Synopsis of Śrīharṣa’s Naiṣadhacarita

The story of Nala and Damayantī is too well-known to need any introduction. The Naiṣadhacarita deals with the earlier portion of Nala’s career ending with his romantic marriage with Damayantī. The episode to which Śrīharṣa devotes about two-thousand eight hundred verses is related in less than two hundred couplets in the Mahābhārata. Except for minor details. Śrīharṣa follows the great epic in the broad outlines of the story so far as it concerns the episode dealt with by him. There is, however, one noteworthy point of difference.

In the Mahābhārata, Nala accepts the mission of the gods, and betakes himself to Kuṇḍina, and after telling Damayantī that he is Nala, asks her to choose one of the gods. Damayantī protests and declares her love for him. Nala replies that he cannot seek his own interest in the face of his promise to ṃe gods, but he will do so if she can devise a means by which self-interest can be reconciled with Dharma or the call of duty.^[1] Thereupon, Damayantī suggests that Nala should come to her Svayaṃvara, and she would absolve him from blame by choosing him in the presence of the gods. In the Naiṣadhacarita, on the other hand, Nala carefully conceals his identity from Damayantī while delivering the message of ṃe gods. The difference, though one of detail, makes Śrīharṣa’s conception of the character of Nala fundamentally different from that found in the corresponding portion of the story in the Mahābhārata.

In the Naiṣadhacarita, we find Nala, disguised as the messenger of the gods, reasoning with Damayantī and urging her to accept one of the gods as her consort. He is alternately sarcastic and annoyed at her evasions and persistence in her love for Nala. Her grief and entreaties move him to pity, yet he drives her to despair for ṃe sake of his duty and honour. When at last the tears of Damayantī set free his repressed emotion, and he throws off his disguise in a frenzy of love and grief, the thought that is uppermost in his mind is not the fear of the gods, but the disgrace which he has unwittingly brought to the honourable calling of the messenger. Yet, in the ultimate resort, he appeals to his own conscience and the sincerity with which he has striven to execute his mission, and neither stands in awe of the gods nor concerns himself about the opinion of men.^[2]

In Śrīharṣa’s poem, Nala’s anxiety is not how to reconcile self-interest with Dharma, but how to reconcile his honour with the failure of his mission. The emphasis on the individual judgment and moral responsibility makes Śrīharṣa’s portrait of Nala one of the noblest creations of Sanskrit poetry, at least so far as conception of character is concerned.

The fact that Śrīharṣa confines himself to the lighter side of Nala’s career makes him dilate on certain minor details which ṃe Mahābhārata either mentions briefly or ignores altogether. The latter work disposes of the Svayaṃvara in a few lines, and makes only a passing reference to the marriage and ṃe joys of the newly married couple. These topics occupy whole Cantos in the Naiṣadhacarita; while there are certain others, for example, the contents of Cantos VI, VII, XV, XIX, XX, XXI and XXII, which are totally absent in the Mahābhārata. The same is true of the greater portion of ṃe contents of the seventeenth Canto.

CANTO I

The first Canto opens with an elaborate description of Nala. His might is extolled, and he is called ‘the destroyer of kings’. His physical beauty is next described. ‘The autumnal full moon is not fit even to play the slave to his face’; and nymphs and mortal women are never tired of looking at his beauty. (1—31)

Damayantī is now introduced, but the description of her beauty is reserved for a later Canto. She falls in love with Nala without ever seeing him and elicits news about him from messengers, Brāhmins and bards coming from the land of Niṣadha. Though never seen by her before, sleep shows him to her as a deep mystery; while she sometimes diverts herself by having Nala painted on the wall of her pleasure-chamber as enjoying her company. Nala, in his turn, also falls in love with Damayantī without seeing her and yields to the power of the god of love, who disturbed the equanimity even of Brahmā, the age-worn creator of the world. The night, ‘soft with moonshine’, is a witness to Nala’s sleepless suffering, and he at last seeks peace in a visit to his pleasure-garden in the outskirts of the capital. A description of the horse he rides follows, and then he is shown to reach the thickly shaded garden where he sees various flowers in bloom, the sight of which is supposed to enhance the grief of forlorn lovers. (31-77)

Nala curses the Ketaka blossom with its serrated flower leaves: ‘sharp with thorns, it is thrust by Cupid like a barbed arrow into the hearts of separated lovers’. He shudders to see maiden creepers kissed by the gentle breeze, and views with distaste Campaka blossoms, and those of the Palāśa, Pāṭalā, and others in bloom, all deadly weapons of the god of love. But he welcomes the trees bending with the weight of fruits in obeisance to their foster-mother Earth; while cuckoos sing, peacocks dance and the ripples of the pleasure tank play music in his honour. Though parrots recite his praise and cuckoos sing his glory, his joy is superficial and ill conceals the grief of his heart, while he is pining for ‘the fair-browed maid of Vidarbha.’ (78—106)

