नारायणं नमस्कृत्य नरं चैव नरोत्तमम्
देवीं सरस्वतीं चैव ततो जयम् उदीरयेत्
महाभरत
महाभरत
Mahābharata
As retold by
Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi
Nala and Damayanti
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| Nola leaves Damayanti |
Nala Deserts Damayanti
Wild boars slept in the bushes. Even the bears, stags, and other wild creatures that often roamed those woods lay dormant. Damayanti slept quietly, nestled in the arms of Nala, with a root for a pillow with the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine as her perfume.
Kali was a demonic spirit. And devils never rest. The spell of Kali was on Nala, who could not sleep. Flying insects stung his face and hands in the dark. His skin burned, but his conscience burned even more. How had he lost everything? Why was he exiled, when his brother now ruled his kingdom. He burned for revenge. The croaking of frogs and chirping of crickets disturbed his sleep. He tossed and turned. The spirit of Kali would not let him rest.
And while Damayanti slept on the cold earth, Nala was tormented in his mind by the spirit of Kali. He burned with anger and sorrow. He burned for his lost kingdom and the friends who had so quickly deserted him. Hungry and exhausted, he awoke.
Sitting up, he felt he was no longer naked. His wife had torn her cloth, giving him half her garment. He bound the cloth around his thighs and glanced about him. As he looked around in the darkness, he could barely make out the forest path. It was West to Vidarbha, through the valleys of the Vindhya mountains. East led deeper into the gloomy forest. His head burned with anger. His entrails burned with hunger and thirst. “What next?” he thought.
Now the spirit of Kali who dwelled within Nala consumed him and inspired him with dark thoughts. “I must go,” Nala thought, “Better for me to leave this place and take the path into the forest. Damayanti will find her way home. If she stays with me in exile it will only be worse for her. Why did I let her follow me?”
He heard a sound. A wild boar passing in the forest? Food. He could hunt. He arose, half-clad, and moved towards the sound. Nothing.
Nala looked at his wife sleeping peacefully. “What if I leave now?” He thought. “Better to go now. She won’t listen to my arguments. She will follow me to my death in exile. It would be selfish of me to allow her to die of starvation here in the forest.”
The sky was gray now; the first light would not be long. Damayanti would awaken. He was resolved to meet his fate in the forest. Return to Vidarbha would only mean public humiliation. Sooner or later Pushkar’s men would hunt him down like an animal. Without allies he was lost. But Damayanti could survive alone. She could go to Vidarbha and live with their children and King Bhima would protect them. Nala took a few steps into the forest.
Nala looked down the path before him. Soon the creatures of the woods would stir. The tigers who roamed the night would awaken their cousins who roam at day. Together they would seek their prey along with bears, wild boars, and other strange animals. And hunger and thirst would diminish their chances of survival.
“But which is worse?” he thought, “To die in exile, abandoned, or to abandon the one I love? How can I abandon the only person who stood by me in shame and exile? She is so devoted to me that she would suffer shame and injury, even death to follow me into oblivion. How can I leave her?”
Possessed by the ghost of the demon Kali, Nala could not think clearly. He reasoned, “Still, even if she hates me, she loves our children. She will seek out her father in Vidarbha. The gods will protect her. At my side, she is cursed; without me, she may yet survive. Her only chance at survival is if I leave her. The gods wooed her once. They may yet protect her.”
He took a few steps down the path, then turned for a last look at his beloved. His soul was twisted by the influence of Kali. Surely it was a sin to abandon his wife to her destiny in the forest, he thought as his head ached. “And yet, bereft of me, while she shall surely lament, she will no doubt find her father in Vidarbha. As for me, I am doomed to die here. Better for both of us if I go.”
In this way, that wretched king agonized over his decision. “She is my loyal and devoted wife. She defied the gods to choose me and give me the wedding garland. She has great power. Her virtue is so great that none dare harm her, even in this lonely forest.”
Nala’s perverted thought could find no other reasons than those given him by the wicked Kali. And so by Kali’s influence he left her.
