all the blue and crimson cups, And frightened off the birds! Ah, lily-cup, Tender, and delicately leaved, and reared To blossom in a palace built of gems, How dost thou wither here, wrenched by the root, Sun-scorched and faded! Noblest, loveliest, best!— Who bear'st no gems, yet so becomest them— How like the new moon's silver horn thou art, When envious black clouds blot it! Lost for thee Are love, home, children, friends, and kinsmen; lost All joy of that fair body thou dost wear Only that it may last to find thy lord. Truly a woman's ornament is this:— The husband is her jewel; lacking him She hath none, though she shines with priceless pearls; Piteous must be her state! And, torn from her, Doth Nala cling to life; or, day by day, Waste with long yearning? Oh, as I behold Those black locks, and those eyes—dark and long-shaped As are the hundred-petalled lotus-leaves— And watch her joyless who deserves all joy, My heart is sore! When will she overpass The river of this sorrow, and come safe Unto its farther shore? When will she meet Her lord, as moon and moon-star in the sky Mingle? For, as I think, in winning her, Nala would win his happy days again, And—albeit banished now—have back his lands. Alike in years and graces, and alike In lordly race these were: no bride could seem Worthy Nishadha, if it were not she; Nor husband worthy of Vidarbha's Pride, Save it were Nala. It is meet I bring Comfort forthwith to yon despairing one, The consort of the just and noble Prince, For whom I see her heart-sick. I will go And speak good tidings to this moon-faced Queen, Who once knew nought of sorrows, but to-day Stands yonder, plunged heart-deep in woful thought." So, all those signs and marks considering Which stamped her Bhima's child, Sudêva drew Nearer, and said: "Vidarbhi, Nala's wife, I am the Bráhmana Sudêva, friend Unto my lord, thy brother, and I come By royal Bhima's mandate, seeking thee. That Maharaja, thy father, dwells in health; Thy mother and thy house are well; and well— With promise of long years—thy little ones, Sister and brother. Yet, for thy sake, Queen, Thy kindred sit as men with spirit gone; In search of thee a hundred twice-born rove Over all lands." But (O King Yudhisthir!) Hardly one word she heard before she broke With question after question on the man, Asking of this dear friend and that and this; All mingled with quick tears, and tender sighs, And hungry gazing on her brother's friend, Sudêva—best of Bráhmanas—come there. Which soon Sunandâ marked, watching them speak Apart, and Damayanti all in tears. Then came she to her mother, saying: "See, The handmaid thou didst give me talks below With one who is a Bráhman, all her words Watered with weeping; if thou wilt, demand What this man knows." Therewith swept forth amazed The mother of the Raja, and beheld How Nala's wife spake with the Bráhmana. Whom straight she bade them summon; and, being brought, In this wise questioned: "Knowest thou whose wife, Whose daughter, this one is; and how she left Her kin; and wherefore, being heavenly-eyed And noble-mannered, she hath wandered here? I am full fain to hear this; tell me all, No whit withholding; answer faithfully— Who is our slave-girl with the goddess gait?" The Bráhmana Sudêva, so addressed, Seating himself at ease, unto the Queen Told Damayanti's story, how all fell. Sudêva said: "There reigns in majesty King Bhima at Vidarbha; and of him The Princess Damayanti here is child; And Virasena's son, Nala, is Lord Over Nishadha, praised-in-song and wise; And of that Prince this lady is the wife. In play his brother worsted Nala—stripped Of lands and wealth the Prince; who fled his realm, Wandering with Damayanti—where, none knew. In quest of Damayanti we have roamed The earth's face o'er, until I found her here In thy son's house, the King's—the very same, Since like to her for grace no woman lives Of all fair women. Where her eyebrows meet A pretty mole, born with her, should be seen A little lotus-bud—not visible By reason of the dust of toil which clouds Her face and veils its moon-like beauty—that The wondrous Maker on the rare work stamped To be His Mark. But as the waxing moon Goes thin and darkling for awhile, then rounds The crescent's rims with splendors, so this Queen Hath lost not queenliness. Being now obscured, Soiled with the grime of chores, unbeautified, She shows true gold. The fire which trieth gold Denoteth less itself by instant heat Than Damayanti by her goodlihood. As first sight knew I her. She bears that mole." Whilst yet Sudêva spake (O King of men!), Sunandâ from the slave's front washed away The gathered dust, and forth that mark appeared 'Twixt Damayanti's brows, as when clouds break, And in the sky the moon, the night-maker, Glitters to view. Seeing the spot awhile, Sunandâ and the mother of the King Gazed voiceless; then they clasped her neck and wept Rejoicing, till the Queen, staying her tears, Exclaimed: "My sister's daughter, dear! thou art, By this same mark. Thy mother and myself Were sisters by one father—he that rules Daśarna, King Sudâman. She was given To Bhima, and to Virabahu I. Once at Daśarna, in my father's house, I saw thee, newly born. Thy race and mine, Princess, are one: henceforward, therefore, here As I am, Damayanti, shalt thou be." With gladdened heart did Damayanti bend Before her mother's sister, answering thus:— "Peaceful and thankful dwelled I here with thee, Being unknown, my every need supplied, My life and honor by thy succor safe, Yet, Maharajni, even than this dear home One would be dearer: 'tis so many days Since we were parted. Suffer me to go Where those my tender little ones were led; So long—poor babes!—of me and of their sire Bereft. If, lady, thou dost think to show Kindness to me, this is my wish: to wend Unto Vidarbha swiftly; wilt thou bid They bear me thither?" Was no sooner heard That fond desire, than the queen-mother gave Willing command; and soon an ample troop, The King consenting, gathered for her guard. So was she sent upon a palanquin, With soldiers, pole-bearers, and meat and drink, And garments as befitted—happier—home. Thus to Vidarbha came its Pride again, By no long road; and joyously her kin Brought the sweet Princess in, and welcomed her. In peace and safety all her house she found; Her children well;—father and mother, friends. The gods she worshipped, and to Bráhmanas Due reverence made, and whatso else was meet That Damayanti did, regal in all. To wise Sudêva fell the thousand cows By Bhima granted, with the village-lands, And goodly gifts beside. But when there passed One night of rest within the palace-walls, The wistful Princess to her mother said:— "If thou wouldst have me live, I tell thee true, Dear mother, it must be by bringing back My Nala, my own lord; and only so." When this she spake, right sorrowful became The Rani, weeping silently, nor gave One word of answer; and the palace-girls, Seeing this grief, sat round them, weeping too, And crying: "Haha! where is gone her lord?" And loud the lamentation was of all. Afterwards to the Maharaja his Queen Told what was said: "Lord! all uncomforted Thy daughter Damayanti weeps and grieves, Lacking her husband. Even to me she spake Before our damsels, laying shame aside:— 'Find Nala; let the people of the court Strive day and night to learn where Nala is.'"