Now follows a laboured description of an artificial lake in the garden, on which the king sees a golden swan disporting himself with the female swans, some young, others grown up. After a while the swan falls asleep, and the king, slowly approaching the shore of the lake, with gentle hands catches hold of the bird. The swan, fearing that death is near, pours forth a melancholy strain of the deepest grief, pleading the cause of his wife at home, and the young ones in the nest, which have not yet learnt to speak. Nala is moved to pity, and lets the bird go. (107-45)

CANTO II

The golden swan comes back to Nala, and expresses his gratitude to the king for his mercy in releasing him. The king’s mercy is all the greater, because hunting is no sin in a king who only kills the fish that feed on their weaker comrades, the birds that injure the trees on which they build their nests, and the deer that oppress the harmless grass. The bird offers to repay the kindness of the king by doing a kindness to him, and volunteers the story of Damayantī, the unmarried daughter of the king of Vidarbha, of whom the swan gives a laboured description. (1-40)

The bird slyly suggests the subject of a worthy husband for Damayantī. He insinuates that Nala alone is worthy of her; but union with her, beloved of the gods, is by no means easy; ‘just as it is difficult for the night lotus to enjoy the light of the beclouded moon’. So the bird offers to sing Nala’s praise before Damayantī with such effect that, once treasured in her heart, his image will not be ousted from it even by the lord of the gods. Nala consents and describes his love for Damayantī. The moon and the.south wind burn his limbs. ‘If the arrows of Cupid are flowers and not thunder, surely these flowers grow on creepers that are poisonous’. The bird forthwith sets out for the capital of the king of Viḍarbha. His golden wings flicker with speed, while the gold of them is set off by the blue of the sky. (40-72)

The bird at length reaches the capital of Damayantī’s father, and now there is a dignified description of the city, which is full of crystal houses anḍ bejewelled chambers, heaven and earth laughing with them; their nightly splendour makes one imagine that the full moon is eternally present in the city. The pleasure tank is reddened by the saffron paint of beautiful women sporting in its waters, and the city reflected in the tank looks like heaven. The mercantile life of the city is also pictured. In the market place there arises the rumbling sound of mills grinding sweet-smelling flour. In the shops ‘cowries’ are counted; merchants display an infinite variety of wares for sale. Among objects of luxury are conchs, gems, camphor powder anḍ musk. The saffron stalls of the perfume shops look like lingering rays of the setting sun. The white silken streamers flying over the edifices are shaded by the gloom of the azure chambers, anḍ maidens step from the top of their pleasure mansions on to clouds which carry them to the pleasure halls of their lovers. (73-105)

The bird sees Damayantī in her pleasure garden in the company of her maiden friends, looking like the crescent of the moon in an assembly of stars. The swan looks for a suitable landing ground and makes a circuit in the air above, radiating the gleam Of his golden wings.

CANTO III

The swan alights on the ground close to Damayantī, who tries to catch the bird and follows him to some distance despite the warning of her comrades. The bird lures her to a thicker part of the wood and surprises her by addressing her in graceful human speech. After mocking her for attempting to capture him, the swan presents himself as one of the birds drawing Brahmā’s chariot, but now on his holiday in the course of which he is travelling through the world. The bird declares that he is known to Nala whose virtues and beauty he carefully describes. (1-40)

He claims to have free access to the inner apartments of Nala where the fair inmates confide to him all their secrets, and Cupid’s latest commands. He deplores that some maiden other than Damayantī will marry Nala and enjoy the celestial happiness unattainable by her. But who has probed into the working of the Creator’s mind? Perchance she might be Nala’s bride, young and unmarried as she is. Perhaps the Creator himself, by uniting the moon with the night, and Śiva with Pārvatī, is acquiring practice successfully to bring about her union with Nala. How, too, would the Creator, grown hoary with wisdom, save himself from disgrace if she was married to any other than Nala? Be that as it may, the bird expresses his regret for fatiguing her and asks her what service he may render her. (40-52)

Damayantī requests pardon of the swan for having tried to catch him, entreating the bird to forgive her light-hearted action as that of an inexperienced maid. But what desire of hers would come to fruition? Where is the maid who would express her inmost desire in words, her longing to catch the moon with the hand? (53-59)

The swan replies that all things are attainable on earth. Even if she should desire the city of Laṅkā, situate in mid ocean, it would be hers. Damayantī, delighted and abashed, says that her heart longs neither for the city of Laṅkā nor for any other thing. But the swan, intent on eliciting a confession of love, explains her statement as having a double meaning, namely, her longing for Nala, and insists on a clear and straightforward declaration of her will. If she purposes to marry some one else, the bird will not plead her cause before Nala; it would not be right to undertake a mission whose purport was doubtful. (60-73)

