Appendix 4.2 - Nala and Damayantī

On page 236 we saw that in order to console the unhappy Queen Bandhumatī, and hearten her in her search for her husband, the Brāhman Sumanas related the story of Nala and Damayantī. This tale, beautiful in its simplicity, its tender pathos and in its high tone of morality, is taken from the Mahābhārata (I, liii et seq.).

There is, however, ample evidence in the tale itself to show that it dates back long before the Epic period, and can be assigned, with but little doubt, to Vedic days.

As told by Somadeva it still retains its simple form, but has been abbreviated in many places. Some of these omitted portions are of considerable interest and beauty, and their absence is a distinct loss. I shall therefore give several passages later in this appendix.

We will first consider the story as it appears in the Mahābhārata. It is called the Nalopākhyāna, or “Episode of Nala,” and occupies sections 53-79 of the Vana Parva— i.e. “Forest” Book. Yudhiṣṭhira has gambled away his kingdom, wife, and all his possessions. A further loss forces him to become an exile for twelve years, together with his wife and brothers. It is during this exile in the forest (vana) that the story of Nala is told.

There are several points to be noticed in assigning it to a much earlier period than that of the work in which it appears. It forms no part of the main plot of the Mahābhārata and is inserted in exactly the same way as the Ṛg-Veda stories (e.g. Urvaśī and Purūravas) are introduced by Somadeva. The language and textual forms agree much more with those employed in the Vedas than in the Epics. But perhaps the most important point is that all the gods mentioned are Vedic — Indra. Agni, Varuṇa and Yama. There is no mention of Śiva or Viṣṇu. In most cases these post-Vedic deities would have been substituted for the old ones, or else would have been added in addition. But in the case of such a popular story as Nala the transforming hand of the editor has been withheld.

Somadeva, however, being a poet at a court where Śaiva Hinduism was at its height, felt constrained to introduce the chief deity of his work, and so the love of Nala and Damayantī is said to be “greater than that of Śiva and Pārvatī” (see p. 241).

The following brief outline of the story as originally told in the Mahābhārata will show where Somadeva has made his alterations. The beginning is similar to our version, except that the swan appears to Nala first and not to Damayantī. It is Bhīma himself who determines to celebrate his daughter’s svayaṃvara. The gods who procure Nala’s aid are only four—Indra, Agni, Varuna and Yama— and Nala is merely told to announce their arrival and the fact that they are attending the svayaṃvara. Nala’s interview with Damayantī is of considerable length. At the ceremony Damayantī sees only five Nalas, not six.

The couple live twelve years in perfect happiness, until Kali has a chance of entering Nala’s body. He does it, however, not when Nala is in a state of drunkenness, but when at last he has noticed some trifling neglect in a portion of his daily ablutions.

When inviting his brother to play, Puṣkara says: “Dīvyāva vṛṣeṇa” (“Let us play with the vṛṣa”)— i.e. with the principal dice known as the “bull.” Somadeva has misunderstood the sense of vṛṣa and makes the brothers play for a bull as a stake (see p. 242).

On being driven with his hapless wife into the forest Nala sees some “birds around him settling with their golden-tinctured wings” and vainly tries to catch them with his only garment.

When the birds (not necessarily, or even likely, swans) are flying away with it they say:

“Lo, we are the dice, to spoil thee thus descended, foolish king! While thou hadst a single garment all our joy was incomplete.”

Broken-hearted, Nala returns to Damayantī, and it is because of his complete nakedness that he cuts off half of his wife’s garment before deserting her while she is asleep.

Vivid descriptions of the tropical forest are given, and the distracted appeals to animals and vegetation resemble those we read of as employed by Purūravas in his search for Urvaśī (see Vol. II, pp. 258, 259). Damayantī’s adventures are many and varied. In her imagination she comes to a hermitage where her speedy reunion with Nala is foretold. Later on she joins a band of merchants, but, owing to her inherent bad luck, they are nearly all killed by a sudden attack of infuriated wild elephants.