Then Bhima, hearing, called his Bráhmanas Patient and wise, and issued hest to go Into all regions, seeking for the Prince. But first, by mandate of the Maharaja, To Damayanti all those twice-born came, Saying: "Now we depart!" Then Bhima's child Gave ordinance: "To whatsoever lands Ye wend, say this—wherever gather men, Say this—in every place these verses speak:—

Whither art thou departed, cruel lover, Who stole the half of thy belovèd's cloth, And left her to awaken, and discover The wrong thou wroughtest to the love of both? She, as thou didst command, a sad watch keepeth, With woful heart wearing the rended dress. Prince, hear her cry who thus forever weepeth; Be mindful, hero; comfort her distress!

And, furthermore," the Princess said, "since fire Leaps into flame when the wind fans the spark, Be this too spoken, that his heart may burn:—

By every husband nourished and protected Should every wife be. Think upon the wood! Why these thy duties hast thou so neglected, Prince, that was called noble and true and good? Art then become compassionate no longer, Shunning, perchance, my fortune's broken way? Ah, husband, love is most! let love be stronger; Ahimsa paro dharma,^[25] thou didst say.

These verses while ye speak," quoth the Princess, "Should any man make answer, note him well In any place; and who he is, and where He dwells. And if one listens to these words Intently, and shall so reply to them, Good Bráhmans, hold ye fast his speech, and bring, Breath by breath, all of it unto me here; But so that he shall know not whence ye speak, If ye go back. Do this unweariedly; And if one answer—be he high or low, Wealthy or poor—learn all he was and is, And what he would." Hereby enjoined, they went, Those twice-born, into all the lands to seek Prince Nala in his loneliness. Through towns, Cities and villages, hamlets and camps, By shepherds' huts and hermits' caves, they passed, Searching for Nala; yet they found him not; Albeit in every region (O my king!) The words of Damayanti, as she taught, Spake they again in hearing of all men. Suddenly—after many days—there came A Bráhman back, Parnâda he was called, Who unto Bhima's child in this wise spake:— "O Damayanti, seeking Nala still, Ayodhyâ's streets I entered, where I saw The Maharaja; he—noble-minded one!— Heard me thy verses say, as thou hadst said; Great Rituparna heard those very words, Excellent Princess; but he answered nought; And no man answered, out of all the throng Ofttimes addressed. But when I had my leave And was withdrawn, a man accosted me Privately—one of Rituparna's train, Vahûka named, the Raja's charioteer (Something misshapen, with a shrunken arm, But skilled in driving, very dexterous In cookery and sweetmeats). He—with groans, And tears which rolled and rolled—asked of my health, And then these verses spake full wistfully:—

'Even when their loss is largest, noble ladies Keep the true treasure of their hearts unspent, Attaining heaven through faith, which undismayed is By wrong, unaltered by abandonment; Such an one guards with virtue's golden shield Her name from harm; pious and pure and tender; And, though her lord forsook her, will not yield To wrath, even against that vile offender— Even against the ruined, rash, ungrateful, Faithless, fond Prince from whom the birds did steal His only cloth, whom now a penance fateful Dooms to sad days, that dark-eyed will not feel Anger; for if she saw him she should see A man consumed with grief and loss and shame; Ill or well lodged, ever in misery, Her unthroned lord, a slave without a name.'