The firm words of the swan cause Damayantī to discard shame and hesitation, and she makes a fervid confession of her love for Nala. How can the bird conceive of her union with any one else? Can it be imagined that the night may be joined to any one other than the moon or that the day lily may have a lover other than the sun? Damayantī declares her intention to enter the flames, if her father disallows her marriage with Nala, and exhorts the swan to plead her cause before the king, choosing the right moment, and with all the resources of the art of persuasion. She entreats the bird to give her what is more precious to her than her life, and urges him not to tarry, since deliberation is meet only in a matter that admits of delay. (74-96)

The swan smiles at this mad declaration of love, and declares that there is nothing for him to do. Cupid himself has brought about the union of Damayantī anḍ Nala. The bird then gives an intricate description of the conventional stages of love, through which Nala is supposed to have passed, and congratulates Damayantī on her manifold virtues which have attracted even Nala. May she, the bird continues, shine with Nala as the night with the moon, and may he shine with her as the moon with the night! (97—117)

The swan then takes leave of Damayantī and speedily returns to Nala’s capital where he finds the king under an Aśoka tree, crowned with a blaze of flowers, reclining on a bed of young leaves.

CANTO IV

This Canto carries the story little further. It is principally concerned with the description of the unbearable grief of Damayantī owing to her absence from Nala. The monotony of the description is relieved by Damayantī’s address to the moon anḍ Cupid, which here and there reaches a high lyrical level (47-99). This is followed by a playful dialogue between Damayantī and a girl companion in musical verses, one half of which is spoken by the former and the other half by the latter. (101-9).

At the end of the dialogue, Damayantī faints ‘with Cupid’s fire smouldering in her mind’, but her comrades restore her to consciousness by means of cool appliances like lotus leaves and snow. The noise made by the girls brings her father to the scene. The minister and the physician also come in. The physician prescribes the fragrant Nalada herb, an efficacious sedative; while the minister predicts that the remedy will be found to be Nala. Damayantī’s father realises that his daughter has reached the age when ‘flowers act as arrows on the body’; so he announces that the Svayaṃvara gathering, for Damayantī to choose her husband, will soon be convened.

CANTO V

While preparations for Damayantī’s Svayaṃvara takes place, the sage Nārada. with his companion Parvata pursues an aerial journey to heaven. He is received by Indra who evinces an extraordinary degree of politeness and courtesy. The king of the gods asks Nārada why mortal princes have of late ceased to come to heaven and share his hospitality as a reward for dying glorious deaths in battle.

Nārada replies that warlike activities are no longer the concern of kings on earth. Damayantī’s Svayaṃvara is at hand. Cupid’s order has gone abroad, and the mortal princes are now concerned about finery and other things likely to enhance their credit in Damayantī’s eyes. But he (Nārada) loves to witness warfare, and as it is out of fashion on the earth he expects Indra to provide this amusement for him.

Indra declines Nārada’s request. His attention is rivetted on Damayantī’s Svayaṃvara. Hastily bidding farewell to the sage, he sets out earthward much to the chagrin of the nymphs of heaven, who give vent to their spleen by sarcastic remarks about the lord of the gods running after a mortal woman. Indra is accompanied by Agni, Varuṇa and Yama, three divine simpletons, who follow Indra because he happens to lead the way.

The gods meet Nala on the way as he proceeds to the city of Kuṇḍina to attend Damayantī’s Svayaṃvara. They greet Nala and announce that they have a favour to ask of him. Nala’s heart overflows with sentiments of generosity and self-sacrifice at the thought of the gods coming to him as suppliants, but his charitable disposition is soon put to a severe test, when he is asked by the crafty Indra to undertake a mission to Damayantī on behalf of the four gods in order to persuade her to choose one of them as her husband.

Nala boldly refuses, though at the outset he had promised to grant any favour the gods might ask. He warns the gods not to make themselves ridiculous by asking him to act as a messenger to a maiden whom he himself loves and pines for. Indra is first sarcastic and then conciliatory, and the four gods join in exhorting Nala to earn eternal fame by carrying out his promise. Bound by a promise, the mighty demon Bali and the great Vindhya mountain remain to this day where they promised to stay; why should he then hesitate to keep his? Life is transient and there is nothing lasting. He should on no account neglect virtue, the abiding reality. Fame, not Damayantī, is his true bride. Who would renounce the beloved Fame, fairer than the moon, and faithful even when absent in the farthest regions, for the sake of a maiden whose possession is but a passing shadow?

Nala is flattered to hear these words, and in spite of his love for Damayantī, undertakes the mission urged on him by the gods. Indra marks his pleasure by giving Nala the power of becoming invisible at will.