In the meantime Nala, transformed into a dwarf, has reached the Court of King Ṛtuparṇa, and takes service as cook under the name of Bāhuka.

It is at this point that King Bhīma sends out trustworthy men in all directions to look for his daughter. The minister’s name is Sudeva.

The accounts of how Damayantī is recognised by her auspicious mole, the prowess of the mysterious dwarf charioteer, the methods employed to discover Nala, and their final reunion are all told in greater detail than in the version of Somadeva.

Before giving extracts from the more important of the omitted portions I would enumerate the other occurrences of the story of Nala in Sanskrit literature.

There are two celebrated poems dealing with Nala’s adventures. The first is called Nalodaya, the authorship of which is uncertain. For a long time it was considered to be the work of Kālidāsa, but recent research shows the author to have been the Kēraja poet called Vāsudeva, who lived in the first half of the ninth century a.d. (A. S. Rama-natha Ayyar, “The Authorship of the Nalodaya,” Journ. Roy. As. Soc., April 1925, pp. 263-275). The second is the Naiṣadha, by Śriharsha. The Nalodaya, or “Rise of Nala,” deals in four cantos with Nala’s restoration to power after his reunion with Damayantī. From our point of view it is of no value, being merely compiled to exhibit the author’s amazing use of varied and artificial metres, endless puns and tricks of style and rhyming. Śriharsha’s Naiṣadha is also a “trick” production. Although punning is common, its chief characteristic is the consistent use of metaphors and long compound words, some running into two or three lines of ordinary printing. He has turned the simple style of the original into twenty-two cantos of the most elaborate Kāvya (artificial poetry) style. The date of Śriharsha’s work is about the latter ḥalf of the twelfth century.

Nala is also the subject of what Monier Williams describes as a very curious composition, half prose, half verse, called Nala-champū, by an author named Trivikrama. Finally there is the Tamil Nala-Rāja and a Telugu poem by Rāghava, written about A.D. 1650. They are both independent compositions and not translations from the Sanskrit.

I now proceed to the extracts from the Mahābhārata. The translation followed is that by H. H. Milman in Monier Williams’ edition of 1860.

Nala is torn between the power of Kali within him and his own nature. Finally Kali is successful and Damayantī deserted:

Long within his heart he pondered, and again, again weighed o’er.

Best he thought it Damayantī to desert, that wretched king.
From her virtue none dare harm her in the lonely forest way,
Her the fortunate, the noble, my devoted wedded wife.
Thus his mind on Damayantī 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 Damayantī 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 Bhīma’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,
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.

At first Damayantī cannot believe she has been deserted. Perhaps Nala is playing a joke:

“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 bushes why conceal thee? Answer me. Why speak’st thou not?
O ungentle prince of monarchs! to this piteous plight reduced,
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.”

As Damayantī wanders on she penetrates deeper and deeper into the forest, which is thus graphically described:

Full of lions, pards, and tigers, stags, and buffaloes, and bears,
Where all kinds of birds were flocking, and wild men and robbers dwelt.
Thick with Śāls, bamboos, Aśwatthas, Dhavas, and the Ebon dark,
Oily Inguds, Kinśuks, Arjuns, Nīm trees, Syandans, Śāl-malas;
Full with Rose-apples and Mangoes, Lodh trees, Catechus and Canes,
Blushing Lotuses, Kadambas, and the tree with massy leaves;
Close o’erspread with Jujubes, Bel trees, tangled with the holy Fig,
Palms, Priyālas, Dates, Harītas, trees of every form and name.
Pregnant with rich mines of metal many a mountain it enclosed,
Many a shady resonant arbour, many a deep and wondrous glen;
Many a lake, and pool, and river, birds and beasts of every shape.
She, in forms terrific round her, serpents, elves, and giants saw:
Pools, and tanks of lucid water, and the shaggy tops of hills,
Flowing streams and headlong torrents saw, and wondered at the sight.
And the Princess of Vidarbha gazed where, in their countless herds,
Buffaloes and boars were feeding, bears, and serpents of the wood.
Safe in virtue, bright in beauty, glorious, and of high resolve,
Now alone, Vidarbha’s daughter, wandering, her lost Nala sought.