Such words I heard him speak," Parnâda said, "And, hastening thence, I tell them to thee, here; Thou knowest; thou wilt judge; make the King know." But Damayanti listened, with great eyes Welling quick tears, while thus Parnâda spake, And afterwards crept secretly and said Unto her mother: "Breathe no word hereof, Dear mother, to the King, but let me speak With wise Sudêva in thy presence here; Nothing should Bhima know of what I plan, But, if thou lovest me, by thee and me This shall be wrought. As I was safely led By good Sudêva home, so let him go— With not less happy fortune—to bring back, Ere many days, my Nala; let him seek Ayodhyâ, mother dear, and fetch my Prince!" But first Parnâda, resting from his road— That best of twice-borns—did the Princess thank With honorable words and gifts: "If home My Nala cometh, Bráhman!" so she spake, "Great guerdon will I give. Thou hast well done For me herein—- better than any man; Helping me find again my wandered lord." To which fair words made soft reply, and prayers For "peace and fortune," that high-minded one, And so passed home, his service being wrought. Next to Sudêva spake the sad Princess This (O my King!), her mother standing by:— "Good Bráhman, to Ayodhyâ's city go. Say in the ears of Raja Rituparna, As though thou cam'st a simple traveller, 'The daughter of King Bhima once again Maketh to hold her high Swayamvara. The kings and princes from all lands repair Thither; the time draws nigh; to-morrow's dawn Shall bring the day. If thou wouldst be of it, Speed quickly, conquering King! at sunsetting Another lord she chooseth for herself; Since whether Nala liveth or is dead, None knoweth.'" These the words which he should say; And, learning them, he sped, and thither came— That Bráhmana Sudêva—and he spake To Maharaja Rituparna so. Now when the Raja Rituparna heard Sudêva's words, quoth he to Vahûka Full pleasantly: "Much mind I have to go Where Damayanti holds Swayamvara, If to Vidarbha, in a single day, Thou deemest we might drive, my charioteer!" Of Nala, by his Raja thus addressed, Torn was the heart with anguish; for he thought:— "Can Damayanti purpose this? Could grief So change her? Is it not some fine device For my sake schemed? Or doth my Princess seek, All holy as she was, this guilty joy, Being so wronged of me, her rash weak lord? Frail is a woman's heart, and my fault great! Thus might she do it, being far from home, Bereft of friends, desolate with long woes Of love for me—my slender-waisted one! Yet no, no, no! she would not—she that is My children's mother! Be it false or true, Best shall I know in going; therefore now The will of Rituparna must I serve." Thus pondering in his mind, the troubled Prince With joined palms meekly to his master said:— "I shall thy hest accomplish! I can drive In one day, Raja, to Vidarbha's gates." Then in the royal stables—steed by steed, Stallions and mares, Vahûka scanned them all, By Rituparna prayed quickly to choose. Slowly he picked four coursers, under-fleshed, But big of bone and sinew; fetlocked well For journeying; high-bred, heavy-framed; of blood To match the best, yet gentle; blemish-free; Broad in the jaw, with scarlet nostrils spread; Bearing the Avarthas, the ten true marks— Reared on the banks of Indus, swift as wind. Which, when the Raja looked upon, he cried, Half-wrathful: "What thing thinkest thou to do? Wilt thou betray me? How should sorry beasts, Lean-ribbed and ragged, take us all that way, The long road we must swiftly travel hence?" Vahûka answered: "See on all these four The ten sure marks: one curl upon each crest, Two on the cheeks, two upon either flank, Two on the breast, and on each crupper one.^[26] These to Vidarbha—doubt it not—will go; Yet, Raja, if thou wilt have others, speak; And I shall yoke them." Rituparna said:— "I know thou hast deep skill in stable-craft; Yoke therefore such four coursers as thou wilt, But quickly!" Thus those horses, two by two, High-mettled, spare, and strong, Prince Nala put Under the bars; and when the car was hitched, And eagerly the Raja made to mount, At sign the coursers bent their knees, and lay Along the earth. Then Nala (O my King!), With kindly voice cheering the gaunt bright steeds, Loosed them, and grasped the reins, and bade ascend Varshneya: so he started, headlong, forth. At cry of Vahûka the four steeds sprung Into the air, as they would fly with him; And when the Raja felt them, fleet as wind, Whirling along, mute sat he and amazed; And much Varshneya mused to hear and see The thundering of those wheels; the fiery four So lightly held; Vahûka's matchless art. "Is Mâtali, who driveth Indra's car, Our charioteer? for all the marks of him Are here! or Sâlihotra can this be, The god of horses, knowing all their ways, Who here in mortal form his greatness hides? Or is it—can it be—Nala the Prince, Nala the steed-tamer?" Thus pondered he:— "Whatever Nala knew this one doth know. Alike the mastery seems of both; alike I judge their years. If this man be not he, Two Nalas are there in the world for skill. They say there wander mighty powers on earth In strange disguises, who, divinely sprung, Veil themselves from us under human mould; Bewilderment it brings me, this his shape Misshappen—from conclusion that alone Withholds me; yet I wist not what to think, In age and manner like—and so unlike In form! Else Vahûka I must have deemed Nala, with Nala's gifts." So in his heart, Varshneya, watching, wondered—being himself The second charioteer. But Rituparna Sat joyous with the speed, delightedly Marking the driving of the Prince: the eyes Attent; the hand so firm upon the reins; The skill so quiet, wise, and masterful; Great joy the Maharaja had to see. By stream and mountain, woodland-path and pool, Swiftly, like birds that skim in air, they sped; Till, as the chariot plunged, the Raja saw His shoulder-mantle falling to the ground; And—loath to lose the robe—albeit so pressed, To Nala cried he, "Let me take it up; Check the swift horses, wondrous charioteer; And bid Varshneya light, and