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The Princess, with one garment, following him,

       Piteous to see. And there without the gates

       Three nights they lay—Nashadha's King and Queen.

       Upon the fourth day Pushkara proclaimed,

       Throughout the city, "Whoso yieldeth help

       To Nala, dieth! Let my will be known!"

       So, for this bitter word of Pushkara's power

       (O Yudhisthir!) the townsmen rendered not

       Service nor love, but left them outcast there,

       Unhelped, whom all the city should have helped.

       Yet three nights longer tarried he, his drink

       The common pool, his meat such fruits and roots

       As miserable hunger plucks from earth:

       Then fled they from those walls, the Prince going first,

       The Princess following.

       After grievous days,

       Pinched ever with sharp famine, Nala saw

       A flock of gold-winged birds lighting anigh,

       And to himself the famished Raja said:—

       "Lo! here is food; this day we shall have store;"

       Then lightly cast his cloth and covered them.

       But these, fluttering aloft, bore with them there

       Nala's one cloth; and, hovering overhead,

       Uttered sharp-stinging words, reviling him

       Even as he stood, naked to all the airs,

       Downcast and desperate: "Thou brain-sick Prince!

       We are the dice; we come to ravish hence

       Thy last poor cloth; we were not well content

       Thou shouldst depart owning a garment still."

       And when he saw the dice take wings and fly,

       Leaving him bare, to Damayanti spake

       This melancholy Prince: "O Blameless One,

       They by whose malice I am driven forth,

      Finding no sustenance, sad, famine-gaunt—

       They whose decree forbade Nishadha's folk

       Should succor me, their Raja—these have come—

       Demon and dice—and like to winged birds

       Have borne away my cloth. To such shame fall'n,

       Such utmost woe, wretched, demented—I

       Thy lord am still, and counsel thee for good.

       Attend! Hence be there many roads which go

       Southwards: some pass Avanti's walls, and some

       Skirt Rikshavan, the forest of the bears;

       This wends to Vindhya's lofty peaks, and this

       To the green banks where quick Payoshni runs

       Seaward, between her hermitages, rich

       In fruits and roots; and yon path leadeth thee

       Unto Vidarbha; that to Kosala,

       And therefrom southward—southward—far away."

       So spake he to the Princess wistfully,

       Between his words pointing along the paths,

       Which she should take (O King!). But Bhima's child

       Made answer, bowed with grief, her soft voice choked

       With sobs, these piteous accents uttering:—

       "My heart beats quick; my body's force is gone,

       Thinking, dear Prince, on this which thou hast said,

       Pointing along the paths. What! robbed of realm,

       Stripped of thy wealth, bare, famished, parched with thirst,

       Thus shall I leave thee in the untrodden wood?

       Ah, no! While thou dost muse on dear days fled,

       Hungry and weeping, I in this wild waste

       Will charm thy griefs away, solacing thee.

       The wisest doctors say, 'In every woe

       No better physic is than wifely love,'

       And, Nala, I will make it true to thee."

       "Thou mak'st it true," he said; "thou sayest well,

       Sweet Damayanti; neither is there friend

       To sad men given better than a wife.

       I had not thought to leave thee, foolish Love!

       Why didst thou fear? Alas, 't is from myself

       That I would fly—not thee, thou Faultless One!"

       "Yet, if," the Princess answered, "Maharaja!

       Thou hadst no thought to leave me, why by thee

       Was the way pointed to Vidarbha's walls?

       I know thou wouldst not quit me, noblest Lord,

       Being thyself, but only if thy mind

       Were sore distraught; and see, thou gazest still

       Along the southward road, my dread thereby

       Increasing, thou that wert as are the gods!

       If it be thy fixed thought, 'Twere best she went

       Unto her people'—be it so; I go;

       But hand in hand with thee. Thus let us fare

       Unto Vidarbha, where the King, my sire,

       Will greet thee well, and honor thee; and we

       Happy and safe within his gates shall dwell."

      "As is thy father's kingdom," Nala said,

       "So, once, was mine. Be sure, whatever betide,

       Never will I go thither! How, in sooth,

       Should I, who came there glorious, gladdening thee,

       Creep back, thy shame and scorn, disconsolate?"

       So to sweet Damayanti spake the Prince,

       Beguiling her, whom now one cloth scarce clad—

       For but one garb they shared; and thus they strayed

       Hither and thither, faint for meat and drink,

       Until a little hut they spied; and there,

       Nishadha's monarch, entering, sat him down

       On the bare ground, the Princess by his side—

       Vidarbha's glory, wearing that scant cloth,

       Without a mat, soiled by the dust and mire.

       At Damayanti's side he sank asleep,

       Outworn; and beauteous Damayanti slept,

       Spent with strange trials—- she so gently reared,

       So soft and holy. But while slumbering thus,

       No peaceful rest knew Nala. Trouble-tossed

       He woke, forever thinking of his realm

       Lost, lieges estranged, and all the griefs

       Of that wild wood. These on his heart came back,

       And, "What if I shall do it? What, again,

       If I shall do it not?" So murmured he.

       "Would death be better, or to leave my Love?

       For my sake she endures this woe, my fate

       Too fondly sharing; freed from me, her steps

       Would turn unto her people. At my side,

       Sure suffering is her portion; but apart,

      

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