After many adventures she falls in with a party of merchants, but during the night they are attacked by wild elephants:

When the midnight came, all noiseless came in silence deep and still,
Weary slept the band of merchants, lo, a herd of elephants,
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 brutes,
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 rushed to where the travellers slumbered by the lotus-lake.
Trampled down and vainly struggling, helpless on the earth they lay.
“Woe, oh, woe!” shrieked out the merchants, wildly some began to fly,
In the forest’s 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,
“’Tis a fire amid the encampment, save ye, fly ye, for your lives.
Lo, your precious pearls ye scatter, 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,
Damayantī 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.

When finally Damayantī is recognised by Sudeva he describes her wasted frame:

Like the full moon, darkly beauteous, with her fair and swelling breasts,
Her, the queen, that with her brightness makes each clime devoid of gloom,
With her lotus-eyes expanding, like Manmatha’s queen divine;
Like the moonlight in its fullness, the desire of all the world.
From Vidarbha’s pleasant waters her by cruel fate plucked up,
Like a lotus-flower uprooted, with the mire and dirt around:
Like the pallid night, when Rāhu swallows up the darkened moon:
For her husband wan with sorrow, like a gentle stream dried up;
Like a pool, where droops the lotus, whence the affrighted birds have fled,
By the elephant’s proboscis, in its quiet depths disturbed.
Tender, soft-limbed, in a palace fit, of precious stones, to dwell.
Like the lotus-stem, uprooted, parched and withered by the sun.
Fair as generous, of adornment worthy, yet all unadorned,
Like the young moon’s slender crescent in the heavens by dark clouds veiled.

The rolling of Ṛtuparṇa’s chariot, driven by Nala, is heard approaching the city:

With the evening in Vidarbha, men at watch, as they drew near,
Mighty Ṛtuparṇa’s coming to King Bhīma did proclaim.
Then that king, by Bhīma’s mandate, entered in Kuṇḍina’s walls,
All the region round him echoing with the thunders of his car.
But the echoing of that chariot when King Nala’s horses heard,
In their joy they neighed and trampled, even as Nala’s self were there.
Damayantī too the rushing of King Nala’s chariot heard,
As a cloud that hoarsely thunders at the coming of the rains.
All her heart was thrilled with wonder at that old familiar sound.
On they seemed to come, as Nala drove of yore his trampling steeds:
Like it seemed to Bhīma’s daughter, and e’en so to Nala’s steeds.
On the palace-roofs the peacocks, th’elephants within their stalls,
And the horses heard the rolling of the mighty monarch’s car.
Elephants and peacocks hearing the fleet chariot rattling on,
Up they raised their necks and clamoured, as at sound of coming rain.

Damayantī spake:

