"A Good Wife is Good Medicine for Hard Times.."

नारायणं नमस्कृत्य नरं चैव नरोत्तमम्

 देवीं सरस्वतीं चैव ततो जयम् उदीरयेत्

महाभरत

Mahābharata

As retold by

Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi

Nala and Damayanti

Exiled

Brihad Aswa continued,

"O Yudhisthira: You who lost your kingdom to the dice. Hear me as I speak the story of Nala, a king who also lost everything.

"As the gaming went on Damayanti took the precaution of sending the children in a swift chariot  guided by Varshneya to Vidarbha and shelter with her father, King Bhima.

"Meanwhile the dice did Pushkara’s bidding as Nala lost again and again...

Finally, the  noble Nala, infected by the spirit of Kala, had lost everything. Pushkara smiled, “What can you stake now, Nala? I would have you win everything back. It is not fair that you have lost so much. Stake the fair Damayanti as your wager and let us throw the dice again.”

But Nala’s heart was broken. Even under the influence of Kali, he could not go so far. 

“Then if you cannot stake anything further, go.” Said Pushkara. “This is no longer your kingdom. Leave and enter exile. I command you as the King of Vishadha, which is now mine.”

Stripped of his fine dress and ornaments, Nala left that place. And so it was, O Yudhisthira, that Nala was exiled to the forest. He wandered half-naked, dazed, covered only with a loincloth. Possessed by the spirit of Kali, desolate and ruined, he wandered in a fog.

The  citizens abandoned him. They wanted no part of a mad king who would gamble his riches away. No one followed him into the forest to bid him farewell.

As the mad and forlorn king wandered away, Pushkara, Vishadha’s new ruler issued laws against his brother. Whoever helped him or gave him succour would do so on the pain of death.

Whoever offered Nala food or shelter would be condemned before a tribunal and put to death or imprisoned. 

And so the citizens neither gave him refuge nor offered him hospitality, but closed their doors to Nala, the fallen king.

Only Damayanti followed him. Dressed in only her sari, Damayanti slowly followed him from a distance. She could understand that he was in the grip of some madness, but could not desert him in his hour of need.

Nala was exiled. His brother ordered him to live in the wilderness, where his citizens left him to starve with only his loincloth to protect him from the cold. Pushkar had imprisoned Nala’s friends. His reign of terror had begun.  None dared defy the tyrant’s power.

For three nights Nala wandered, followed by the faithful Damayanti. With only water to drink, they began to starve. They ate leaves and herbs, fruits and the roots of the earth.  Outcast and doomed, dying of hunger, after some days Nala saw two strange birds, big as eagles, gold in color.  The influence of Kali inspired him to the hunt. And thinking, “This is my chance. We must eat. I can trap them in my cloth,” He stalked his prey and using his loincloth as a net cloth, threw it over the birds.  

But suddenly the twin golden birds took his cloth in their beaks and rose in the sky.  As they carried away his cloth the birds laughed. They said, “O fallen and miserable king, know that we are the dice you played with. We have taken this form to steal your cloth. You lost all to us, and so we also take your cloth. Our joy at victory was incomplete as long as you were clothed. Stripped of your cloth may you die of hunger and cold, naked and abandoned in this forest.”

As the golden birds flew away with his cloth, Nala was Nala turned to Damayanti and said, “O blameless Damayanti: I am condemned. Damned to die of hunger in the forest. Leave me.”

Nala hung his head and covered his face with his hands. Struggling against the influence of Kali, he said, “I am cursed by the gods. I was foolish to defy their will. I have offended the gods and now they want revenge. Abandon me to my fate. Deprived me of my wealth and kingdom my enemies are leaving me  to die in shame in the forest. I cannot help myself. Even the birds steal my garments.You must go. Leave me to my fortune.”

He pulled himself together and stood up straight, shaking off the demon’s spirit for a moment. He said,

“Hear me, princess and profit from my loss.”

As night began to fall in the forest, Nala pointed through the trees to the south.

 “O Princess, there is the path to the south, passing by the city of Avantī.”

He gestured towards the east: “Rikshavān is that way; there is the mighty Vindhya mountain where the hermits dwell and there the river Payoshṇī that runs to the sea.”

He pointed to the west where the sun was just kissing the horizon. “This is the way to Kośala. Go along the path and you will find the road to Vidarbha. Take the road to Vidarbha, pass through the valleys of the Vindhya mountains and return home to your loving father, the great king Bhima. Leave me to my fate, to die alone and starving, forlorn, cursed and doomed by the gods.”

Exhausted, Nala sat beneath a large and knotted banyan tree covered with hideous strangler vines as the birds fell silent. Darkness began to envelop the forest.

Damayanti stood before the fallen king. She heard the screech of an owl. Soon the creatures of the night would begin to prowl in search of prey. In a voice choked with grief, she said, “O Nala. My heart flutters like a wounded sparrow. O once proud king. How have you come to this? Perhaps it is true what people say; you are possessed by some dark demon who has led you to this fate. 

“My Nala. My throat is dry. I have no words. I would break into tears, but starved for drink, no water comes to my eyes.  Robbed of kingdom and riches, naked, thirst-worn and hungry, you are speaking like a madman. Before the gods I bestowed the garland upon you. When even Indra and the Lord of Death wooed me, I chose you. How shall I abandon you now to starve to death in the dark forest, cursed by the gods?”

“For a man in sorrow and distress there is no friend or medicine like a good wife. How can I go and leave you alone and naked in the woods to die of hunger?”

“Come. Let us go to my father. He will give us shelter. He will welcome you as the great king you are.”

Now the forest was dark. Now that the sun had gone, the cool moon had risen and chill began to enter the earth. 

“No. I cannot.” Said Nala. “For one who has been honored, dishonor is worse than death. How can I appear before him in my present condition. Look at me. I don’t have so much as a cloth to cover my nakedness. Your father saw me at my noblest hour, and now I am miserable.”

“Come. Live with me and be my king in my home in Vidarbha. Our children have already gone there, led by our brave charioteer, Varshneya. There you can gather your allies together and march against the usurper. Defeating your brother, you can regain the kingdom.”

“No. I must meet my true fate here. Whether I am cursed by the gods or no. For if the gods are angry, neither you nor your father shall escape their wrath.”

“Then I cannot abandon you. We shall meet our fate together. The gods were once pleased with me; perhaps they shall be again.”

Nala was moved. “And I shall never abandon you, my Princess,” he said. He leaned his shoulder against the great banyan tree, supporting himself on one elbow. He spoke slowly, his tongue thick. “I may be mad, or possessed by demons. I cannot say why I was impelled to game at dice. I may be cursed by the gods or driven by some devil, but I shall never abandon my love for you.”

Nala’s eyes rolled back, he was losing consciousness.

“Fear not that I would ever leave you, fair Damayanti. You are right: there is no medicine like a good wife. I might abandon my kingdom and even lose myself to madness, but I shall never leave you. I give you my word.”

The chill of the evening had set in. Nala was exhausted. He had passed out.  Damayanti laid his head carefully on a root of the generous banyan tree. And, taking pity on her fallen lord, she tore the hem of her silken sari and wrapped Nala in half of her garment, that the cold would not chill him to death. 

And so barely clad in only half a garment each the great and handsome king of Vishadha and the princess who had been sought by the gods slept in the arms of the great banyan tree while tigers stalked the cruel forest of exile. Where they were used to sleeping on feathered cushions and silk pillows, now they had only the roots of a tree for a pillow. They slept with only the hard earth as a bed, half-naked in the mire, stained with dust under the cold moon.