fetch my cloth," But Nala answered: "Far it lies behind; A yojana already we have passed; We cannot turn again to pick it up." A little onward Riturparna saw Within the wood a tall Myrobolan Heavy with fruit; hereat, eager he cried:— "Now, Vahûka, my skill thou mayest behold In the Arithmic. All arts no man knows; Each hath his wisdom, but in one man's wit Is perfect gift of one thing, and not more. From yonder tree how many leaves and fruits, Think'st thou, lie fall'n there upon the earth? Just one above a thousand of the leaves, And one above a hundred of the fruits; And on those two limbs hang, of dancing leaves, Five crores exact; and shouldst thou pluck yon boughs Together with their shoots, on those twain boughs Swing twice a thousand nuts and ninety-five!" Vahûka checked the chariot wonderingly, And answered: "Imperceptible to me Is what thou boastest, slayer of thy foes! But I to proof will put it, hewing down The tree, and, having counted, I shall know. Before thine eyes the branches twain I'll lop: How prove thee, Maharaja, otherwise, Whether this be or be not? I will count One by one—fruits and leaves—before thee, King; Varshneya, for a space, can rein the steeds." To him replied the Raja: "Time is none Now to delay." Vahûka answered quick (His own set purpose serving): "Stay this space, Or by thyself drive on! The road is good, The son of Vrishni will be charioteer!" On that the Raja answered soothingly:— "There is not in the earth another man That hath thy skill; and by thy skill I look To reach Vidarbha, O thou steed-tamer! Thou art my trust; make thou not hindrance now! Yet would I suffer, too, what thou dost ask, If thou couldst surely reach Vidarbha's gate Before yon sun hath sunk." Nala replied:— "When I have counted those vibhîtak boughs, Vidarbha I will reach; now keep thy word." Ill pleased, the Raja said: "Halt then, and count! Take one bough from the branch which I shall show, And tell its fruits, and satisfy thy soul." So leaping from the car—eager he shore The boughs, and counted; and all wonder-struck To Rituparna spake: "Lo, as thou saidst So many fruits there be upon this bough! Exceeding marvellous is this thy gift, I burn to know such learning, how it comes." Answered the Raja, for his journey fain:— "My mind is quick with numbers, skilled to count; I have the science." "Give it me, dear Lord!" Vahûka cried: "teach me, I pray, this lore, And take from me my skill in horse-taming." Quoth Rituparna—impatient to proceed— Yet of such skill desirous: "Be it so! As thou hast prayed, receive my secret art, Exchanging with me here thy mastery Of horses." Thereupon did he impart His rules of numbers, taking Nala's too. But wonderful! So soon as Nala knew That hidden gift, the accursed Kali leapt Forth from his breast, the evil spirit's mouth Spewing the poison of Karkôtaka Even as he issued. From the afflicted Prince That bitter plague of Kali passed away; And for a space Prince Nala lost himself, Rent by the agony. But when he saw The evil one take visible shape again— Free from the serpent's poison—Nishadha's Lord Had thought to curse him then; but Kali stood With clasped palms trembling, and besought the Prince, Saying: "Thy wrath restrain, Sovereign of men! I will repay thee well. Thy virtuous wife, Indrasen's angered mother, laid her ban Upon me when thou didst forsake her; since Within thee have I dwelled in anguish sore, Tortured and tossed and burning, night and day, With venom from the great snake's fang, which passed Into me by thy blood. Be pitiful! I take my refuge in thy mercy! Hear My promise, Prince! Wherever men henceforth Shall name thee before people, praising thee, This shall protect them from the dread of me; Nala shall guard from Kali, if so now Thou spare to curse me, seeking grace of thee." Thus supplicated, Nala stayed his wrath, Acceding; and the direful Kali fled Into the wounded tree, possessing it. But of no eyes, save Nala's, was he seen, Nor heard of any other; and the Prince, His sorrows shaking off, when Kali passed, After that numbering of the leaves, in joy Unspeakable, and glowing with new hope, Mounted the car again, and urged his steeds. But from that hour the tall Myrobolan, Possessed by Kali, stood there, sear and dead. Then onward, onward, speeding like the birds, Those coursers flew; and fast and faster still The glad Prince cheered them forward, all elate: And proudly rode the Raja towards the walls Of high Vidarbha. Thus did journey down Exultant Nala, free of trouble now, Quit of the evil spell, but bearing still His form misshapen, and the shrunken limb. At sunset in Vidarbha (O great King!) The watchers on the walls proclaimed, "There comes The Raja Rituparna!" Bhima bade Open the gates; and thus they entered in, Making all quarters of the city shake With rattling of the chariot-wheels. But when The horses of Prince Nala heard that sound, For joy they neighed, as when of old their lord Drew nigh. And Damayanti, in her bower, Far off that rattling of the chariot heard, As when at time of rains is heard the voice Of clouds low thundering; and her bosom thrilled At echo of that ringing sound. It came Loud and more loud, like Nala's, when of old, Gripping the reins, he cheered his mares along. It seemed like Nala to the Princess then— That clatter of the trampling of the hoofs; It seemed like Nala to the stabled steeds: Upon the palace-roof the peacocks heard And screamed; the elephants within their stalls Heard it and trumpeted; the coursers, tied, Snorted for joy to hear that leaping car; Peacocks and elephants and cattle stalled All called and clamored with uplifted heads, As wild things do at noise of coming rain. Then to herself the Princess spake: "This car, The rolling of it, echoing all around, Gladdens my heart. It must be Nala comes, My King of men! If I see not, this day, My Prince that hath the bright and moon-like face, My hero of unnumbered gifts, my lord, Ah, I shall die! If this day fall I not Into his opening arms—at last, at last— And feel his close embrace, oh, beyond