Vanished thus the King of Serpents — set Nishadha's raja forth, Rituparna's royal city — on the tenth day entered he. Straight before the royal presence — “Vahuca am I,” he said, “In the skill of taming horses — on the earth is not my peer;
Use me, where the difficult counsel — where thou want'st the dexterous hand; In the art of dressing viands— I am skilful above all. Whatsoe'er the art, whatever — be most difficult to do, I will strive to execute it — take me to thy service, king.”
“Vahuca, I bid thee welcome — all this service shalt thou do, On my horses’ rapid motion — deeply is my mind engaged. Take thou then on thee the office — that my steeds be fleet of foot, Of my horse be thou the master — hundred hundreds is thy pay:
Ever shalt thou have for comrades — Varshneya and Jivala: With these two pursue thy pleasure — Vahuca, abide with me.” Thus addressed, did Nala, honoured — by king Rituparna long, With Varshneya in that city — and with Jivala abide:
There abode he, sadly thinking — of Vidarbha's daughter still. In the evening, every evening — uttered he this single verse; “Where is she, by thirst and hunger — worn, and weary, pious still, Thinking of her unwise husband — in whose presence is she now!”
Thus the raja, ever speaking — Jivala one night addressed; “Who is she, for whom thou grievest?— Vahuca, I fain would hear.” Answered thus the royal Nala — “To a man of sense bereft, Once belonged a peerless lady — most infirm of word was he;
From some cause from her dissevered — went that frantic man away, In his foolish soul thus parted — wanders he, by sorrow racked; Night and day, and still for ever — by his parching grief consumed: Nightly brooding o'er his sorrows — sings he this sad single verse.
O'er the whole wide earth a wanderer — chance-alighting in some place, Dwells that woful man, unworthy,— ever wakeful with his grief. Him that noble lady following — in the forest lone and dread, Lives, of that bad man forsaken — hard it is to say, she lives!
Lone, and young, the ways unknowing — undeserving of such fate, Pines she there with thirst and hunger — hard it is to say, she lives. In that vast and awful forest — haunted by fierce beasts of prey, By her lord she roams forsaken — hapless, by that luckless lord.”
Thus remembering Damayanti — did Nishadha's king unknown, Long within that dwelling sojourn — in the palace of the king.
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