Nala and Damayanti and Other Poems | Page 9

of Vidarbha--on the hard earth seat them down;
Naked, with no mat to rest on--wet with mire and stained with dust.
Weary then with Damayanti--on the earth he fell asleep.
Sank the lovely Damayanti--by his side with sleep opprest,
She thus plunged in sudden misery--she the tender, the devout.
But while on the cold earth slumbered--Damayanti, all distraught
Nala in his mind by sorrow--might no longer calmly sleep;
For the losing of his kingdom--the desertion of his friends,
And his weary forest wanderings--painful on his thought arose;
"If I do it, what may follow?--what if I refuse to do?
Were my instant death the better--or to abandon her I love.
But to me too deep devoted--suffers she distress and shame;
Reft of me she home may wander--to her royal father's house;
Faithful wandering ever with me--certain sorrow will she bear,
But if separated from me--chance of solace may be hers."
Long within his heart he pondered--and again, again weighed o'er.
Best he thought it Damayanti--to desert, that wretched king.
From her virtue none dare harm her[69]--in the lonely forest way,
Her the fortunate, the noble--my devoted wedded wife.
Thus his mind on Damayanti--dwelt in its perverted thought,
Wrought by Kali's evil influence--to desert his lovely wife.
Of himself without a garment--and of her with only one.
As he thought, approached he near her--to divide that single robe.
"How shall I divide the garment--by my loved one unperceived?"
Pondering this within his spirit--round the cabin Nala went;
In that narrow cabin's circuit--Nala wandered here and there,
Till he found without a scabbard--shining, a well-tempered sword.
Then when half that only garment--he had severed, and put on,
In her sleep Vidarbha's princess--with bewildered mind he fled.
Yet, his cruel heart relenting--to the cabin turns he back;
On the slumbering Damayanti--gazing, sadly wept the king;
"Thou, that sun nor wind hath ever--roughly visited, my love!
On the hard earth in a cabin--sleepest with thy guardian gone.
Thus attired in half a garment--she that aye so sweetly smiled,
Like to one distracted, beauteous--how at length will she awake?
How will't fare with Bhima's daughter--lone, abandoned by her lord,
Wandering in the savage forest--where wild beasts and serpents dwell.
May the suns and winds of heaven--may the genii of the woods,[70]
Noblest, may they all protect thee--thine own virtue thy best guard."
To his wife of peerless beauty--on the earth, 'twas thus he spoke.
Then of sense bereft by Kali--Nala hastily set forth;
And departing, still departing--he returned again, again;
Dragged away by that bad demon--ever by his love drawn back.
Nala, thus his heart divided--into two conflicting parts,
Like a swing goes backward, forward--from the cabin, to and fro.
Torn away at length by Kali--flies afar the frantic king,
Leaving there his wife in slumber--making miserable moans.
Reft of sense, possessed by Kali--thinking still on her he left,
Passed he in the lonely forest--leaving his deserted wife.
BOOK XI.
Scarcely had king Nala parted--Damayanti now refreshed,
Wakened up, the slender-waisted--timorous in the desert wood.
When she did not see her husband--overpowered with grief and pain,
Loud she shriek'd in her first anguish--"Where art thou, Nishadha's king?
Mighty king! my soul-protector--O, my lord! desert'st thou me.
Oh, I'm lost! undone for ever--helpless in the wild wood left;
Faithful once to every duty--wert thou not, and true in word.
Art thou faithful to thy promise--to desert me thus in sleep.
Could'st thou then depart, forsaking--thy devoted, constant wife;
Her in sooth that never wronged thee--wronged indeed, but not by her.
Keep'st thou thus thy solemn promise--oh, unfaithful lord of men,
There, when all the gods were present--plighted to thy wedded wife?
Death is but decreed to mortals--at its own appointed time,
Hence one moment, thus deserted[71]--one brief moment do I live.--
But thou'st had thy sport--enough then--now desist, O king of men,
Mock not thou a trembling woman--show thee to me, O my lord!
Yes, I see thee, there I see thee--hidden as thou think'st from sight,
In the rushes why conceal thee?--answer me, why speak'st thou not.
Wherefore now ungentle stay'st thou--like to one forsworn, aloof?
Wherefore wilt thou not approach me--to console me in my woe?
For myself I will not sorrow--nor for aught to me befalls.
Thou art all alone, my husband,--I will only mourn for thee.
How will't fare with thee, my Nala--thirsting, famished, faint with toil.
Nor beholding me await thee--underneath the trees at eve."
Then, in all her depth of anguish--with her trouble as on fire,
Hither, thither, went she weeping--all around she went and wailed.
Now springs up the desolate princess--now falls down in prostrate grief;
Now she pines in silent sorrow--now she shrieks and wails aloud.
So consumed with inward misery--ever sighing more and more,
Spake at length king Bhima's daughter--spake the still devoted wife:
"He, by whose dire imprecation--Nala this dread suffering bears,
May he far surpass in suffering--all that Nala suffers now,
May the evil one, to evil--who the blameless Nala drives,
Smitten by a curse as fatal--live a dark unblessed life."
Thus her absent lord lamenting--that high-minded raja's queen,
Every-where her lord went seeking--in the satyr-haunted wood.[72]
Like a maniac, Bhima's daughter--wandered wailing here and there;
And "alas! alas! my husband"--every-where her cry was heard.
Her beyond all measure wailing--like the osprey screaming shrill,
Miserably still deploring--still renewing her lament.
Suddenly king Bhima's daughter--as she