“How the rolling of yon chariot, filling, as it seems, the earth,
Thrills my soul with unknown transport! It is Nala. king of men.
If this day I see not Nala with his glowing moon-like face,
Him, the king with countless virtues, I shall perish without doubt.
If this day within th’embraces of that hero’s clasping arms
I the gentle pressure feel not, without doubt I shall not live.
If’tis not, like cloud of thunder, he that comes, Niṣadha’s king,
I this day the fire will enter, burning like the hue of gold.
In his might like the strong lion, like the raging elephant,
Comes he not, the prince of princes, I shall perish without doubt.
Not a falsehood I remember, I remember no offence;
Not an idle word remember, in his noble converse free.
Lofty, patient, like a hero, liberal beyond all kings,
Nought ignoble, as the base-born, even in private, may he do.
As I think upon his virtues, as I think by day, by night,
All this heart is rent with anguish, widowed of its own beloved.”
Thus lamenting, she ascended, as with frenzied mind possessed,
To the palace roof’s high terrace to behold the king of men.
In the middle court high seated in the car, the lord of earth,
Ṛtuparṇa with Vārṣṇeya and with Vāhuka she saw.
When Vārṣṇeya from that chariot, and when Vāhuka came down,
He let loose those noble coursers, and he stopped the glowing car.
From that chariot seat descended Ṛtuparṇa, king of men,
To the noble monarch Bhīma he drew near, for strength renowned.
Him received with highest honour Bhīma, for without due cause
Deemed not he the Rāja’s visit, nor divined his daughter’s plot.
“Wherefore com’st thou? hail and welcome!” thus that gracious king inquires;
For his daughter’s sake he knew not that the lord of men had come.
But the Rāja Ṛtuparṇa, great in wisdom as in might,
When nor king within the palace, nor king’s son he could behold,
Nor of svayaṃvara heard he, nor assembled Brāhmans saw,
Thus within his mind deep pondering spoke of Kośala the lord:
“Hither, O majestic Bhīma, to salute thee am I come.”
But King Bhīma smiled in secret, as he thought within his mind:
“What the object of this journey of a hundred yojanas?
Passing through so many cities for this cause he set not forth;
For this cause of little moment to our court he hath not come,
’Tis not so;—perchance hereafter I may know his journey’s aim.”
After royal entertainment then the king his guest dismissed:
“Take then thy repose,” thus said he, “weary of thy journey, rest.”
Ushered by royal servants, he to th’appointed chamber went:
There retired King Ṛtuparṇa, with Vārṣṇeya in his suite.
Vāhuka, meantime, the chariot to the chariot-house had led,
There the coursers he unharnessed, skilfully he dressed them there,
And with gentle words caressed them, on the chariot-seat sate down.
But the woeful Damayantī, when Bhāṅgāsuri she’d seen,
And the charioteer Vārṣṇeya, and the seeming Vāhuka,
Thought within Vidarbha’s princess: “Whose was that fleet chariot’s sound?
Such it seems as noble Nala’s, yet no Nala do I see.
Hath the charioteer Vārṣṇeya Nala’s noble science learned?
Therefore did the thundering chariot sound as driven by Nala’s self?
Or may royal Ṛtuparṇa like the skilful Nala drive?
Therefore did the rolling chariot seem as of Niṣadha’s king?”
Thus when Damayantī pondered in the silence of her soul,
She, the beauteous, sent her handmaid to that king her messenger.

Accordingly she sends her maid, Keśinī, to find out who the mysterious deformed charioteer really is. After a few preliminary questions she broaches the subject of Nala:

“Knows the charioteer Vārṣṇeya whither royal Nala went? Of his fortune hath he told thee? Vāhuka, what hath he said?”

Vāhuka spake:

“He of the unhappy Nala safe the children borne away,
Wheresoe’er he would departed, of King Nala knows he nought:
Nothing of Niṣadha’s Rāja, fair one! living man doth know.
Through the world, concealed he wanders, having lost his proper form.
Only Nala’s self of Nala knows, and his own inward soul,
Of himself to living mortal Nala will no sign betray.”

Keśinī spake:

“He that to Ayodhyā’s city went, the holy Brāhman first,
Of his faithful wife these sayings uttered once and once again:
‘Whither went’st thou then, O gamester, half my garment severing off;
Leaving in the forest sleeping, all forsaken, thy belov’d?
Even as thou commanded’st, sits she, sadly waiting thy return,
Day and night, consumed with sorrow, in her scant halfgarment clad.
Oh! to her for ever weeping, in the extreme of her distress,
Grant thy pity, noble hero, answer to her earnest prayer.’
Speak again the words thou uttered’st, words of comfort to her soul,
The renowned Vidarbha’s princess fain that speech would hear again,
When the Brāhman thus had spoken, what thou answered’st back to him,
That again Vidarbha’s princess in the self-same words would hear.”