He walked back up the path to where Damayanti lay, sheltered by the Banyan’s roots. And brushing aside a spray of night-blooming jasmine that sheltered her forehead with its fragrance, he kissed her gentle brow. And just beneath his breath Nala said, “Farewell my love. Farewell my faithful. O blessed wife: you who neither sun nor wind has ever marred; whose grace and beauty never fades: you lay sleeping on the cold hard earth for my sins. Half-clad for you have given me half your garment, you have followed me into cruel exile. Go you now to your father. Tell him how unfit I was to father your children. Go and live in peace. Follow me no further into the dark forest, but take the path to Vidarbha. May the sun and the wind protect you. May the gods who once wooed you as a maiden protect you now as the mother of my children. As you are always chaste, may your virtue protect you now from this savage forest where wild beasts and serpents dwell.”
On bended knee, he leaned over the sleeping Damayanti, smelled her fragrant hair again kissed her on the forehead. Then standing up straight, he walked away.
Leaving that noble Banyan tree with its generous, sheltering roots behind him, Nala began on the path into the depths of the dark woods, bereft of sense, bewildered by the influence of Kali.
And taking two steps forward on the path, he stopped and took a step back. His love for the chaste and virtuous Damayanti dragged him back, but the madness born of the demon Kali once again possessed him and he took the path into darkness, reft of sense. And as he staggered away into the forest, the kokil birds who were awakening to the dawn heard the frantic king moaning in misery as he deserted the sleeping Damayanti.
Gradually the sun’s rays entered the bower where Damayanti slept in the arms of the old banyan tree. And as the gentle warmth spread through the forest floor, Damayanti awoke, refreshed from her slumber. And yet when she awoke and found that Nala had gone Damayanti was surprised. “Nala?” she said.
“He must have gone to collect fresh herbs and fruits,” she thought. “Nala?” But the forest was silent.
Nala and Damayanti
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| Nola leaves Damayanti |
Abandoned in the forest, left to die.
“He must have gone to collect fresh herbs and fruits,” she thought. “Nala?” But the forest was silent.
“Nala?”
Something was wrong. She went around the great banyan tree calling out. “Nala!”
No reply.
Now she shouted through the forest, “My king! Nala!”
But the trees were silent.
“Alas, my love has gone,” she cried. Half mad she began to ask the trees of the forest, “Where is Nala? Where is the king of the Nishadhas? Did he desert me here in the forest? But how could he? Is this a cruel joke, played by a madman who has lost everything? Nala!”
And as she wandered now through the forest, completely lost, she forgot the path to Vidarbha that Nala had marked out for her. She saw something moving in the bushes. “Nala!” she cried.
“Is that you? Come out and stop this game, and let us go to Vidarbha to see my father.”
And so she ran from tree to tree, losing herself further in the dark forest until she came to a brook deep in the woods and could walk no further. She thought she could trace his footprints in the sand. But there were only the tracks of the bears that frequented the clear waters of the brook.
“Alas,” she cried. “Nala!” she wailed like a widow, lost in grief, her tears staining her unblemished cheeks. Finally, she sat on a dry trunk in the tall grass by the brook. Unconsoled and grieving, she wept.
And as she was wept a fierce and powerful a serpent slithered from beneath the trunk. Lost in grief, she didn’t notice how that serpent began to crawl round her leg, catching her in its coils, until it was too late.
“Nala!” she screamed as the snake bound her closely. “Help me!”
But Nala was far away by now. The spirit of Kali had drawn him to another part of the woods where he was wandering, lost.
At this time a hunter was moving through the forest searching for prey. He had long been tracking a stag who had taken water by the brook. Hearing Damayanti’s cries, he was startled and ran to where she sat, struggling with the huge and terrible viper who was poised to strike.
The hunter drew his bow and let fly a shaft, piercing the viper’s head. As Damayanti shook herself free, the hunter grabbed the snake and with his sharp axe he cut off the serpent’s jeweled head, slaying it in an instant.
And seeing blood gushing from the serpent’s severed head Damayanti swooned.