CANTO VI

Nala reaches the city of Kuṇḍina and views its streets hallowed by Damayantī’s feet. He sighs deeply, thinking how the desire of his heart has been thwarted by the gods. But he is determined to carry out his promise. He goes about invisible by virtue of Indra’s boon and enters the royal palace and the inner apartments assigned to the ladies of the royal household. Seeing all, but himself unseen, he moves freely among the womenfolk, inadvertently jostling some and surprising others in their toilette. Passing women are frightened when they touch Nala’s invisible figure, and he is sometimes struck by a ball when it is flung about by the girls while playing.

After these and similar adventures, Nala comes to see Damayantī, recognising her by her superior beauty, amidst a throng of beautiful maids. He hears his own name uttered by a parrot, which has learnt it from maidens who had used it to console Damayantī in her grief. His reflection on the bejewelled floor is not noticed, though clearly visible among his own portraits drawn by Damayantī’s comrades for her diversion.

Meanwhile, the four gods, not wholly depending upon Nala’s mission, had sent women messengers to plead in their behalf. Nala who is still invisible rejoices to see the suit of three of the gods rejected by Damayantī, but he hears with misgivings the peroration of the messenger of Indra, which is cheered by her comrades in the hall. What greater glory can befall a maiden, asks Indra’s messenger, than to be loved by the mighty Indra, the greatest among the gods? Let her accept the invitation from Indra to share in the sovereignty of heaven and the worlds, and think of the pleasure there is in walks by the celestial Gaṅgā, and in the garden of Nandana.

Damayantī replies with a smile. Indra’s greatness is beyond the range of words; how can he be sufficiently praised? Certainly will she serve Indra, but it is a human Indra, incarnate in the form of a mortal king, to whom she has given her heart. Doubtless heaven is a land of bliss, but Bhārata, the best of lands, has both joys and duties to offer; and it is for happiness blended with religious virtue that she aspires. Moreover the desires of mortals are determined by Fate, and their tastes differ. The joy of success is common to all in an equal measure; hence no one is to be blamed for his likes and dislikes. In a word, Damayantī makes it clear that Indra’s merits, however attractive they may be, do not induce her to give up the man whom she loves.

Indra’s messenger is downcast by Damayantī’s speech, and makes no reply. But Nala is braced to hear her words.

CANTO VII

In this Canto the progress of the story is halted by a description of the beauty of the princess. Nala who is still invisible views Damayantī and describes her in detail, ‘beginning from the hair and ending with the toe-nails’, which is literally true. He then decides to make himself visible to Damayantī and her friends.

CANTO VIII

The girls are astonished at the sudden appearance of a stranger in the female apartments. Damayantī, however, remains cool, bids the stranger welcome and asks him in poetic language to tell his name, origin and destination. Without waiting for a reply, she addresses to him a high-flown description of his beauty (32-44). Where does the full moon go to on the moonless nights of the month, if it is not merged in his face? Is he not the love god reborn, after his burning by Śiva? Or, perhaps he is some one allied to the gods, to judge from his lustre, surpassing gold, and the manner in which he has eluded the sentinels and made his entry.

Nala occupies the seat offered by Damayantī and coolly introduces himself as a messenger from the gods. After a brief greeting, he sets himself to describe the love of the four gods for Damayantī, and narrates in detail the wanton tyranny of Cupid over each of them (58-84). The trees of heaven have been stripped of their young shoots to provide leafy beds for the feverish limbs of Indra. ‘The god of fire has been so heated by Cupid that, having himself experienced what it is to be heated, he will not heat others again.’ The condition of Yama and Varuṇa is no better. The gods, on hearing about Damayantī’s Svayaṃvara, have come to the earth and sent the speaker as a messenger to her, who now delivers their combined message, couched in poetic language calculated to soften her heart.

The gods in their message (90-106) appeal to Damayantī to have pity on them and not to let them be slain by the invisible arrows of the lowborn Cupid. Let her adorn heaven without delay; but if she prefers to remain on earth, her motherland, they will transform the earth itself into heaven!

Nala concludes by entreating Damayantī to fulfil the purpose of his mission by choosing one of the gods as her husband. Let her gratify Indra or save the love-sick Agni from his plight; let her take pity on Yama or choose Varuṇa.