doubt, I cannot live! If—ending all—to-day Nishadha cometh not, with this deep sound Like far-off thunder, then to-night I'll leap Into the golden, flickering, fiery flames! If now, now, now, my lion draws not nigh, My warrior-love, like the wild elephant, My Prince of princes—I shall surely die! Nought call I now to mind he said or did That was not rightly said and justly done. No idle word he spake, even in free speech; Patient and lordly; generous to bestow Beyond all givers; scorning to be base, Yea, even in secret—such Nishadha was. Alas! when, day and night, I think of him, How is my heart consumed, reft of its joy!" So meditating, like one torn by thoughts, She mounted to the palace-roof to see; And thence, in the mid-court, the car beheld Arriving. Rituparna and Vahûka She saw, with Vrishni's son, descend and loose The panting horses, wheeling back the car. Then Rituparna, alighting, sought the King, Bhima the Maharaja, far-renowned— Whom Bhima with fair courtesies received; Since well he deemed such breathless visit made With deep cause, knowing not the women's plots. "Swâgatam!" cried he; "what hath brought thee, Prince?" For nothing wist he that the Raja came Suitor of Damayanti. Questioned so, This Raja Rituparna, wise and brave, Seeing no kings nor princes in the court, Nor noise of the Swayamvara, nor crowd Of Bráhmans gathering—weighing all those things, Answered in this wise: "I am come, great Lord, To make thee salutations!" But the King Laughed in his beard at Rituparna's word— That this of many weary yojanas Should be the mark. "Ahoswid! Hath he passed Through twenty towns," thought he, "and hither flown To bid good-morrow? Nay, it is not that. Good! I shall know it when he bids me know." Thereat, with friendly speech his noble guest The King to rest dismissed. "Repose thyself," He said; "the road was long; weary thou art." And Rituparna, with sentences of grace Replying to this graciousness, was led By slaves to the allotted sleeping-room; And after Rituparna, Varshneya went. Vahûka, left alone, the chariot ran Into its shed, and from the foamy steeds Unbuckled all the harness, thong by thong, Speaking soft words to them; then sat him down, Alone, forgotten, on the driving-seat. But Damayanti, seeing Rituparna, And Vrishni's son, and him called Vahûka, Spake sorrowful: "Whose was the thunder, then, Of that fleet car? It seemed like Nala's own; Yet here I see no Nala! Hath yon man My lord's art learned, or th'other one, that thus Their car should thunder as when Nala comes? Could Rituparna drive as Nala doth, So that those chariot-wheels should sound like his?" And, after having pondered (O my King!), The beauteous Princess sent her handmaiden To Vahûka, that she might question him. "Go, Keshinî," the Princess said; "inquire Who is that man upon the driving-seat, Misshapen, with the shrunken arm. Approach Composedly, question him winningly With greetings kind, and bid him answer thee According to the truth. I feel at heart A doubt—a hope—that this, perchance, may be My Lord and Prince; there is some new-born joy Fluttering within my breast. Accost him, girl; And, ere thou partest, what Parnâda said, Say thou, and hear him answer, blameless one, And bring it on thy lips!" Then went the maid Demurely, and accosted Vahûka, While Damayanti watched them from the roof. "Kushalam tê bravîmi—health and peace I wish thee!" said she. "Wilt thou answer true What Damayanti asks? She sends to ask Whence set ye forth, and wherefore are ye come Hither? Vidarbha's Princess fain would know." "'Twas told my Raja," Vahûka replied, "That Damayanti for the second turn Holds her Swayamvara: the Bráhman's word Was, "This shall be to-morrow." So he sped, Hearing that news, with steeds which in one day Fly fifty yojanas, swift as the winds, Exceeding fleet. His charioteer am I." "Who, then," Keshinî asked, "is he that rode The third? whence cometh he, and what his race? And thou thyself whence sprung? and tell me why Thou servest thus?" Then Vahûka replied:— "Varshneya is the third who rode with us, The famous charioteer of Nala he: When thy Prince fled, he went to Koshala And took our service. I in horse-taming And dressing meat have skill; so am I made King Rituparna's driver and his cook." "Knoweth Varshneya, then, where Nala fled?" Inquired the maid; "and did he tell thee this, Or what spake he?" "Of that unhappy Prince He brought the children hither, and then went Even where he would, of Nala wotting nought; Nor wotteth any man, fair damsel! more. Hidden from mortal eyes Nishadha lives, Wandering the world, his very body changed. Of Nala only Nala's own heart knows, And by no sign doth he bewray himself." Keshinî said: "That Bráhman who did wend First to Ayodhyâ bore a verse to say Over and over, everywhere—strange words, Wove by a woman's wit. Listen to these:—

'Whither art thou departed, cruel lover, Who stole the half of thy belovèd's cloth, And left her to awaken and discover The wrong thou wroughtest to the love of both? She, as thou didst command, a sad watch keepeth, With woful heart wearing the rended dress. Prince, hear her cry who thus forever weepeth; Be mindful, hero; comfort her distress!'

What was it thou didst utter, hearing this? Some gentle speech! Say it again—the Queen, My peerless mistress, fain would know from me. Nay, on thy faith, when thou didst hear that man, What was it thou replied? She would know." (Descendant of the Kurus!) Nala's heart, While so the maid spoke, well-nigh burst with grief, And from his eyes fast flowed the rolling tears; But, mastering his anguish, holding down The passion of his pain, with voice which strove To speak through sobs, the Prince repeated this:—

"Even against the ruined, rash, ungrateful, Faithless, fond Prince, from whom the birds did steal His only cloth, whom now a penance fateful Dooms to sad days, that dark-eyed will not feel Anger; for if she saw him she should see A man consumed with grief and loss and shame; Ill or well lodged, ever in misery, Her unthroned lord, a slave without a name."