The hunter, taking pity on this lost forest maid, carried her to the brook and bathed her forehead with the cool water. When she revived, he gave her some of the food he carried with him and fresh fruit and water to drink. Faint with fright and hunger, she thanked him and smiled.
But this hunter was enchanted by the beauty of Damayanti. As her silk garment was wet with the water from the forest stream it clung closely to her slender body. And as she finished eating, the hunter held her in his arms, filled with desire.
“O forest maid with eyes of green,” he said. “O lovely child whose limbs are nimble as a gazelle, who are you? Why are you here in these dark woods?”
Near unconscious with fright, Damayanti’s eyes went wide. Who was this man? But, plying her with sweet words of flattery, he began to hold her closer. Seeing her half-clad in a silk garment that left little to his imagination, and noticing her full breasts and round hips, her delicate arms and flawless legs, he became inflamed with lust.
Looking into her moonlike face, her lotus-like eyes with their curved lashes, he mad with desire.
Coming to her consciousness, the chaste Damayanti was shocked. She shook the hunter off, pushing him away, outraged. “How dare you touch the queen of the Nishadhas!” She said. “Nala will kill you.”
The amorous huntsman laughed. “Who is this Nala? We are alone in this forest. Perhaps it is our karma to be together,” he said, touching his knife. He smiled and grasped her arm. “What is not given freely through love,” he said, “may be taken by force.” His knife in hand, his intentions were clear.
The hunter leered and drew her closer in his grasp. But Damayanti, chaste and faithful to her lord, cursed him saying, “If I have been a chaste wife to Nala, if I am pure and constant, then let this beast fall dead on the ground.” And so cursed by the fair Damayanti, the lecherous hunter was struck dead on the ground the instant she uttered her curse, just as a tree falls when struck by lightning.
And having slain the wicked hunter, the fair and lotus-eyed Queen, Damayanti began to roam through that fearful wilderness alone. All around her she heard the chirp of crickets as she entered deeply in the woods. She walked softly past the dens of lions, through the hideaways of tigers, stags, buffalos and bears. Different colored birds of varying species fluttered through the trees. The forest was not uninhabited for there lived many cannibals and carnivorous tribes of men. She made her way past the lairs of man-eaters and thieves, where wildmen and robbers dwelled.
Various trees populated the forest from bamboo to Ashvattha to Jambu and Mango and Jack-fruit, Tamarind and Banyans and palms and date-trees. There were Shal trees, bamboos, and the black ebony trees, Arjuna trees and Nim.
She walked through groves of Rose-apples and Mangos, Lodh trees and passed fields of sugar cane. There were flowers on her path: Lotuses and Kadambas and Jasmine. Huge and bushy-leaved shade trees gave her shelter and fruit trees such as Jujube and fig-trees gave her fruit.
Tangled Banyans barred her way as she walked passed brooks and streams and by and by she reached groves of palm trees where there were date palms, coconuts, harita-trees and many others.
Rivulets and streams ran cold through the forest and many different groves of trees were also there. And so Damayanti wandered from grove to grove, lost in the forest, searching for her husband Nala who had been possessed by the demon Kali.
She passed shady arbours and greeny glens, lakes, and lagoons, crystal pools and raging rivers, birds and beasts of every shape and kind; she saw serpents, forest elves, duendes, dwarves and yakshas. She wondered at many sights on her sojourn through the woods. But nowhere could she find her Nala. And so she mourned and wasted away in anguish, her every limb trembling with sorrow.
She had long since forgotten the way to Vidarbha and famished with hunger and distressed at her separation from Nala she began to lament.
“O king of the Nishadhas, O you of broad chest and mighty arms, where have you gone and why have you left me here in this forest? O my lord will I die alone in this forest, eaten by bears? Why have you abandoned me?”
And so Damayanti went north until after many days she came to a grove of trees where saintly sages had made their ashram in the woods.
Nala and the Snake Prince
What had become of Nala? After he had abandoned Damayanti, he wandered into the forest, losing his way. His madness only increased. He fell deeper under the influence of darkness and the wicked demon Kali. And as he went farther from the kingdom of Vishadha, his path took him past the dens of bears and other wild animals into an unknown wilderness.