His heart wrung with sorrow and emotion, Nala is unable to restrain his tears. Keśinī returns to her mistress to make her report. Damayantī is now more than ever certain that the charioteer is indeed Nala. However, she bids Keśinī go again and watch his every action. On returning she relates the amazing things she has seen:

“Very holy is he, never mortal man in all my life
Have I seen, or have I heard of, Damayantī, like to him.
He drew near the lowly entrance, bowed not down his stately head;
On the instant, as it saw him, up th’expanding portal rose.
For the use of Ṛtuparṇa much and various viands came;
Sent, as meet, by royal Bhīma, and abundant animal food.
These to cleanse, with meet ablution, were capacious vessels set;
As he looked on them, the vessels stood, upon the instant, full.
Then, the meet ablutions over, Vāhuka went forth and took
Of the withered grass a handful, held it upward to the sun:
On the instant, brightly blazing, shone the all-consuming fire.
Much I marvelled at the wonder, and amazed am hither come;
Lo, a second greater marvel sudden burst upon my sight!
He that blazing fire stood handling, yet unharmed, unburned remained.
At his will flows forth the water, and as quickly sinks again.
And another greater wonder, lady, did I there behold:
He the flowers which he had taken gently moulded in his hands,
In his hands the flowers, so moulded, as with freshening life endued,
Blossomed out with richer fragrance, stood erect upon their stems:
All these marvels having noted, swiftly came I back to thee.”
Damayantī, when these wonders of the king of men she heard,
Thought yet more King Nala present, by his acts and mien revealed.
She her royal lord suspecting in the form of Vāhuka,
With a gentle voice and weeping spake to Keśinī again:
“Go again, and whilst he heeds not, meat by Vāhuka prepared
From the kitchen softly taking, hither, Keśinī, return.”
She to Vāhuka approaching, unperceived stole soft away
Of the well-cooked meat a morsel; warm she bore it in her haste,
And to Damayantī gave it Keśinī without delay.
Of the food prepared by Nala oft the flavour had she tried;
Tasting it she shrieked in anguish: “Nala is yon charioteer.”
Stirred by vehement emotion, of her mouth ablution made:
She her pair of infant children sent with Keśinī to him.
Soon as he young Indrasenā with her little brother saw,
Up he sprang, his arms wound round them, to his bosom folding both;
When he gazed upon the children, like the children of the gods,
All his heart o’erflowed with pity, and aloud his tears broke forth.
Yet Niṣadha’s lord perceiving she his strong emotion marked,
From his hold released the children, and to Keśinī spake thus:
“Oh! so like mine own twin children was yon lovely infant pair.
Seeing them thus unexpected have I broken out in tears.
If so oft thou comest hither men some evil will suspect.
We within this land are strangers; beauteous maiden, part in peace.”

Damayantī now decides on personal action and manages to have Bāhuka summoned to the palace, where she obtains from him a confession that he is Nala. She then, by an “Act of Truth,” calls on heaven to be witness to her pure life since her desertion by Nala.

Thus adjured, a solemn witness, spake the wind from out the air;
“She hath done or thought no evil, Nala,’tis the truth we speak:
King, the treasure of her virtue in its fullness hath she kept,
Her we have watched and guarded ever closely for three livelong years.
This unrivalled scheme she plotted only for thy absent sake;
In one day a hundred yojans who beside thyself may drive?
Thou hast met with Bhīma’s daughter, Bhīma’s daughter meets with thee,
Cast away all jealous scruple, to thy bosom take thy wife.”
Even as thus the wind was speaking, flowers fell showering all around:
And the gods’ sweet music sounded on the zephyr floating light.
As on this surpassing wonder royal Nala stood and gazed,
Of the blameless Damayantī melted all his jealous doubts.
Then by dust all undefiled he the heavenly vest put on,
Thought upon the King of Serpents, and his proper form resumed.
In his own proud form her husband Bhīma’s royal daughter saw,
Loud she shrieked, the undespised, and embraced the king of men.
Bhīma’s daughter, too, King Nala, shining glorious as of old,
Clasped unto his heart, and fondled gently that sweet infant pair.
Then her face upon his bosom, as the lovely princess laid,
In her calm and gentle sorrow, softly sighed the long-eyed queen:
He, that form still mire-defiled, as he clasped with smile serene,
Long the king of men stood silent, in the ecstasy of woe.
All the tale of Damayantī, and of Nala all the tale,
To King Bhīma, in her transport, told Vidarbha’s mother-queen.
Then replied that mighty monarch: “Nala, his ablutions done,
Thus rejoined to Damayantī I to-morrow will behold.”
They the night in joy together passed, relating, each to each,
All their wanderings in the forest, and each wild adventure strange.
In King Bhīma’s royal palace, studying each the other’s bliss,
With glad hearts, Vidarbha’s princess and the kingly Nala dwelt.
In his fourth year of divorcement, reunited to his wife,
Richly fraught with every blessing, at the height of joy he stood.
Damayantī too rewedded, still increasing in her bliss,
Like as the glad earth to water opens its half-budding fruits,
She of weariness unconscious, soothed each grief, and full each joy,
Every wish fulfilled, shone brightly, as the night when high the moon.