Speaking these verses, woful Nala moaned, And, overcome by thought, restrained no more His trickling tears; fast broke they forth (O King!). But Keshinî, returning, told his words To Damayanti, and the grief of him. When Damayanti heard, sore-troubled still, Yet in her heart supposing him her Prince, Again she spake: "Go, Kashinî, and watch Whatever this man doeth; near him stand, Holding thy peace, and mark the ways of him And all his acts, going and coming; note If aught there be of strange in any deed. Let them not give him fire, my girl—not though This hindereth sore; nor water, though he ask Even with beseeching. Afterwards observe, And bring me what befalls, and every sign Of earthly or unearthly power he shows; And whatsoever else Vahûka doth, See it, and say." Thereon Keshinî sped, Obeying Damayanti and—at hand— Whatever by that horse-tamer was wrought, The damsel watched, and all his ways; and came Back to the Princess, unto whom she told Each thing Vahûka did, as it befell, And what the signs were, and the wondrous works Of earthly and unearthly gifts in him. "Subhê!"^[27] quoth she, "the man is magical, But high and holy mannered; never yet Saw I another such, nor heard of him. Passing the low door of the inner court, Where one must stoop, he did not bow his head, But as he came the lintel lifted up And gave him space. Bhima the King had sent Many and diverse meats for Rituparna, Of beast and bird and fish—great store of food— The which to cleanse some chatties stood hard by, All empty; yet he did but look on them, Wishful, and lo! the water brimmed the pots. Then, having washed the meats, he hastened forth In quest of fire, and, holding towards the sun A knot of withered grass, the bright flame blazed Instant amidst it. Wonderstruck was I This miracle to see, and hither ran With other strangest marvels to impart:— For, Princess, when he touched the blazing grass He was not burned, and water flows for him At will, or ceases flowing; and this, too, The strangest thing of all, did I behold— He took some faded leaves and flowers up, And idly handled them; but while his hands Toyed with them, lo! they blossomed forth again With lovelier life than ever, and fresh scent, Straight on their stalks. These marvels have I seen, And fly back now to tell thee, mistress dear!" But when she knew such wonders of the man, More certainly she deemed those acts and gifts Betokened Nala; and so-minded, full Of trust to find her lord in Vahûka, With happier tears and softening voice she said To Keshinî: "Speed yet again, my girl; And, while he wots not, from the kitchen take Meat he hath dressed, and bring it here to me." So went the maid, and, waiting secretly, Broke from the mess a morsel, hot and spiced, And, bearing it with faithful swiftness, gave To Damayanti. She (O Kuru King!)— That knew so well the dishes dressed by him— Touched, tasted it, and, laughing—weeping—cried, Beside herself with joy: "Yes, yes; 'tis he! That charioteer is Nala!" then, a-pant, Even while she washed her mouth, she bade the maid Go with the children twain to Vahûka; Who, when he saw his little Indrasen And Indrasena, started up, and ran, And caught, and folded them upon his breast; Holding them there, his darlings, each as fair As children of the gods. Then, quite undone With love and yearning, loudly sobbed the Prince. Until, perceiving Keshinî, who watched, Shamed to be known, he set his children down, And said: "In sooth, good friend, this lovely pair So like mine own are, that at seeing them I am surprised into these foolish tears. Thou comest here too often; men will think Thee light, or me; remember, we are here, Strangers and guests, girl! Go thy ways in peace!" But seeing that great trouble of his soul, Lightly came Keshinî, and pictured all To Damayanti. She, burning to know If truly this were Nala, bade the girl Seek the Queen's presence, saying thus for her:— "Mother! long watching Vahûka, I deem The charioteer is Nala. One doubt lives— His altered form. I must myself have speech With Vahûka; thou, therefore, bid him come, Or suffer me to seek him. Be this done Forthwith, good mother!—whether known or not Unto the Maharaja." When she heard, The Queen told Bhima what the Princess prayed, Who gave consent; and having this good leave From father and from mother (O my King!), Command was sent that Vahûka be brought Where the court ladies lodged. So met those twain; And when Prince Nala's gaze fell on his wife, He stood with beating heart and tearful eyes. And when sweet Damayanti looked on him, She could not speak for anguish of keen joy To have him close; but sat there, mute and wan, Wearing a sad-hued cloth, her lustrous hair Falling unbanded, and the mourning-mark Stamped in gray ashes on her lovely brow. And, when she found a voice, these were the words That came from her: "Didst ever, Vahûka— If Vahûka thy name be, as thou say'st— Know one of noble nature, honorable, Who in the wild woods left his wife asleep— His innocent, fond wife—weary and worn? Know'st thou the man. I'll say his name to thee; 'Twas Nala, Raja Nala! Ah, and when In any thoughtless hour had I once wrought The smallest wrong, that he should leave me so, There in the wood, by slumber overcome? Before the gods I chose him for my lord, The gods themselves rejecting; tell me how This Prince could so abandon, in her need, His true, his loving wife, she who did bear His babes—abandon her to whom he swore— My hand clasped, in the sight of all the gods, And Agni's self—'Thy true lord I will be!' Thou saidst it!