[93]This, the lovely princess hearing--from the captain of the band,
With the caravan set forward--seeking still her royal lord.
Long their journey through the forest--through the dark and awful glens;
Then a lake of loveliest beauty--fragrant with the lotus flowers,
Saw those merchants, wide and pleasant--with fresh grass and shady trees;
Flowers and fruits bedecked its borders--where the birds melodious sang:
In its clear delicious waters--soul-enchanting, icy cool,
With their horses all o'erwearied--thought they then to plunge and bathe;
At the signal of the captain--entered all that pleasant grove.
At the close of day arriving--there encamped they for the night.
When the midnight came, all noiseless--came in silence deep and still,
Weary slept the band of merchants--lo, a herd of elephants,[94]
Oozing moisture from their temples--came to drink the troubled stream.
When that caravan they gazed on--with their slumbering beasts at rest,
The tame elephants they scented--those wild forest elephants;
Forward rush they fleet and furious--mad to slay, and wild with heat;
Irresistible the onset--of the rushing ponderous beasts,
As the peaks from some high mountain--down the valley thundering roll;
Strewn was all the way before them--with the boughs, the trunks of trees;
On they crash'd to where the travellers--slumbered by the lotus lake.
Trampled down without a struggle--helpless on the earth they lay,
"Woe, oh, woe!" shrieked out the merchants--wildly some began to fly,
In the forest thickets' plunging;--some stood gasping, blind with sleep;
And the elephants down beat them--with their tusks, their trunks, their
feet.
Many saw their camels dying--mingled with the men on foot,
And in frantic tumult rushing--wildly struck each other down;
Many miserably shrieking--cast them down upon the earth,
Many climbed the trees in terror--on the rough ground stumbled some.
Thus in various wise and fatal--by the elephants assailed,
Lay that caravan so wealthy--scattered all abroad or slain.
Such, so fearful was the tumult--the three worlds seemed all appalled,[95]
"'Tis a fire amid th' encampment--save ye, fly ye, for your lives.
Lo, your precious pearls ye trample--take them up, why fly so fast?
Save them, 'tis a common venture--fear ye not that I deceive."
Thus t' each other shrieked the merchants--as in fear they scattered round.
"Yet again I call upon you--cowards! think ye what ye do."
All around this frantic carnage--raging through the prostrate host,
Damayanti, soon awakened--with her heart all full of dread;
There she saw a hideous slaughter--the whole world might well appal.
To such sights all unfamiliar--gazed the queen with lotus eyes,
Pressing in her breath with terror--slowly rose she on her feet.
And the few that scaped the carnage--few that scaped without a wound,
All at once exclaimed together--"Of whose deeds is this the doom?
Hath not mighty Manibhadra--adoration meet received.
And Vaisravana the holy[96]--of the Yakshas lord and king,
Have not all that might impede us--ere we journied, been addressed?
Was it doomed, that all good omens--by this chance should be belied!
Were no planets haply adverse?--how hath fate, like this, befall'n!"
Others answered in their misery--reft of kindred and of wealth,
"Who is that ill-omened woman--that with maniac-staring eyes,
Joined our host, misshaped in aspect--and with scarcely human form?
Surely all this wicked witchcraft--by her evil power is wrought;
Witch or sorceress she, or daemon--fatal cause of all our fears,
Hers is all the guilt, the misery--who such damning proof may doubt?
Could we but behold that false one--murtheress, bane of all our host,
With the clods, the dust, the bamboos--with our staves, or with our hands,
We would slay her on the instant--of our caravan the fate."
But no sooner Damayanti--their appalling words had heard,
In her shame and in her terror--to the forest shade she fled.
And that guilt imputed dreading--thus her fate began to wail:
"Woe is me, still o'er me hovers--the terrific wrath of fate;
No good fortune e'er attends me--of what guilt is this the doom?
Not a sin can I remember--not the least to living man.
Or in deed, or thought, or language--of what guilt is this the doom?
In some former life committed[97]--expiate I now the sin.
To this infinite misfortune--hence by penal justice doomed?
Lost my husband, lost my kingdom--from my kindred separate;
Separate from noble Nala--from my children far away,
Widowed of my rightful guardian--in the serpent-haunted wood."
Of that caravan at morning--then the sad surviving few,
Setting forth from that dread region--o'er that hideous carnage grieve;
Each a brother mourns, or father--or a son, or dearest friend,
Still Vidarbha's princess uttered--"What the sin that I have done?