CANTO IX

Nala’s appeal produces no effect on Damayantī who considers his words misplaced, and asks him to communicate his name and family. He evades her question by suggesting that their conversation may run smoothly even without his disclosing his name, and that it is also the custom, among the good, not to utter one’s own name. (1-13)

Damayantī retorts that she, too, then must refrain from conversing with him, as it is not the custom among respectable women to talk with strangers. Nala tries to smile away her retort and begs her to send a favourable answer to the gods. Damayantī protests that a mortal woman can never be worthy of a god: ‘how can a hind desire the lord of elephants’? (16-29)

She continues, speaking indirectly through a companion, that the all-knowing gods ought to have been aware of her love for Nala whom she has determined to marry. If he should refuse, she would end her life by suicide. (30-35)

Nala is somewhat annoyed at these words, and rebukes Damayantī for preferring a mortal to a god: the camel, likewise, loves the bitter and thorny Śamī plant, and rejects the sugar-cane. As to suicide, Indra, the lord of the upper regions, will take her away, if she hangs herself and remains suspended in the air, while the god of fire or water will only be too glad if she enters the flames or the water. But Nala softens his tone and makes a further appeal to Damayantī by picturing for her a glorious union with one of the gods. (38-59)

Damayantī heaves a deep sigh and calls Nala the worthy messenger of Yama, the god of death. Upon her supplication, a girl invites the visitor to halt for the day and wait till the Svayaṃvara which is to take place on the morrow: there is so great a resemblance between him and the portrait of Nala drawn before Damayantī by the golden swan. Meanwhile, he must not talk of the gods again; her eyes are far too drenched with the onrush of tears. (61-69)

His cruelty comes home to Nala, and he begins to think himself not the messenger of Death, but Death himself. But though pierced by the pathetic appeals of Damayantī, he remains faithful to his mission and makes a final attempt to persuade. Further protest is useless, he says, for the gods possess various wish-fulfilling agencies which will at once bring her within their grasp. How can she hope to marry Nala, if the gods are angry? How can even the marriage rites, for instance, take place without the sacred fire, if the fire god burns with anger, but not in flames? What mortal can obtain even the thing that is in his hands, if the gods mean to frustrate him? (73-83)

Hearing these words, Damayantī begins to feel convinced that she has lost Nala for ever, and pours forth her grief in melancholy strains of the deepest despair. She is anxious that the news of her death should reach Nala and bring home to him her undying love for him. She asks the South Wind to scatter her ashes, after she is dead, northward in the direction of Nala’s capital. Her reason rocks; she weeps and bemoans her fate.

Damayantī’s tears stir the inmost depths of Nala’s heart. He forgets his mission and discloses his identity in an impassioned address, the frenzy of which is in marked contrast to his cool-headed advocacy of the claims of the gods. Why does she weep? He asks. Does she not see Nala standing before her? Soon, however, he realises that he has proved false to his mission and brought on himself irreparable disgrace. But he is conscious of the sincerity and innocence of his motives and the power of Destiny; so he prepares to face the gods with courage, in defiance of whatever aspersions may be spread by the glib tongue of report. (101-126)

Now the golden swan appears suddenly, and advises Nala not to afflict Damayantī any more, nor stand in any more awe of the gods, since he has exerted himself so sincerely in their cause. Nala asks Damayantī to think well before she makes her choice lest she should afterwards repent. He says so quite, indifferently, and not for fear of the gods. He will repay her love even by sacrificing his life, if it is for her good. (127-135)

A great change comes over Damayantī. The straightforward maiden who adduced learned arguments about the respective merits of heaven and earth while replying to Inḍra’s messenger, and bandied retorts with Nala himself, observes incorrigible silence when his identity is revealed to her. A girl companion intervenes, and reproduces what Damayantī once addressed to Nala, while looking at his portrait and drenching it with her tears. (143-155)

Damayantī then gives a hint, unperceived by others, that Nala should come to her Svayaṃvara along with the gods. Nala consents and returns forthwith to the gods to give them a true report on the failure of his mission.

CANTO X

This Canto describes Damayantī’s Svayaṃvara. Princes of diverse lands are on their way to the festal gathering, and huge multitudes betake themselves to the city Kuṇḍina, some to seek the hand of the princess, some to carry her away by force, others to wait upon the rest and yet others merely to look at the spectacle (3). The poet explains why certain among the gods did not attend the Svayaṃvara: Brahmā was too old to entertain the idea of marriage and Kubera too ugly for that purpose (13, 16). The four gods Indra, Agni, Yama and Varuṇa, whose proposals had been rejected by Damayantī, come to the Svayaṃvara, each assuming the form of Nala. To acquire the similitude of Nala’s beauty was no easy task. They made and remade the moon and the lotus their face, and looking at it in a mirror, broke it up anew; it was not beautiful enough (20).

The royal guests are received with lavish hospitality. Coming as they do from different regions, they do not understand one another’s dialect and so speak Sanskrit, the common language. The next day the Svayaṃvara opens, and the suitors arrive and occupy their seats. Nala comes, too, and eclipses the others by his radiance, as the moon does the stars. (27-39)

There are now five Nalas, the true one and the four gods disguised as Nala. The kings who are jealous of Nala’s beauty console themselves by saying that after all there are several others like him. The beauty of the bogus Nalas attracts even the real Nala who, not suspecting the fraud, asks them if they are Cupid, Purūravas and the two Aśvins, all models of beauty. The impostors calmly reply that they are none of these. (40-45)

The Svayaṃvara begins in brilliant sunshine. Vālmīki praises it and Śukrācārya describes it in detail. But king Bhīma, Damayantī’s father, is at a loss how to describe the numerous kings to his daughter. Viṣṇu who is present on the scene relieves the embarrassment of the king by asking Sarasvatī to introduce the princes to Damayantī in orations worthy of the distinguished assembly.

