Once upon a time there was a king by the name of Nala, a man handsome
as the god of love, endowed with all the virtues, a favorite of men
and women. There was also another king, named Bhima, the Terrible. He
was renowned as a warrior and endowed with many virtues; yet he was
discontented, for he had no offspring. But it happened that he was
visited by a saint, whom he entertained so hospitably that the Brahman
granted him in return a favor: a daughter and three sons were born to
him. The daughter, who received the name of Damayanti, soon became
famed for her beauty, her dignity, and her gracious manners. She
seemed, amid her companions, like lightning born in a rain-cloud. Her
beauty was so much vaunted in the hearing of King Nala, and his merits
were so much extolled in her presence, that the two conceived an
ardent passion for one another, though they had never met. Nala could
hardly endure his yearnings of love; near the apartments of the women
there was a forest; into that he retired, living in solitude. One day
he came across some gold-decked geese. He caught one of them and she
said to him: "Spare my life and I promise to praise you in Damayanti's
presence in such a way that she shall never think of any other man."
He did so, and the goose flew to Damayanti and said: "There is a man
named Nala; he is like the celestial knights; no human being equals
him. Yes, if you could become _his_ wife, it would be worth while that
you were born and became so beautiful. You are the pearl among women,
but Nala, too, is the best of men." Damayanti begged the goose to go
and speak to Nala similarly about her, and the goose said "Yes" and
flew away.
From that moment Damayanti was always in spirit with Kala. Sunk in
reverie, sad, with pale face, she visibly wasted away, and sighing was
her only, her favorite, occupation. If anyone saw her gazing upward,
absorbed in her thoughts, he might have almost fancied her
intoxicated. Often of a sudden her whole face turned pale; in short,
it was plain that love-longing held her senses captive. Lying in bed,
sitting, eating, everything is distasteful to her; neither at night
nor by day does sleep come to her. Ah and alas! thus her wails
resound, and over and over again she begins to weep.
Her companions noted these symptoms and they said to the king:
"Damayanti is not at all well." The king reflected, "Why is my
daughter no longer well?" and it occurred to him that she had reached
the marriageable age, and it became clear to him that he must without
delay give her a chance to choose a husband. So he invited all the
kings to assemble at his court for that purpose on a certain day. Soon
the roads were filled with kings, princes, elephants, horses, wagons,
and warriors, for she, the pearl of the world, was desired of men
above all other women. King Nala also had received the message and set
out on his journey hopefully. Like the god of love incarnate he
looked. Even the ruling gods heard of the great event and went to join
the worldly rulers. As they approached the earth's surface they beheld
King Nala. Pleased with his looks, they accosted him and said: "We are
immortals journeying on account of Darnayanti. As for you, go you and
bring Damayanti this message: 'The four gods, Indra, Agni, Yama,
Varuna, desire to have you for a wife. Choose one of these four gods
as your wedded husband.'"
Folding his hands humbly, Nala replied:
"The very same affair has induced me to make this
journey: therefore you must not send me on this errand.
For how could a man who himself feels the longing of
love woo the same woman for another?"
But the gods ordered him to go at once, because he had promised to
serve them before he knew what they wanted. They endowed him with
power to enter the carefully guarded apartments of the princess, and
presently he found himself in her presence. Her lovely face, her
charmingly moulded limbs, her slender body, her beautiful eyes,
diffused a splendor that mocked the light of the moon and increased
his pangs of love; but he resolved to keep his promise. When the young
maidens beheld him they could not utter a word; they were dazed by the
splendor of his appearance, and abashed, the beautiful virgins. At
last the astonished Damayanti began to speak and said with a sweet
smile:
"Who are you, you with the faultless form, who increase
the yearnings of my love? Like an immortal you came
here, O hero! I would like to know you better, noble,
good man. Closely guarded is my house, however, and
most strict in his orders is the king."
"My name, gracious maiden, is Nala," he replied.