The rejoicing extends throughout the city, and all necessary explanations are duly made. Nala now thinks of revenge and hurries back to Niṣāda:

There a month when he had sojourned, of King Bhīma taking leave,
Guarded he by few attendants to Niṣadha took his way.
With a single splendid chariot, and with elephants sixteen,
And with fifty armed horsemen, and six hundred men on foot;
Making, as’twere, earth to tremble, hastening onward, did the king
Enter awful in his anger, and terrific in his speed.
Then the son of Vīrasena to King Puṣkara drew near;
“Play we once again,” then said he, “much the wealth I have acquired:
All I have, even Damayantī, every treasure I possess,
Set I now upon the hazard, Puṣkara, thy kingdom thou:
In the game once more contend we,’tis my settled purpose this,
Brother, at a single hazard, play we boldly for our lives.
From another he who treasures, he who mighty realm hath won,
’Tis esteemed a bounden duty to play back the counter game.
If thou shrinkest from the hazard, be our game the strife of arms,
Meet we in the single combat all our difference to decide.
An hereditary kingdom may by any means be sought,
Be rewon by any venture, this the maxim of the seers.
Of two courses set before thee, Puṣkara, the option make,
Or in play to stand the hazard, or in combat stretch the bow.”
By Niṣadha’s lord thus challenged, Puṣkara, with smile suppressed,
As secure of easy victory, answered to the lord of earth:
“Oh what joy! abundant treasures thou hast won, again to play;
Oh what joy! of Damayantī, now the hard-won prize is mine:
Oh what joy! again thou livest with thy consort, mighty-armed!
With the wealth I win bedecked soon shall Bhīma’s daughter stand
By my side, as by great Indra stands the Apsarā in heaven.
Still on thee hath dwelt my memory, still I’ve waited, King, for thee;
In the play I find no rapture but’gainst kinsman like thyself.
When this day the round-limbed Princess Damayantī, undespised,
I shall win, I rest contented, still within mine heart she dwells.”
Hearing his contemptuous language franticly thus pouring forth,
With his sword th’indignant Nala fain had severed off his head.
But with haughty smile, with anger glaring in his blood-red eyes,
“Play we now, not talk thus idly; conquered, thou’It no longer talk.”
Then of Puṣkara the gaming and of Nala straight began:
In a single throw by Nala was the perilous venture gained;
Puṣkara, his gold, his jewels, at one hazard all was won!
Puṣkara in play thus conquered, with a smile the King rejoined:
“Mine again is all this kingdom, undisturbed, its foes o’er come.
Fallen king! Vidarbha’s daughter by thine eyes may ne’er be seen.
Fool! thou’rt now, with all thy household, unto abject slavery sunk.
Not thyself achieved the conquest that subdued me heretofore!
’Twas achieved by mightier Kali, that thou didst not, fool, perceive.
Yet my wrath, by him enkindled, will I not’gainst thee direct;
Live thou henceforth at thy pleasure, freely I thy life bestow,
And of thine estate and substance give I thee thy fitting share.
Such my pleasure, in thy welfare, hero, do I take delight,
And mine unabated friendship never shall from thee depart.
Puṣkara, thou art my brother, may’st thou live an hundred years!”
Nala thus consoled his brother, in his conscious power and strength,
Sent him home to his own city, once embracing, once again.
Puṣkara, thus finding comfort, answered to Niṣadha’s lord,
Answered he to Puṇyaśloka, bowing low with folded hands:
“Everlasting be thy glory! may’st thou live ten thousand years!
That my life to me thou grantest, and a city for mine home!”
Hospitably entertained, there a month when he had dwelt,
Cheered in spirit to his city, Puṣkara, with all his kin,
With a well-appointed army, of attendant slaves an host,
Shining like the sun, departed, in his full meridian orb.
Puṣkara thus crowned with riches, thus unharmed, when he dismissed,
Entered then his royal city, with surpassing pomp, the king:
As he entered, to his subjects Nala spake the words of peace,
From the city, from the country, all, with hair erect with joy,
Came, with folded hands addressed him, and the counsellors of state:
“Happy are we now, O monarch, in the city, in the fields,
Setting forth to do thee homage, as to Indra all the gods.”
Then at peace the tranquil city, the first festal gladness o’er,
With a mighty host escorted, Damayantī brought he home.
Damayantī rich in treasures, in her father’s blessings rich,
Glad dismissed the mighty-minded Bhīma, fearful in his strength.
With the daughter of Vidarbha, with his children in his joy,
Nala lived, as lives the sovereign of the gods in Nandana.
Reascended thus to glory, he, among the kings of earth,
Ruled his realm in Jambudwīpa, thus rewon, with highest fame;
And all holy rites performed he with devout munificence.

