Part 8: Nala and Davadantī

The god fell and became the son, Nala by name, by his wife, Sundarā, of King Niṣadha, belonging to the Ikṣvāku-family, in the city Kośalā in the couhtry Kośala in this Bharata. He had a younger brother. Kūbara. Now, there is in the Vidarbhas a city named Kuṇḍina and its king was Bhīmaratha, whose strength was terrible. He had a wife Puṣpadantī, devoid of deceit, by whose great beauty the beauty of goddesses was threatened. Without obstructing wealth and religion, cherishing love- unhindered, the king enjoyed pleasures with her.

One day Kṣīriṇdīrā fell from the abode of the gods and descended into her womb as a daughter on an auspicious day. Then comfortably asleep on a beautiful couch, she had a pleasant dream and related it to the king at daybreak: ‘Master, asleep I know that a white elephant entered your house, impelled by a forest-fire, like a heap of glory made visible.’ The king, learned in all the sciences, declared, ‘Some embryo of exceeding merit lias developed in your womb today.’

While the king and queen were talking so, a white elephant came, as if Abhramupriya (Airāvata) had fallen (from heaven). The elephant mounted the king and his wife immediately on his shoulder, for he was impelled by their merit. Being worshipped by the townsmen accompanied with throwing wreaths of flowers, after wandering through the city he returned to the palace and set them down. The best of elephants went of his own accord to the elephant-post and the gods rained flowers and jewels. After anointing his body with fragrant ointments and worshipping him with the choicest flowers, the king waved a light before him.

At the proper time the queen bore a daughter, like a bank of clouds bearing lightning, on a day unspoiled by the fault of evil portents, et cetera. A tilaka on her forehead, a rival of the sun, was present at birth, like the śrīvatsa on the breast of a great man. She herself, shining especially with the tilaka, looked like a golden ring set with a jewel. By the power of her birth Bhīma’s strength became unlimited and his powerful commands were carried on their heads by kings. Because the queen had seen the best of elephants coming terrified by a forest-fire in a dream while she was in her womb, when a month had passed the king of Kuṇḍina gave his daughter the name Davadantī, a depository for the wealth of joy.

With a row of bees buzzing around her fragrant breath, she grew day by day and became able to crawl. She, whose pleasant face was like a lotus, went from hand to hand even of her mother’s co-wives, like a bee from flower to flower. The nurses, keeping time by snapping the thumb and middle finger at every step, amused her by playing a musical instrument, a vaktratimilā.^[1] Gradually, accompanied by the tinkling of her anklets, she began to take steps. Like Ramā in person she played, decorating the court-yard of the house. Verily by her power the king’s treasures became visible.

When she had reached her eighth year, the king entrusted the girl to the best teacher of the arts for her to learn them. The teacher was only a witness for her, intelligent. For the arts were reflected in her like an image in a mirror. She, intelligent, became proficient in the Karmaprakṛti,^[2] et cetera, and no one could cast scorn on (the doctrine of) Syādvāda^[3] in her presence. Then the teacher led the girl, thoroughly versed in the ocean of all the arts, like Sarasvatī, into her father’s presence. At her teacher’s command she showed fully her skill in all the arts, she—the sole canal in the garden of virtues. She displayed her learning in the interpretation of sacred knowledge to her father so that he became evidence of right belief, et cetera. The king rewarded his daughter’s teacher with a lac and one thousand dinars and dismissed him.

Because of her exceeding merit, a messenger-deity materialized and gave Davadantī a golden statue of the Arhat. The goddess said, ‘O daughter, this is an image of a future Arhat, Śrī Śāntinātha and it must be worshipped constantly by you.’ With these words the goddess disappeared and Davadantī, wide-eyed, worshipped the statue and took it to her house.

Playing with her friends, pretty-toothed Davadantī attained purifying youth, the well for the water of loveliness. When the king and queen saw that she was fully grown, they became eager to see the festival of her marriage. Her parents suffered, as if wounded internally, from anxiety about a bridegroom suitable for the multitude of her various virtues. In time Davadantī became eighteen years old, but the king had not found a pre-eminent bridegroom suitable for her.

Saying, ‘A svayaṃvara is fitting for very proud unmarried young women,’ the king instructed messengers to invite kings. Kings and princes, young, magnificent, came there quickly, competing with each other in splendor. Then the borders of Kuṇḍina were like the ground adjacent to Mt. Vindhya because of the innumerable elephants belonging to the kings that were in evidence. King Niṣadha, lord of Kośala, came there accompanied by his sons, Nala and Kūbara. The lord of Kuṇḍina approached and gave a greeting to all the kings. For that is fitting for guests.

Then Bhīma had a svayaṃvara-pavilion made, which was like a younger brother of the aerial car Pālaka in magnificence. He had platforms made, which resembled aerial cars, inside the pavilion and each one was beautified by a golden lion-throne placed on it. The kings came there, rivals in magnificence, wearing divine ornaments and garments, like Sakra’s Sāmānikas. All sal down on the platforms, their bodily splendor diffused, charming with cleverness displayed by varied and numerous actions.