—where is now that promise, fled?" While thus she spake (O Victor of thy foes!), Fast from her eyes the woe-sprung waters ran. And Nala, seeing those night-black, loving eyes Reddened with weeping, seeing her falling tears; Broke forth: "Ah! that I lost my throne and realm In dicing, was not done by fault of mine; 'T was Kali wrought it; Kali, O my wife, Drove me to leave thee. Therefore, long ago That evil one was stricken by the curse Which thou didst utter, wandering in the wood, Desolate, night and day, grieving for me. Possessing me he dwelt; but, cursed by thee, Tortured he dwelt, consuming with thy words In fierce and fiercer pain, as when is piled Brand upon burning brand. But he is gone; Patience and penance have o'ermastered him. Princess, the end is reached of our long woes. That evil one being fled, freeing my will, See, I am here; and wherefore would I come, Fairest, except for thee? Yet, answer this:— How should a wife, right-minded to her lord— Her own and lawful lord—compass to choose Another love, as thou, that tremblest, didst? Thy messengers over all regions ran, By the King's name proclaiming: 'Bhima's child A second husband chooseth for herself, Whomso she will—as pleaseth—being free,' Those shameless tidings brought the Raja here At headlong speed—and me!" Tenderly smiled Damayanti through her tears, with quivering lips, And joined palms, answering her aggrievèd Prince:— "Judgest thou me guilty of such a sin? When for thy sake I put the gods aside— Thee did I choose, Nishadha, my one lord. In quest of thee did all those Bráhmans range In all ten regions, telling all one tale Taught them by me; and so Parnâda came To Koshala, where Rituparna dwells, And found thee in his house, and spake to thee Those words, and had thy gentle answer back. Mine the device was, Prince, to bring thee quick; For well I wist no man in all this world Could in one day the fleetest coursers urge So many yojanas, save thou, dear Prince! I touch thy feet, and tell thee this in truth; And true it is that never any wrong Against thee, even in fancy, have I dreamed. Witness for me, as I am loyal and pure, The ever-shifting, all-beholding Air, Who wanders o'er the earth; let him withdraw My breath and slay me, if I sinned in aught! Witness for me, yon golden Sun who goes With bright eye over us; let him withhold Warm life and kill me, if I sinned in aught! Witness for me the white Moon, whose pale spell Lies on all flesh and spirit; let that orb Deny me peace and end me, if I sinned! These be the watchers and the testifiers, The three chief gods that rule the three wide worlds; I cry unto them; let them speak for me; And thou shalt hear them answer for my faith, Or once again, this day, abandon me." Then Vayu showed—the all-enfolding Air— And spake: "Not one wrong hath she wrought thee, Prince, I tell thee sooth. The treasure of her truth Faultless and undefiled she hath kept By us regarded, and sustained by us, These many days. Her tender plot it was, Planned for thy sake, which brought thee; since who else Could in one day drive threescore yojanas? Nala, thou hast thy noble wife again; Thou, Damayanti, hast thy Nala back. Away with doubting; take her to thy breast, Thrice happy Prince!" And while God Vayu spake, Look! there showered flowers down out of the sky^[28] Upon them; and the drums of heaven beat Beautiful music, and a gentle wind, Fragrant, propitious, floated, kissing them. But Nala, when he saw these things befall— Wonderful, gracious—when he heard that voice Called the great snake to memory:—whereupon His proper self returned. Bhima's fair child Divinely sounding (Lord of Bhârat's line!)— Yielded all doubt of his delightful Love. Then cast he round about his neck the cloth— Unstained by earth, enchanted—and (O King!) Saw her dear lord his beauteous form resume. "Ah, Nala! Nala!" cried she, while her arms Clasped him and clung; and Nala to his heart Pressed that bright lady, glowing, as of old, With princely majesty. Their children twain Next he caressed; while she—at happy peace— Her beautiful glad face laid on his breast, Sighing with too much joy. And Nala stood A great space silent, gazing on her face, Sorrow-stamped yet, her long, deep-lidded eyes, Her melting smile—himself 'twixt joy and woe. Afterwards, all that story of the Prince, And all of Damayanti, Bhima's Queen Told to the Maharaja joyously. And Bhima said: "To-morrow will I see— When Nala hath his needful offerings made— Our daughter and this wandering lord well knit." But all that night they sat, hand clasped in hand, Rejoicing, and relating what befell In the wild wood, and of the woful times. That night being spent, Prince Nala in his state Led forth Vidarbha's Pride before the court. And Bhima—in an hour found fortunate— Re-wed those married lovers. Dutifully Nala paid homage to the Maharaja, And reverently did Damayanti bow Before her father. He the Prince received With grace and gladness, as a son restored, Making fair welcome, and with words of praise Exalting Damayanti, tried and true; Which in all dignity Prince Nala took, Returning, as was meet, words honorable. Therewith unto the city spread the noise Of that rejoicing. All the townspeople, Learning of Nala joyously returned, Made all their quarters gay with float of flags, Flutter of cloths, and garlands; sprinkled free The King's-ways with fresh water, and the cups Of fragrant flowers; and hung long wreaths of flowers. From door to door the white street-fronts before; And decked each temple-porch, and went about The altar-gods. And afterwards, in Bhima's royal house Serenely dwelled the Princess and the Prince, Each making for the other peaceful joy. So in the fourth year Nala was rejoined To Damayanti, comforted and free, Restful, attained, tasting delights again. Also the glad Princess, gaining her lord, Laid sorrows by, and blossomed forth anew, As doth the laughing earth when the rain falls, And brings her unseen, waiting wonders forth Of blade and flower and fruit. The ache was gone, The loneliness and load. Heart-full of ease, Lovelier she grew and brighter, like the moon Mounting at midnight in the cloudless blue. When Rituparna heard How Vahûka is Nala in disguise, And of the meeting, right rejoiced at heart That Raja grew. And, being softly prayed By Nala favorable thought, the King Made royal and gentle answer, with like grace By Nala met. To whom spake Rituparna:— "Joy go with thee and her, happily joined. But say, Nishadha, wrought I any jot Wrongful