He walked for days. He ate the edible herbs and flowers of the forest and drank from the pure streams. Even so, his misfortune burned his heart. And one night, exhausted, he found shelter under a tree, spread leaves on the ground and slept on the cold earth in the cool moonlight. He had not slept long when he was awakened by the sharp smell of burning wood. The air was warm. Opening his eyes, he looked around him and saw the flames licking the trees around him.
Fire raged through the trees. Small animals scurried along the ground, racing away from the flames. A huge burning branch fell to earth, setting the bushing aflame. All around him burned a great conflagration. Snakes ran along the ground, away from the blaze.
He was about to run when he heard a sound, a voice in the fire, crying: “O great King, Nala, O hero. help me.” Shaking off the influence of Kali who filled his soul with fear, Nala was moved to pity. “Fear not,” he said.
“Help!” cried the voice again.
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| Nagas |
Nala raced towards the sound and into the fire to save the poor creature trapped by the flames. He ran into a copse of trees that had begun to catch fire in the swirling heat. Burning branches fell from the blackened sky as cinders flew. Trapped beneath a fallen tree trunk he found a strange form. “Help!” he cried.
An explosion of flame and light revealed the form. It was a giant snake-man, a mighty serpent of the Naga race, whose coils where trapped by the fallen tree trunk. The flames leaped higher.
The serpents scaly coils gleamed green in the flash of the explosion. But from the hips to his head, the serpent’s upper body was that of a man. He was powerfully built and wore a golden crown.
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| Naga Snake Prince |
“Now this forest fire will burn me to ashes. Deliver me, O King.”
Nala struggled with the tree trunk, wrestling it away, just as another burning branch fell from above, crashing to the ground with a roar of flames.
He freed the Naga King. “We must escape these flames.” He said. “Can you walk?”
The serpent looked up at Nala. With folded hands, saying, “O Nala. I am Karkotaka of the Naga race. Because I had offended the great rishi Narada, I have been cursed by him to stay here, immobile, until the great king Nala passed this way. As I am cursed, I am unnable to move. You must carry me.”
“But how can I carry you? You are as long as a palm tree is tall.”
“While I was cursed to remain immobile, I can change my shape.
With this the mighty Naga made himself smaller, assuming the form of a tiny viper.
Nala picked him up and ran through the flames. He ran farther into the forest until he reached a stream. The fire had changed its path and raged out of sight in another part of the forest.
They were safe. They could still smell the smoke from the blaze, but the fire was far away now. Nala kneeled down at the water’s edge, cupped his hand and wet his brow with the sacred water of the stream. In that moment, he was about to put the viper down, when Karkotaka the Naga said, “Don’t put me down!”
“Just a moment.” Said the snake-man. “This is important. I want to reward you. Carry me along a little ways. I will show you something that is to your benefit.”
“How can you benefit me?” said Nala.
“Listen. I was once a great prince, like you. But I cheated the great Rishi Narada, the seer among the gods. Someday I will tell you the story. Anyway, when I cheated the good Rishi, he cursed me, saying, ‘You act like a snake, so live like one. Be a snake. Here you shall stay, immobile until Nala frees you on this very spot.”
“But I have freed you,” said Nala.
“Ahh, but the wind and the rain have moved me a bit. It’s just over there a few steps. Ten steps to the right. By that tree. Exactly there I shall be freed from the curse and I shall give you something you need.”
“What will you give me?” said Nala.
“I shall instruct you as to your welfare, and help deliver you from the curse that is burning your own heart.”
Intrigued, Nala paced off ten steps to the right.
“Here?” he said.
“Yes, said the snake. “This is it. The very spot.”
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| Nagas |
Nala held the tiny viper-man gently between two fingers and began to set him down. But with this, the viper bit him, infusing his venom deep within Nala’s veins. Nala was stunned.