One, a paryaṅka^[4] being made from his upper garment, played with a toy-lotus in his hand, charming with waving leaves. Another smelled the fragrant jasmine flowers, like a bee, as if they were the spotless orb of Manmatha’s heap of glory. One threw up in his hand a ball of flowers, as if wishing to make another moon in the sky. One stroked his beard, which was wet with oily musk, gracefully, with the lips of his finger-nails every moment. One made a dagger, whose ivory hilt was held in his list, dance in his hand bejewelcd with a blazing ring and with a firm fist. One clever one, haughty-minded, tore up pandanus leases repeatedly and fashioned a lotus which resembled Kamalā’s lotus. One touched frequently a necklace hanging around his neck formed of pearls as large as myrobalans.

At her father’s command Davadamī came there, decorating the marriage-pavilion, like a deity a temple. When the kings had seen Davadantī whose body was adorned with sets of ornaments made of pearls and gems, like a blossoming jasmine: her hair curled like waves of running canal-water: having a tilaka on her forehead like a crown-prince of the sun; her hair black as collyrium; the breast-circles uninterrupted; wearing clothes that resembled the skin on the inside of the plantain; anointed with clear sandal-paste; long-eyed; they cast their eyes on her alone.

Then the door-keeper of the harem at the king’s command began to announce the kings to her by name. ‘This is king Ṛtuparna, son of King Jitaśatru, who has come from Śiśumārapura. Let him be honored with a glance, princess. This is King Candra, son of Candra, the ornament of the Ikṣvāku-line, ground for the deposit of the jewels of virtues. Why do you not choose him? Here is Subāhu, lord of Campā, belonging to the Bhoga-line, son of Dharaṇa the Indra. Choose him and you will be served by the mists and winds of Jāhnavī. This king is lord of Rohītaka, Candraśekhara, son of Pavana, lord of thirty-two lacs of villages. Does he please you? This is King Śaśalakṣman, son of Jayakeśarin, equal to Śrī’s son^[5] in beauty. Does he attract your heart? This is Yajṭadeva, son of Jahnu, ornament of the Solar family, lord of Bhṛgukaccha. Do you wish him, ambitious lady? Here is King Mānavardhana, ornament of the lord of Bharata’s family. Choose him, well-known to everyone, for a husband, O husband-chooser. This is King Mukuṭeśvara, son of Kusumayudha. Do you deserve to be his wife, like Rohiṇī of the Moon? This is Niṣadha, lord of the Kośalas, the restrainer of enemies, sprung from the family of Ṛṣabha Svāmin. Let him be acknowledged your king. This is the son of that very man, Nala by name, long-armed. Let him be dear to you, or Kūbara here, Nala’s younger brother.’

Then Davadantī placed the svayaṃvara-wrcath around Nala’s neck, like Lakṣmī placing it around Viṣṇu’s neck. Voices of Khecaras were heard in the sky, saying, ‘It was well-chosen! Well-chosen!’ when Nala was chosen by her. Prince Kṛṣṇarāja rose quickly, drawing his sword like another meteor, and reviled Nala. ‘In vain did Davadantī throw this svayaṃvara-wrcath on you! While I live, no one else is able to marry her. Therefore, release Bhīma’s daughter to us or take up a weapon. How will you be satisfied without conquering Kṛṣṇarāja?’

Astonished, Nala said: ‘Villain, base?t of warriors, why do you resent it uselessly because you were not chosen by Davadantī? I have been chosen, by Davadantī. So you desire another’s wife, regardless of the sin. Nevertheless, you die, villain.’ With these words, Nala drew his sword and whirled it in his hand, his brilliance unbearable like a fire, his lip trembling with anger. At once the armies of both Nala and Kṛṣṇarāja put on their armor and took up weapons that penetrated vulnerable places.

Davadantī thought: ‘Alas! I am the cause of the strife that has arisen. Why is my merit lost? If I am worthy, mother messenger-deity, let Nala be victorious. Let there be peace between the two armies.’ After these words, Davadantī picked up a pitcher of water and threw three jets of water (on them) in order to stop the evil. Kṛṣṇarāja, his head struck by the mass of water, became at once deprived of brilliance like charcoal that has been extinguished. Then through the power of the messenger-deity the sword fell from King Kṛṣṇa’s hand, like a ripe leaf from a tree. His power destroyed, like a snake without poison, Kṛṣṇa thought:

‘Nala is no ordinary man. I reviled him without reflection. He is entitled to obeisance.’ With these reflections, Kṛṣṇa bowed at Nala’s feet like a messenger who had come on a mission. His hands placed to his forehead, humble, he said, ‘This transgression of a fool was committed without reflection. Pardon me, master.’ Nala honored Kṛṣṇa and dismissed him submissive. Bhīma considered that his daughter had merit because of his son-in-law’s virtues.