A laboured description of Sarasvatī follows, in which the various limbs of the goddess are described as representing different branches of learning (73-87). Damayantī is then summoned to the assembly, and the poet here describes her beauty and adornment in elaborate verses (91-107).

The splendour of the princess creates a sensation among the suitors, who with faltering tongue express their admiration in playful if hyperbolical verses, designed to convey the confusion of their mind (111-131). They are at a loss to find out who created Damayantī: was it the age-worn Brahmā or the Moon, or the Spring, or the god of love? Indra who sits close to Nala opens his mouth to describe her with a few well-chosen epithets, which at the same time represent the names of nymphs, Indra’s mistresses in heaven. Nala looks at him warily, but the crafty dissembler explains away the names in a sense suited to mortals. The Canto ends with the joyous shouts of the people:

“There goeth she, the maiden beautiful in her adornment. There goeth the Urvaśī of the earth, stepping forth to the altar.”

CANTO XI

Sarasvatī expounds the merits of the suitors with unsurpassed eloquence and commends them to the favour of Damayantī, who rejects them one after another. After disposing of the gods, the goddess addresses the mortal princes and asks them to behold the daughter of Bhīma: if they look and look, they will not be satiated with gazing even in millions of years (24).

Sarasvatī praises severally the lords of the seven islands (Puṣkara, Kuśa, Plakṣa, Śāka, Krauñca, Śālmala and Jambū), and Damayantī in her turn rejects them with undisguised apathy, despite the sonorous verses in which their merits are extolled. The goddess often refers to attractive features of the regions under the sway of one or other of the kings. In the Puṣkara island, the great Banyan tree with its ripe fruits and evergreen leaves looks like a mighty sunshade of peacock feathers (30). The Jambū river flowing near the edge of the Jambū island has the juice of rose berries for its waters and gold for the ooze of its bed (86). In the Kuśa island, the mighty clumps of Kuśa grass are watered by the rain clouds pierced by their swordlike blades undulating in the wind (59). Sometimes the goddess enumerates the joys accessible to Damayantī in these lands. In the Ocean of Wine, encircling the Śālmala island, she will indulge in drinking bouts with her beloved and her maiden companions (68). In the Śāka island, while she walks on the crest of the Mount of Sunrise, her beauteous face will give to the delighted inhabitants the idea of the rising moon (14). In the Plakṣa island, she will desire to sport in the swings suspended from the branches of the great fig tree of the place (74).

The kings of Avantī, Gauḍa, Mathurā and Benares are next described. If Damayantī marries the king of Avantī, the river Śiprā while she indulges in sports in its waters will be her friend, embracing her with its wavy hands (89). The dark-complexioned king of Gauḍa embraced by her, will look like a fresh rain-cloud coming in contact with the crest of the golden Mount of Sumeru (98). With the king of Mathura for her husband, she might enjoy pleasure walks amid the balmy flowers of Vṛndāvana (107). Sarasvatī recounts the virtues of the king of Benares, and glorifies the sanctity of the holy city, which grants remission of sins and ensures both worldly pleasure and religious piety.

The declamations of the goddess fall on deaf ears and leave Damayantī cold and indifferent. Their merits fail to attract her, and she is led from one prince to another, disappointing all of them. She rejects the lord of the Puṣkara island, because ‘the soft name Nala is not his’, and the lord of the Śāka island, because the divine Indra never came as a suppliant to him as he did to Nala. (32, 46)

CANTO XII

The theme of the preceding Canto is continued. Sarasvatī recites the praise of the kings of Ayodhyā, Pāṇḍya land, Kaliṅga, Kāñcī, Nepāla, Malaya country, Mithilā, Kāmarūpa, Utkala and Magadha. The goddess describes each king with undiminished eloquence, and conjures up a picture of pomp and grandeur, which, however, fails to strike the imagination of the princess, who is as indifferent as ever. Sometimes, as when the king of Utkala is described, she silently utters Nala’s name with the picture of her beloved growing clearer and clearer before her mind’s eye (86). Sometimes she is bored by the description of a king, and gives an explicit hint to Sarasvatī not to continue her eulogy of him (31).