to thee, whilst sojourning unknown Within my walls? If any word or deed, Purposed or purposeless, hath vexed thee, friend, For one and all thy pardon grant to me!" And Nala answered: "Never act or word, The smallest, Raja, lingers to excuse! If this were otherwise, thy slave was I, And might not question, but must pardon thee. Yet good to me thou wert, princely and just, And kind thou art; and friendly from this time Deign thou to be. Happily was I lodged, Well-tended, well-befriended in thy house; In mine own palace never better stead. The skill in steeds which pleased thee, that is mine, And, Raja, I will give it all to thee, If thou art minded." So Nishadha gave All his great gift in horses to the King, Who learned each rule approved, and ordinance; And, having all this knowledge, gave in turn His deepest lore of numbers and the dice To Nala, afterwards departing home To his own place, another charioteer Driving his steeds; and, Rituparna gone, Not long did Nala dwell in Bhima's town. When one moon he had tarried, taking leave, Nishadha to his city started forth With chosen train. A shining car he drove; And elephants sixteen, and fifty horse, And footmen thirty-score came in the rear. Swiftly did Nala journey, making earth Quake 'neath his flying car; and wrathfully With quick steps entered he his palace doors. The son of Virasena, Nala, stood Once more before that gamester Pushkara! Spake he: "Play yet again; much wealth is mine, And that, and all I have—yea, my Princess— Set I for stakes: set thou this realm, and throw! My mind is fixed a second chance to try, Where, Pushkara, we will play for all or none. Who wins his throne and treasures from a prince, Must stand the hazard of the counter-cast— This is the accepted law. If thou dost blench, The next game we will play is 'life or death,' In chariot-fight; when, or of thee or me One shall lie satisfied: 'Descended realms, By whatsoever means, are to be sought,' The sages say, 'by whatsoever won.' Choose, therefore, Pushkara, which way of these Shall please thee; either meet me with the dice, Or with thy bow confront me in the field." When Pushkara this heard, lightly he smiled, Concluding victory sure; and to the Prince Answered, exulting: "Dishtya! hast thou gained Stakes for a counter-game, Nishadha, now? Dishtya! shall I have my hard-won prize, Sweet Damayanti? Dishtya! didst thou come In kissing-reach again of thy fair wife? Soon, in thy new gold splendid, she shall shine Before all men beside me, as in heaven On Sakra waits the loveliest Apsarâ. See, now, I thought on thee, I looked for thee, Ever and ever, Prince. There is no joy Like casting in the game with such as thee. And when to-day I win thy blameless one— The smooth-limbed Damayanti—then shall be What was to be: and I can rest content, For always in my heart her beauty burns." Listening the idle talk that babbler poured, Angry Prince Nala fain had lopped away His head with vengeful khudga;^[29] but, unmoved, Albeit the wrath blazed in his bloodshot eyes, He made reply: "Play! mock me not with jests; Thou wilt not jest when I have cast with thee!" So was the game set, and the Princes threw Nala and Pushkara, and—the numbers named— By Nala was the hazard gained: he swept His brother's stake, gems, treasure, kingdom, off; At one stroke all that mighty venture won. Then quoth the conquering Prince to Pushkara, Scornfully smiling: "Mine is now once more Nishadha's throne; mine is the realm again, Its curse plucked forth; Vidarbha's glory thou, Outcast, shalt ne'er so much as look upon! Fool! who to-day becom'st her bond and slave. Not by thy gifts that evil stroke was wrought Wherefrom I fled before; 'twas Kali's spell— Albeit thou knew'st nought, fool—overmastered me; Yet will I visit not in wrathful wise My wrong on thee; live as thou wilt; I grant Wherewith to live, and set apart henceforth Thy proper goods and substance, and fit food. Nay, doubt not I shall show thee favor, too, And be in friendship with thee, if thou wilt, Who art my brother. Peace abide with thee!" Thus all-victorious Nala comforted His brother, and embraced him, sending him In honor to his town; and Pushkara— Gently entreated—to Nishadha spake, With folded palms and humbled face, these words:— "Unending be thy glory. May thy bliss Last and increase for twice five thousand years, Who grantest me wherewith to live, just Lord! And where to dwell." Thereafter, well bested, Pushkara sojourned with the Prince one moon; So to his town departed—heart-content— With slaves and foot-soldiers and followers, Gay as a rising sun (O Bhârat's glory!). Thus sent he Pushkara, rich and safe, away. Then, with flags and drums and jewels, robed and royally arrayed, Nala into fair Nishadha entry high and dazzling made; At the gates the Raja, halting, spake his people words of love; Gathered were they from the city, gathered from the field and grove; From the mountain and the maidan, all a-thrill with joy to see Nala come to guard his children. "Happy now our days will be," Said the townsfolk, said the elders, said the villagers, "O King!" Standing all with palms upfolded: "Peace and fortune thou wilt bring To thy city, to thy country! Boundless welcome do we give, As the gods in heaven to Indra, when with them he comes to live." After, when the show was ended, and the city, calm and glad, Rest from tumult of rejoicing and rich flood of feasting had, Girt with shining squadrons, Nala fetched his pearl of women home. Like a queen did Damayanti back unto her palace come, By the Maharaja Bhima, by that mighty monarch sent Royally, with countless blessings, to her kingdom, in content. There, beside his peerless Princess, and his children, bore he sway, Godlike, even as Indra ruling 'mid the bliss of Nandana.^[30] Bore he sway—my noble Nala—princeliest of all lords—who reign In the lands of Jambudwipa;^[31] winning power and fame again; Ruling well his realm reconquered, like a just and perfect king, All the appointed gifts bestowing, all the rites remembering.