After Bhīma had entertained and dismissed each of the other kings, he arranged the marriage-festival of Nala and Davadantī. When the marriage-festival had taken place, King Bhīma gave Nala horses, elephants, et cetera suitable to his own position at the releasing of their hands. The newly-married bride and groom, wearing marriage-ribbons (on the wrist),^[6] auspicious songs being sung by old women of the family, worshipped the shrine in the house. The kings Bhīma and Niṣadha had their ribbons untied with a great ceremony. Then Bhīma entertained Niṣadha and his son devotedly and dismissed them; and followed some distance. For that is the custom.

When Davadantī was leaving to follow her husband, her mother instructed her: ‘Do not abandon your husband even in calamity, as if you were his shadow, daughter.’ When Davadantī had taken leave of her parents and had come, Nala had her get into the chariot and seated her in his lap. Then as the Lord of Kośalā travels to Kośalā, the earth is sprinkled with the elephants’ ichor like oily musk. The earth, trampled by the horses and donkeys, sounded like a cymbal; and the roads were streaked everywhere by the tracks of the carts. The earth was made invisible by the foot-soldiers marching in a solid array; and the trees on the roads were stripped of their leaves by the camels. The ponds became nothing but mud, their water drunk by the soldiers; and a second earth, as it were, was made in the air by the dust stirred up by the army.

While Niṣadha was going along, the sun set and the universe was filled with darkness like an ant-hill with water. Niṣadha did not stop, eager for a sight of his city. Who does not have a very strong desire to go to his own place? Neither dry land nor water, neither hollow nor tree, nor anything could be seen in the darkness which was like one umbrella.

When Nala had seen the army reduced to a state of having four senses, their vision obstructed by darkness, he said to Davadantī who was lying in his lap:Wake up for a moment, queen. The army is oppressed by darkness. Display the sun of your tilaka, glorious lady.’ Davadantī arose and uncovered her forehead and her tilaka shone very bright, a garuḍa to the serpent of darkness. Then the whole army began to advance unhindered. Verily people, though alive, are like corpses, if they are without vision.

Nala saw ahead a muni standing in pratimā, sipped by bees like a lotus-bed. He said to his father: ‘Master, let us see and pay homage to the great sage and gather the opportune fruit of the road. This man, standing in kāyotsarga, was rubbed by some rutting elephant that wished to scratch its cheek, as if he were a tree. Now he endures a great trial, slung by bees because of the fragrance of the ichor impregnated by the rubbing of the cheek. He was not shaken from meditation even by the rutting elephant, firm-footed like a mountain. He has been seen on the way because of merit.’

Niṣadha, with manifest faith, and his son and retinue at once waited on the sage like a most sacred person who had been found. When Nala and his wife, Niṣadha, and Kūbara and the others had bowed to him, praised him in verses, and made him free from affliction,^[7] they went on.

When they had reached the environs of Kośalā, Nala said, ‘This is our city, queen, adorned with temples of the Jinas.’ Then Davadantī, her head erect, felt great eagerness for a sight of the shrines, like a peahen for the sight of a rain-cloud. She said, ‘I am fortunate, by whom Nala was secured as a husband. I shall worship these shrines daily.’ The king entered his own city, which was engaged in auspicious practices, with arches, et cetera everywhere, on an auspicious day.

Nala and Davadantī, occupying themselves as they liked, sometimes engaged in water-sports, like swans. Sometimes they experienced the pleasure of swinging in swings, their chests with arms that were separate but moved together. Sometimes they filled each other’s braids of hair arranged in various ways with very fragrant flowers gathered by themselves. Sometimes they played at a gambling game calmly, skilful at checking (the other’s men), releasing (his own), at gama and cara,^[8] with invincible spirit. Sometimes they played musical instruments, stringed instruments,^[9] et cetera, in turn; and sometimes Nala had Davadantī dance in private. Thus Nala and Davadantī, inseparable day and night, passed some time with ever new amusements.

Footnotes and references:

[1]:

Timilā is a ‘musical instrument,’ but I have been able to find nothing more. Could vaktratimilā be ‘a mouth-organ’?

[2]:

The Nature of Karma. Pandit L. B. Gandhi takes this to refer to a specific work by that name, which is widely studied, rather than the subject in general.

[3]:

The distinctive feature of Jain logic. See I, n. 4.

[4]:

Paryaṅka is an ascetic posture and also means. ‘a cloth wound round the back and loins and knees while so sitting.’ Apparently, the king used his uttarīya for that effect.

[5]:

Kāma

[6]:

See above, n. 101.

[7]:

I.e., from the torment of the bees.

[8]:

Gama and cara must be moves in a game played with dice and men. Bandha must be something like ‘check’ and mokṣa esape from it. See III, n. 139 and JAOS 66 (1946), 260-262.

[9]:

See I, n. 77.