And just as he was reeling from the snake-bite, he saw the tiny viper grow in size. From a hideous and monstrous snake, he transformed himself into a princely young man, well-dressed and decorated with golden ornaments.
Prince Karkotaka, for indeed he was a prince, smiled a charming smile. Nala sat on a rock, his head swimming with the venom of the snake-bite.
“My dear King Nala, I thank you,” said the snake who was now a charming prince. “You must forgive the indignity of the snake-bite. But the venom of the Naga has medicinal properties. You have been possessed. Your body has been invaded by the spirit of Kali.
“The venom will burn him. As long as the venom courses through your veins you can bring the influence of Kali under control. Gradually he will not be able to stand the medicine and he will leave you. In the meantime he whose power has deceived you shall be tortured by the venom of the Naga. As you have delivered me from the curse of Narada, so my medicine will deliver you from the curse of Kali.”
The snake-prince continued, “My dear Nala, you yourself shall feel no pain from the poison, but shall be immune from snake bite for the rest of your days. In addition you shall always be victorious in battle. From this day forward, none shall defeat you. You need never fear the fangs of any enemy, human or otherwise.”
“As to your appearance. You need a disguise. As long as you are recognizable as the King of Nishadha, you will be persecuted by your enemies. I have transformed your appearance. Do not be alarmed. For the moment your disguise is perfect.”
The snake-prince reached into the folds of his garments and produced a cloth. He offered it to Nala who was still reeling from the injection of snake venom.
“Take this cloth. Wear it when you are ready to return to your own form.”
Nala took the cloth. It glowed with celestial beauty. It was finer than silk. He folded it carefully until it was smaller than a matchbook and hit it on his person.
“You have freed me from a terrible curse. In return I shall tell you how to be freed from your own curse,” said the Naga prince.
Recovering his sanity, Nala turned and splashed water on his face. Famine and thirst had made him mad. Fire, Nagas, a prince? Perhaps he was dreaming. The cold water sobered him. Nala looked at himself in the clear waters of the stream. And in that natural mirror he saw himself a changed man.
He studied himself. His fine features had become rough. His perfect nose was hooked and long. He touched his face. He had a rough dark beard and large ears and a dull mouth. His fine and curly blond hair was now coal black and badly cut. He was an ugly, vulgar hunchbacked dwarf. And instead wearing the shredded rags from Damayanti’s sari, he was now clothed. He wore the rough cloth of a chariot driver, a keeper of horses.
He turned to the smiling prince. “What is the meaning of this?” he said, alarmed. “I helped you and you have bitten me. You said you would benefit me and you have made me a monster.”
“You misunderstand, Nala.” Said the Naga prince. O great king. I have helped you. My bite has transformed you. You are no longer beautiful, but ugly, it’s true. But your ugliness is the perfect disguise. No one shall recognize you.
“The poison of my bite will not affect you, but it will burn the one who has possessed you. You may not realize this, but you have been possessed by a powerful demon. His envy caused you to gamble at dice and lose your kingdom. But now he is paralyzed within you by my viper’s poison. As long as he lives within you this devil will be tortured by my snake venom. In this way I have saved you from one who torments you.”
“As I have said, my venom has special properties. After my bite you shall never fear any animal with fangs, nor any brahmana’s curse. No poison can harm you. You shall always triumph in battle.
“Listen carefully and profit by my instructions. Go now to Ayodhya, the ancient city once ruled by the great Rama, and present yourself to the prince there.
“His name is Rituparna. Tell him that you are a charioteer and give your name as Vahuka. Make friends with him. Teach him how to handle his horses. He will teach you as much about dice as you know about horses. When you learn everything about dice, you will win your prosperity again. You will meet again with your wife and children and regain your kingdom. Have no fear.”
Adjusting his belt the snake-prince smiled at Nala. He turned to leave, then looked over his shoulder and said,
“Remember. When you want to regain your original form, wear the celestial cloth that I have given you.”
Nala was stunned. He wasn’t sure if he should thank this strange king or slay him on the spot. He stood to confront Karkotaka, but felt rooted to the spot, immobile. Was it the venom? He watched as Karkotaka disappeared into the woods.