Scarcely in this desert forest--had I met this host of men,
By the elephants they perish--this is through my luckless fate;
A still lengthening life of sorrow--I henceforth must sadly lead.
Ere his destined day none dieth--this of aged seers the lore;
Therefore am not I too trampled--by this herd of furious beasts.
Every deed of living mortal--by over-ruling fate is done.
Yet no sin have I committed--in my blameless infancy,
To deserve this dire disaster--or in word, or deed, or thought.
For the choosing of my husband--are the guardians of the world,
Angry are the gods, rejected--for the noble Nala's sake?
From my lord this long divorcement--through their power do I endure."
Thus the noblest of all women--to bewail her fate began,
The deserted Damayanti--with these sad and bitter words;
With some Veda-reading Brahmins--that survived that scattered host,
Then she went her way in sadness--like the young moon's sickle pale,
And ere long a mighty city--that afflicted queen drew near:
'Twas the king of Chedi's city--truth-discerning Subahu.
Scantly clad in half a garment--entered she that stately town;
Her disturbed, emaciate, wretched--with dishevelled hair, unwashed,
Like a maniac, onward-moving--saw that city's wondering throng;
Gazing on her as she entered--to the monarch's royal seat;
All the boys her footsteps followed--in their curious gamesome play;[98]
Circled round by these she wandered--near the royal palace gate.
From that palace lofty terrace--her the mother of the king
Saw, and thus her nurse addressed she--"Go, and lead that wanderer in!
Sad she roves, without a refuge--troubled by those gazing men;
Yet in form so bright, irradiate--is our palace where she moves.
Though so maniac-like, half-clothed--like Heaven's long-eyed queen she
seems."
She those crowding men dispersing--quickly to the palace top
Made her mount--and in amazement--her the mother-queen addressed:
"Thus though bowed and worn with sorrow--such a shining form thou wear'st,
As through murky clouds the lightning--tell me who thou art and whence:
For thy form is more than human--of all ornament despoiled:
Men thou fear'st not, unattended--in celestial beauty safe."
Hearing thus her gentle language--Bhima's daughter made reply,
"Know me like thyself a mortal--a distressed, devoted wife;
Of illustrious race an handmaid--making where I will mine home;
On the roots and wild-fruits feeding--lonely, at the fall of eve.
Gifted with unnumber'd virtues--is my true, my faithful lord,
And I still the hero followed--like his shadow on the way.
'Twas his fate, with desp'rate fondness--to pursue the love of play,
And in play subdued and ruined--entered he yon lonely wood;
Him, arrayed in but one garment,--like a madman wandering wild,
To console my noble husband--I too entered the deep wood;
He within that dreary forest--for some cause, to me unknown,
Wild with hunger, reft of reason--that one single robe he lost.
I with but one robe, him naked[99]--frantic, and with mind diseased,
Following through the boundless forest--many a night I had not slept;
Then, when I had sunk to slumber--me the blameless leaving there,
Half my garment having severed--he his sinless consort fled;
Seeking him, my outcast husband--night and day am I consumed:
Him I see not, ever shining--like the lotus cup, beloved;
Find him not, most like th' immortals--lord of all, my life, my soul."
Even as thus, with eyes o'erflowing--uttered she her sad lament,
Sad herself, sad Bhima's daughter--did the mother queen address:
"Dwell with me, then, noble Lady--deep the joy in thee I feel,
And the servants of my household--shall thy royal husband seek;
Haply hither he may wander--as he roams about the world:
Dwelling here in peace and honour--thou thy husband wilt rejoin."
To the king of Chedi's mother--Damayanti made reply;
"On these terms, O nurse of heroes!--I with thee may make abode:
That I eat not broken victuals[100]--wash not feet with menial hand:[101]
Nor with stranger men have converse--in my chaste, secluded state;
If that any man demand me--be he punished; if again,
Be he put to death on th' instant--this the vow that I have sworn.
Only, if they seek my husband--holy Brahmins will I see.
Be my terms by thee accepted--gladly will I sojourn here,
But on other terms no sojourn--will this heart resolved admit."
Then to her with joyful spirit--spake the mother of the king:
"As thou wilt shall all be ordered--be thou blest, since such thy vow."
Speaking thus to Bhima's daughter--did the royal mother then,
In these words address her daughter--young Sunanda was her name:
"See this handmaid, my Sunanda--gifted with a form divine;
She in age thy lovely compeer--be she to thee as a friend;
Joined with her in sweet communion--take thy pleasure without fear."
Young Sunanda, all rejoicing--to her own abode went back,
Taking with her Damayanti--circled with her virgin peers.