CANTO XIII

Damayantī has by now rejected all the notable princes, and she is therefore led before the five Nalas, that is, the real Nala and the four gods assuming his form. Sarasvatī is afraid to displease the gods by explicitly referring to the peculiar characteristics of each, and so reveal their identity, which they are anxious to conceal. At the same time, she loves Damayantī too well not to be just to her, in the face of the insidious fraud of the gods, each of whom earnestly hopes that she will mistake him for Nala, and choose him as her husband. Sarasvatī, therefore, describes the four gods in turn in verses which have a double meaning. One interpretation of her language refers to the god, the other to Nala. Damayantī is cautious, and does not mistake any one of them for Nala. (1-26)

The goddess then describes Nala himself. But to avoid being accused of singling out the real Nala from among the dissemblers, she declaims again in ambiguous language. And in the closing verse, in language capable of five interpretations, one for each of the dissembling gods, the fifth for Nala (27-34). This serves only to perplex the poor girl, who is dazed and bewildered with doubt and hesitation. How will she find out the truth in the presence of these five who confuse her mind? Is it not owing to her own miserable fate that wrong has usurped the place of right? She might, indeed, ask the kindly goddess to indicate the genuine Nala, but that will expose her to the hostility of the offended gods, and she will never sacrifice such a jewel of a friend for her own selfish gain. Or, she might ask the true Nala to disclose his identity, but how can she do that, discarding shame, while the whole assembly hears her words?

CANTO XIV

Bewildered with confusion, Damayantī worships the gods in the open assembly with flowers and hymns, which softens their hearts. They now exhibit certain characteristics peculiar to gods, which automatically distinguish them from Nala. (18-24)

Damayantī furtively glances at Nala and back again at Saras-vatī, and feels a new bewilderment of bashfulness and emotion. Playfully teasing her for a while, Sarasvatī leads her to the presence of the gods and implores their mercy, explaining why Damayantī is unable to choose any of them (33-45). The gods nod assent, and Nala is formally chosen, for the princess places round his neck a wreath of Madhūka flowers, interwoven with blades of Dūrvā grass (48).

The four gods now assume each his own form, and the hitherto invisible companions of Indra and Yama come into view (60-68). Sarasvatī in her turn reveals her divine stature, and the gods join in conferring various boons on Nala (69-85). Sarasvatī bestows on him boons suited to her character as the goddess of learning and poetry (88-92).

The gods and the goddess then address Damayantī. Nothing is unattainable to her, chaste as she is; yet they vouchsafe to her the inviolable character of her wedding vow. May knowledge grow in her mind and issue in wisdom (93-94)!

The divine visitors then take their departure for heaven, while the disappointed suitors are consoled by the fact that Damayantī’s father, in response to her entreaties, gives them for wives certain of the maiden companions of the princess, who had learnt from her all her accomplishments, and practised them. This happy ending delights all, and the Canto closes on a note of joy.

CANTO XV

Preparations are made for the formal marriage of Nala and Damayantī, and the festivities connected with it. Walls are painted and houses decorated; the streets are overhung with perfumed wreaths of artificial flowers, while the bejewelled pavements radiate their gleam (12-15). Music bursts forth from all kinds of instruments playing in harmony; and the resonance of the music, together with the swelling noise of the crowd, is heard on the billows of oceans far away (16-18).

But the chief aim of the Canto is to describe the adornment of Damayantī and Nala on the eve of their marriage. A turgid description follows, with details of toilette and ornaments (26-71). The work of embellishment is entrusted to efficient girl companions who bestow their care on Damayantī, while experienced servitors minister to Nala. Damayantī’s natural beauty outshines the jewels and the gold of her ornaments which at moments seem to be useless; while at times it is not clear whether the ornaments shine by her or she by them (48, 27). The description of Nala’s adornment is even more laborious and artificial than that of Damayantī.

Nala now sets out from the palace, assigned to him in the city of Kuṇḍina, to the residence of his bride, where the marriage ceremony is to take place. As he goes in his chariot through the streets, followed by the bridal procession, the women of the city rush out to have a look at him, and there are amusing instances of their distraction and precipitate haste (73-81). Their eyes are fixed in a continuous gaze. One of them does not notice even her pearlstring, torn and slipping off her body, while another puts her toy lotus into her mouth instead of the favoured betel.

Some of the women indulge in magnificent soliloquies in praise of Nala’s splendour and Damayantī’s love for him (82-91). ‘She hath chosen him, spurning Indra, the lord of all the gods; the generation of love by Cupid in the hearts of men since the beginning of the world, hath reached its culmination in the union of Damayantī and Nala.’ A prosaic Canto thus ends in a poetic vein.

CANTO XVI

This Canto opens with a description of the marriage procession, after which important items of the marriage rites are mentioned, including details of the ceremonial presents given to Nala by his father-in-law. A more agreeable note is struck with the description of the feast, at which the guests accompanying the bridegroom are entertained. The flirtation of the guests with the beautiful waitresses is narrated in detail (48-110).

After a stay of five or six days in the house of his father-in-law, Nala returns with his bride to his own capital, where the daughters of the citizens receive him in jubilation, showering on him grains of parched rice in token of welcome.