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| Snake Prince, Thailand
Meanwhile, in the Kingdom of Vidarbha, King Bhima was worried. His daughter’s children had arrived by chariot a fortnight since. The king was well-pleased to see them.
“Grandfather!” they said, running from the chariot and throwing their arms around him.
“Let me look at you, children,” he said, a warm smile masking his concern.
They had grown. Had it really been 12 years since the swayamvara and the wedding? Indrasen already had his father’s curly hair, piercing eyes and proud gait, and Indrasena while only a girl had her mother’s grace and quiet beauty.
The children blushed and laughed. As Varshneya the charioteer tied up the horses, Indrasen and Indrasena frolicked away to play in the gardens where once a swan messenger had brought news of a handsome prince to the virgin Damayanti.
Brim approached the chariot-driver as he watered the horses. “O Varshneya, best of horsemen, accept my blessings. Gold and silver will be yours for having brought my grand-children safely from the land of Vishadha. But what’s the news, my friend. Where is my daughter? Is she arriving here soon with King Nala to visit?” said Bhima.
Varshneya looked at his hands. “I have brought the children here on my lady Damayanti’s orders. She foresaw the tragedy and sent me here.”
“What tragedy, sir?” said the King.
“All is lost. The king’s brother used some mystic charm to cheat the king. I felt some evil influence enter the gaming hall. King Nala staked everything and lost.
They gamed at dice for days until Nala lost everything. He was banished into the forest, stripped of all his wealth and left to die of starvation, abandoned by the citizens by order of his cruel brother. The king is under some spell. He wanders lost in the dark forest. At last, our lady Damayanti followed him into the woods.”
King Bhima of Vidarbha heard the news of the exile with dismay. What on earth had happened his son-in-law, King Nala? What could have possessed him to lose his kingdom in a dice game? How could Nala’s brother Pushkar have been capable of such treachery?
Varshneya told of Pushkar’s treachery. How he had ordered his citizens to shun Nala. Anyone who helped him did so on pain of death. None could offer him food or shelter. Cruel and envious, Pushkar had prevailed upon the miserable Nala to wager his own wife in the game. But Nala had refused. Having lost the game, he went to the woods as an honorable man according to the terms of the wager. But Pushkar had surely cheated him at dice. Perhaps Nala had been poisoned or enchanted in some way.
In the course of the day, King Bhima situated his grandchildren in fine apartments within the palace. His royal servants did everything to take care of them and make them comfortable. Soon they would miss there mother. But where was Damayanti?
As night fell, King Bhima sent for the brahmanas who frequented his court. He personally washed their feet, offered them all respect, and fed them well. And when they were satisfied they asked, “my dear King, why have you sent for us?”
The king said, “Alas. No one knows the fate of Nala, my erstwhile son-in-law. He was exiled into the forest by his cruel brother who cheated him at dice. Having gambled everything away, he was scorned, driven from his kingdom, banished and left to die alone in the forest. My daughter, the fair Damayanti, Princess of Vidarbha, has followed him into exile. Woe is me. What shall I do? I need some good counsel in this matter.”
Now the foremost of those good souls stepped forward and said, “Let us go forth and search for your daughter and for Nala, King of Vishadha. If they are alive, we shall find them.
And King Bhima said, “So be it. Go forth throughout the land. Announce far and wide that King Bhima is desirous to see his daughter Damayanti. Whosoever brings news to me of my daughter shall be well-rewarded for his pains.
“Discover the whereabouts of King Nala. Who brings Nala or Damayanti home shall receive from me cows and land. Anyone who brings news of my children shall receive gold and silver. You pious and compassionate brahmanas can help me, for by your mercy I shall recover the jewel of my kingdom, my fair daughter, Damayanti.”
And so it was that the brahmanas left, early in the morning in search of King Bhima’s daughter. They went in all directions, from town to town, but no one had heard any news. Nala and his wife could not be found in any of the towns or provinces near the kingdom of Vidarbha. As time passed, King Bhima himself was disconsolate. Where was Damayanti?