The following bibliography gives the chief editions and translations of Nala and Damayantī: —

• Nalus, a Sanskrit Poem from the Mahābhārata, edited, with Latin translation and notes, by F. Bopp, 1819;
• Nal und Damajanti. Eine indische Geschichte, (bearbeitet) von F. Rückert, Zweite Auflage, Frankfurt a/M, 1838;
• Nalas und Damajanti, eine indische Dichtung, aus dem Sanskrit übersetzt von F. Bopp, Berlin, 1838;
• Nala und Damajanti, übersetzt und erläutert von E. Meier, Stuttgart, 1847-1854;
• Nala och Damayantī, en indisk dikt ur Mahābhārata frän originalet öfversatt och med förklarande noter, försedd af H. Kellgreṇ, Helsingfors, 1852;
• Nala, traduit en français, par É. Burnouf, Nancy, 1856;
• Nala e Damaianti, tradotto per St Gatti, Napoli, 1858;
• Nionde och tionde sȧngerna af Nala och Damayantī, frān Sanskrit öfversatte och kommenterade, Akademisk afhandlung... af E. G. F. Olbers, Lund, 1862;
• Die Geschichte von Nala. Versuch einer Herstellung des Textes, von C. Bruce, St Petersburg, 1862;
• Noctes Indicæ sive quæstiones in Nalum Mahābhārateum, L. Grasberger, Wirceburgi, 1868;
• Naladamayantīkathānaka, from the Nalopākhyāna, Lahore, 1871;
• Nal a Damajanti. Báje Indická. cesky vypravuje, J. Libáñský, etc., v Olomouci, 1875;
• Storia di Nalo, M. Kerbaker, Torino [printed], Firenze, 1878;
• The Story of Nala and Damayantī... translated... into English Prose, to which is added... notes, by Pandita Jaganatha, St Louis, [1881];
• Notes on the Nalopākhyānam or Tale of Nala for the Use of Classical Students, J. Peile, University Press, Cambridge, 1881;
• Nalopākhyānam or The Tale of Nala, Text and Vocabulary, Th. Jarrett, Cambridge. 1882;
• Il Re Nala: Trilogia drammatica, A. de Gubernatis, Firenze 1883;
• Nala and Damayantī: A Drama in Five Acts and in Prose and Verse, etc., Scottish Branch Press, Negapatam, 1894.