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 noble 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 breasts
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 chastity.
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 shaggy 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 clusters; 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—âmalaks, 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 priyâlas, palms And date-trees, and the gold myrobalan, With copper-leaved vibhîtikas. 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 glassy lakelet, where the woodland beasts In free peace gathered. Wandering onward thus, The Princess saw far-gliding forms of dread— Pisâchas, 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 passed—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 grass 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 Aśwamedha 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