Scarce Varshneya had departed — still the king of men played on, Till to Pushkara his kingdom — all that he possessed, was lost. Nala then, despoiled of kingdom — smiling Pushkara bespake: “Throw we yet another hazard — Nala, where is now thy stake?
There remains but Damayanti — all thou hast beside, is mine. Throw we now for Damayanti — come, once more the hazard try.” Thus as Pushkara addressed him — Punyasloka's inmost heart By his grief was rent asunder — not a single word he spake.
And on Pushkara, king Nala — in his silent anguish gazed. All his ornaments of splendour — from his person stripped he off, With a single vest, scarce covered,—‘ mid the sorrow of his friends. Slowly wandered forth the monarch — fallen from such an height of bliss.
Damayanti with one garment — slowly followed him behind. Three long nights Nishadha's monarch — there without the gates had dwelt. Proclamation through the city — then did Pushkara bid make, “Whosoe'er befriendeth Nala — shall to instant death be doomed.”
Thus, as Pushkara gave order — in the terror of his power, Might the citizens no longer — hospitably serve the king. Near the walls, of kind reception — worthiest, but by none received; Three nights longer staid the monarch — water was his only drink,
He in unfastidious hunger — plucked the fruits, the roots of earth. Then went forth again the outcast:— Damayanti followed slow. In the agony of famine — Nala, after many days, Saw some birds around him settling — with their golden tinctured wings.
Then the monarch of Nishadha — thought within his secret heart, These to-day my welcome banquet — and my treasure these will be. Over them his single garment — spreading light he wrapped them round: Up that single garment bearing — to the air they sprang away;
And the birds above him hovering — thus in human accents spake, Naked as they saw him standing — on the earth, and sad, and lone:— “Lo, we are the dice, to spoil thee — thus descended, foolish king! While thou hadst a single garment — all our joy was incomplete.”
When the dice he saw departing — and himself without his robe, Mournfully did Punyasloka — thus to Damayanti speak: “They, O blameless, by whose anger — from my kingdom I am driven, Life-sustaining food unable — in my misery to find —
They, through whom Nishadha's people — may not house their outcast king — They, the forms of birds assuming — my one robe have borne away. In the dark extreme of misery — sad and frantic as I am, Hear me, princess, hear and profit — by thy husband's best advice.
Hence are many roads diverging — to the region of the south, Passing by Avanti's city— and the height of Rishavàn; Vindhya here, the mighty mountain— and Payoshni's seaward stream; And the lone retreats of hermits — on the fruits of earth that live;
This will lead thee to Vidarbha — this to Cosala away, Far beyond the region stretches — southward to the southward clime.” In these words to Damayanti — did the royal Nala speak, More than once to Bhima's daughter — anxious pointing out the way.
She, with voice half choked with sorrow — with her weight of woe oppressed, These sad words did Damayanti — to Nishadha's monarch speak:— “My afflicted heart is breaking — and my sinking members fail, When, O king, thy desperate counsel — once I think of, once again.
Robbed of kingdom, robbed of riches — naked, thirst and hunger worn; How shall I depart and leave thee — in the wood by man untrod. When thou sad and famine-stricken — thinkest of thy former bliss, In the wild wood, oh, my husband,— I thy weariness will soothe.
Like a wife, in every sorrow — this the wise physicians own, Healing herb is none or balsam — Nala,‘ tis the truth I speak.” Slender-waisted Damayanti — true, indeed, is all thou'st said; Like a wife no friendly medicine — to afflicted man is given.
Fear not that I thee abandon — Wherefore, timid, dread'st thou this? Oh, myself might I abandon — and not thee, thou unreproached. If indeed, oh mighty monarch — thou wilt ne'er abandon me, Wherefore then towards Vidarbha — dost thou point me out the way.
Well, I know thee, noble Nala — to desert me far too true, Only with a soul distracted — would'st thou leave me, lord of earth. Yet, again, the way thou pointest — yet, again, thou best of men, Thus my sorrow still enhancing — oh, thou like the immortal gods;
If this be thy better counsel —‘ to her kindred let her go,’ Be it so, and both together — to Vidarbha set we forth. Thee Vidarbha's king will honour — honour'd in his turn by thee; Held in high respect and happy — in our mansion thou shall dwell.
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