महाभरत
Mahābharata
As retold by
Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi
Nala and Vahuka: The Magic Dwarf
As the strange snake prince disappeared into the forest, Nala was confused. His body burned with the snakebite.
Bt as the poisonous venom coursed through his veins, his head became clear for the first time in days. He looked at himself again in the mirror of the stream and saw the ugly face of a twisted old dwarf with buck-teeth and bushy eyebrows. A coal-black beard completed his hideous appearance. Short and stout, he was dressed as a chariot driver. No, his own chariot-driver, Varshneya was better dressed. What had become of Varshneya, he wondered.
Suddenly, he remembered Damayanti. What had he done? What had possessed him to leave her in the forest? As the influence of Kali diminished, his conscience pricked him. But this was no time for lamentation. The snake venom moved through him, emboldening his steps. What had the Naga prince said? He must go to the city of Ayodhya, where once Lord Rāma had ruled so long ago. There he could bide his time until the moment came for him to regain his kingdom. There was still hope.
He stood up straight and dusted himself off. The acrid smell of burned wood still hung in the air. But now the sun was coming up over the mountains and he could see the path to Ayodhya through the mist.
“My name is Vahuka now,” Nala thought. Glancing again at his mirror image in the stream, he smiled. “Yes, the Naga was right. This is the perfect disguise. Who will recognize me? I will take the path to Ayodhya and seek out the king there. What was his name? Rituparna. I will go to Rituparna and train horses for a while.”
And so it was that Nala, in the form of the dwarf Vahuka, began walking down the forest path to Ayodhya, where after a few days he arrived. Making his way through the great gate of the city he reached the palace of the king whose name was Rituparna. “Vahuka is my name,” he sang, “and horses are my game.”
As luck would have it, Rituparna himself was just entering the palace courtyard, seated on his chariot. But the horses were upset. They pulled the chariot in all directions.
“Hold!” said his chariot-driver, as he pulled on the reins. The horses reared, baring their white teeth. They refused to obey. The chariot overturned.
Rituparna was cast to the ground. Grabbing the reins, the chariot-driver lashed a black stallion with his whip, trying to bring him under control. The horse reared again, attacking the driver. Rituparna was trapped under a broken axle of the overturned chariot. With hatred in his eyes the furious stallion made to trample the king. The chariot driver, whip in hand, ran from the maddened beast.
Just then the king saw an ugly dwarf, robust and muscular, stand before the raging horses. He put his stubby fingers in his mouth and whistled through his beard. The horses looked at him. They shook out their manes. He whispered a mantra in a foreign language. They stamped their hooves and switched their tails and then stood quietly, as if thoughtful. He approached the angry black stallion. Unable to reach any higher, he patted the horse on the shank. “ Stay.” He said. “It’s me. Stay now. That’s good.” The horse stood calmly, happy to receive the affectionate touch of Vahuka the dwarf.
Having calmed the horses, the powerful dwarf bent over the king and lifted the chariot wheel from where it was crushing his chest. He helped Rituparna to his feet. “Who are you?” said the king with a smile, dusting himself off.
“Vahuka is my name, and horses are my game.”
“I can see that,” said the king. “You’re just in time. I’m afraid my chariot driver is not very experienced.”
By this time the driver had returned, chastened by the accident. “Jivala! Get back here.” The king said. “Meet Vahuka. He’s our new horse-trainer. You can learn a lot from this man.” Turning to Vahuka, the king said, “You will help us won’t you?”
And indeed by snapping his fingers, sparks flew. They fell on the dry straw on the earth near the chariot. The straw produced an ember which fanned by a slight breeze burst into a tiny flame. "I can also call water from anywhere." And snapping his fingers again and touching the earth a trickle of water sprang from the ground and extinguished the fire. Jivala, who stood there, whip in hand, was astonished. "This dwarf is surely magic!" he said to the king. Vahuka continued, "I am well-known for my art in cooking. I was on my way to Vidarbha or perhaps Nishadha, for these kingdoms have a good reputation, but as I am fond of Lord Rāma, I couldn't possibly omit a visit to fair Ayodhya, Rāma's kingdom." And King Rituparna said, "O Magic Dwarf, Vahuka. You have shown your prowess with horses. I am sure you are every bit as expert in the kitchen as you are in the stables. Stay here with us in Ayodhya. Help me with my horses. I shall pay you gold and silver coins of the realm. I shall appoint you stable-master. Jivala here shall assist you in anything you need." Vahuka again bowed with a flourish. "As you wish, sire." he said.