"As messenger of the gods have I come. Four of
them--Indra, Agni, Varuna, Yama--would like you as
bride, therefore choose one of them as husband, O
beauty! That I entered unseen is the result, too, of
their power. Now you have heard all; act as seems
proper to you."
As he spoke the names of the gods Damayanti bowed humbly; then she
laughed merrily and said:
"Follow you the inclination of your heart and be kind
to me. What can I do to please you? Myself and all that
is mine belongs to you. Lay aside all diffidence, my
master and husband! Alas, the entire speech of the
gold-swans, my prince, was to me a real firebrand. It
was for your sake, O hero, that all these kings were in
reality called together so hastily. Should you ever, O
my pride, be able to scorn me, who is so devoted to
you, I shall resort on your account to poison, fire,
water, rope."
"How can you," retorted Nala,
"when gods are present in person, direct your desires
toward a mortal? Not so! Let your inclination dwell
with them, the creators of the world. Remember, too,
that a mortal who does something to displease the gods
is doomed to death. Therefore, you with the faultless
limbs, save me by choosing the most worthy of the gods.
Hesitate no longer. Your husband must be one of the
gods."
Then said Damayanti, while her eyes were diffused with anguish-born
tears: "My reverence to the gods! As husband I choose you, mighty
ruler on earth. What I say to you is immutable truth." "I am here now
as messenger of the gods, and cannot, therefore, plead my own cause.
Later I shall have a chance to speak for myself," said Nala; and
Damayanti said, smiling, while tears choked her voice:
"I shall arrange that you as well as the gods are
present on the day of my husband-choice. Then I shall
choose you in the presence of the immortals. In that
way no blame can fall on anyone."
Returning to the gods, Nala told them just what happened, not omitting
her promise that she would choose him in presence of the gods. The day
now was approaching when the kings, who, urged by love-longings, had
assembled, were to appear before the maiden. With their beautiful
hair, noses, eyes, and brows, these royal personages shone like the
stars in heaven. They fixed their gaze on the maiden's limbs, and
wherever the eyes first rested there they remained fixed immovably.
But the four gods had all assumed the exact form and appearance of
Nala, and when Damayanti was about to choose him she saw five men all
alike. How could she tell which of them was the king, her beloved?
After a moment's thought she uttered an invocation to the gods calling
upon them to assume the characteristics by which they differ from
mortals. The gods, moved by her anguish, her faith in the power of
truth, her intelligence and passionate devotion, heard her prayer and
forthwith they appeared to her free from perspiration, with fixed
gaze, ever fresh wreath, free from dust; and none of them, while
standing, touched the floor; whereas King Nala betrayed himself by
throwing a shadow, by having dust and perspiration on his body, a
withered wreath, and eyelids that winked.
Thereupon the big-eyed maiden timidly seized him by the hem of his
garment and put a beautiful wreath on his shoulders. Thus did she
choose him to be her husband; and the gods granted them special
favors.[279]
According to Schroeder, the Hindoos are "the romantic nation" among
the ancients, as the Germans are among the moderns; and Albrecht Weber
says that when, a little more than a century ago, Europe first became
acquainted with Sanscrit literature, it was noticed that in the
amorous poetry of India in particular the sentimental qualities of
modern verse were traced in a much higher degree than they had been
found in Greek and Roman literature. All this is doubtless true. The
Hindoos appear to have been the only ancient people that took delight
in forests, rivers, and mountains as we do; in reading their
descriptions of Nature we are sometimes affected by a mysterious
feeling of awe, like a reminiscence of the time when our ancestors
lived in India. Their amorous hyperbole, too, despite its frequent
grotesqueness, affects us perhaps more sympathetically than that of
the Greeks. And yet the essentials of what we call romantic love are
so entirely absent from ancient Hindoo literature that such amorous
symptoms as are noted therein can all be readily brought under the
three heads of artificiality, sensuality, and selfishness.