CANTO XVII

The events described in this Canto are but remotely connected with the story of Nala. The four gods, while returning from Damayantī’s Svayaṃvara to heaven, meet on their way a dark, advancing multitude, amid which they discover Lust, Wrath, Greed and Delusion who are graphically described (13-34). The surging crowd has a spokesman, who voices forth exceedingly heretical and materialistic doctrines, and makes a pungent attack on the orthodox system of religion (36-83),

The four gods now appear in the role of protagonists of the traditional faith. Indra, Varuṇa, Yama and Agni, each in his turn, wax eloquent in praise of the orthodox religion and defend it by appealing to the Scriptures and traditional custom and belief (84-106). The audacious critic of the established order turns out to be a panegyrist of Kali, the spirit of sin, who is discovered in a chariot in the company of Dvāpara, the spirit of fraud and deception. Kali astonishes the gods with the false grandeur that is the livery of evil.

Kali steps forward disdainfully and announces his intention of repairing to Damayantī’s Svayaṃvara to seek her hand. The gods, smiling to each other, inform him that Damayantī has chosen a mortal, ignoring the assembled gods and demigods. The news throws Kali into a paroxysm of rage. He reproaches the gods for humbly submitting to their humiliation and swears to wreak vengeance on Damayantī by compassing the ruin of Nala. The gods try to dissuade Kali from embarking on his unholy project, and this leads to an altercation in the form of an exchange of repartee between Kali anḍ the others (153-157).

Accompanied by Dvāpara, Kali then sets out for the land of Niṣadha anḍ soon reaches Nala’s capital, which is a sanctuary of piety anḍ religion. Kali is swept off his balance, and filled with despair, at the sight of the rites and observances pertaining to the orthodox religion, which follow their undisturbed course in the city (163-204). The spirit of sin wanders for years, looking for an opportunity to secure an advantage over Nala, but hears no evil report about him, not even in the gossip of the streets. He takes shelter in Nala’s pleasure garden in a Bibhītaka tree. Meanwhile Cupid draws his bow to wait upon Damayantī and Nala.

CANTO XVIII

This Canto opens with a description of Nala’s palace (3-28), but its chief object is to describe the joys of Nala and Damayantī on the first night of their marriage. The description, however, fluctuates, and wanders from one day to another. It is coarse and outspoken in places, but has the saving grace of a diction which is impassioned and poetic.

CANTO XIX

The subject of this Canto is the description of the morning. Bards come to the palace door and sing the glories of the rising sun with a view to awakening Nala and Damayantī whom they think to be still asleep. The queen is pleased with their description, and rewards them for their musical strains. Meanwhile, Nala returns from his ablutions in the celestial Gaṅgā, whither he was taken by his magic chariot before the arrival of the minstrels.

CANTO XX

Nala spends the forenoon in jesting and teasing Damayantī, taking into his confidence a girl companion of his consort, named Kalā. Playful and witty remarks are freely exchanged between the king and the girl, and the former does not hesitate to indulge in frivolities. In 74-96 Nala addresses Damayantī, recalling various experiences of their conjugal love. At length a lady minstrel enters, and announces in dignified strains the hour of noon, and the time for the ceremony of the bath (158-60).

CANTO XXI

Nala takes his bath after the reception of feudal princes, and participation in military exercises. The midday bathing rites are described in detail (9-20). Then follows a long account of the worship of Viṣṇu by Nala. The chamber of worship with its heaps of flowers is described in some extravagant lines (22-31), which is followed by particulars about the ritual (32-50). Nala addresses a long hymn to Viṣṇu, whose various incarnations are invoked (53-118).

After the midday meal, Nala is joined by Damayantī who is followed by her companions, one of whom carries a cuckoo perched on a crystal rod. The girls sing the praises of Nala and Damayantī to the accompaniment of lyres, after which a tame parrot reproduces the verses recited by the maidens, in a manner which meets with the approval of the cuckoo (131-43).

Evening approaches and the girls leave the place on various pretexts. Damayantī then briefly describes the sights and sounds of the evening, and Nala follows with an eloquent tribute to her radiant beauty and the musical notes of her voice (151-61). He then takes leave of her to go down to the river for the evening rites.

CANTO XXII

Nala returns to Damayantī after the evening ablutions, and both indulge in a playful description of the moon in the form of a dialogue. Darkness and moonshine are adequately described, and justice is done to the moon’s glory. The poem comes to an end without recounting the tragedy of Nala’s subsequent career.

Footnotes and references:

[1]:

eṣa dharmo yadi svārtho mamāpi bhavitā tataḥ |
evaṃ svārtha kariṣyāmi tathā bhadr[?] vidhīyatām ||

[2]:

See Synopsis of Canto IX.