नारायणं नमस्कृत्य नरं चैव नरोत्तमम्
देवीं सरस्वतीं चैव ततो जयम् उदीरयेत्
महाभरत
Mahābharata
As retold by
Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi
Nala and Damayanti
And so Damayanti turned north towards the crystal river, flowing downward to the sea until she reached the holy mountain. The lofty peaks rose up to the heavens. That holy mountain was streaked with veins of precious metals like gold and silver. Through its crags ran clear rivulets filled with opals and other and sacred gemstones. And though those those hills the elephants moved, regal in their bearing.
And as she walked the songs of strange birds consoled her with exotic melodies. There were no palm trees here, but the evergreens of stately height rose over the forest floor. Orange butterflies flitted through blossoming hibiscus as she strode through orchards of trees laden with golden fruits.
Damayanti was lost. Sustained by the golden fruits, she continued on the path. But was this the path to Vidarbha? Or Ayodhya? Or was she only wandering aimlessly, deeper and deeper into the woods?
She felt she was walking in circles, lost and forgotten. Where was Nala? Where was her proud king? Besides herself with the madness of grief, she consulted the trees of the forest, saying, “O majestic lords of the forest, set me free from this misery. Show me the path to my king. Where is Nala?”
And as she passed the trees with golden fruit, she walked another three days further toward the region of the north and by and by she came to a grove of ashoka trees. Within those woods saintly sages had made their ashram.
There, great teachers like Brhigu and Atri and Vasistha had lived from time to time, performing their vows of penance and austerity. Among those sages were mystic yogis who lived on nothing more than air and water, clad in the bark of trees, seeking the right way of living and the path to immortality. Some wore deerskins and sat in the lotus position on mats of kusha straw, meditating on the divine nature. And near them cows were herded, munching grass. Monkeys played in the ashoka trees. Multi-colored parrots sang prayers in sanskrit rhyme. And there the saintly souls had their dwellings made of wood. Plumes of smoke rose from their hearth-fires, warming the cool air.
And while she had wandered long, Damayanti’s courage was revived. Her fair brow shined. A smile graced her cherry-red lips. Her long black tresses moved in the breeze. Her torn sari barely concealed her fine hips and lovely breasts as she strolled into the circle of the holy saints gathered there. And Damayanti wondered to see such holy company sheltered by the green foliage of the ashoka trees. Upon seeing that noble princess enter their grove, the wise men there said arose from their meditation and greeted her.
“Welcome, my child,” said one. “You are home now, my child,” said another.
So cheered by the company of those great souls, that pearl among women, Damayanti took refuge in the mountain ashram. She was offered a seat and some food from the holy offering, prasadam. “Please sit,” they said. “Tell us, how did you find us? How did you arrive here? Where did you come from and what is your purpose?”
“O holy ones, you are all truly blessed, to live here among saintly souls, pursuing the life of dedication to the divine. You are blessed with your sacred fires, your holy worship. O sinless ones, your selfless service is blessed even by the beasts and birds. I think that God in his infinite mercy blesses you in your duties as in your deeds.”
“It is all His grace,” they replied as one. “If we have any goodness here it is by the mercy of our guru, our guide. Our divine mentor has blessed us. But now you have come to bless us with your presence.”
“What goddess are you,” asked one. “Are you the goddess of this forest or of the river? You dazzle us with your beauty. You must be some divine being. Or are you the lady of the mountain, come to bless us in human form?”
“No goddess,” said she. “Neither a river nymph or apsara. I am merely a woman. I am Damayanti, wife of Nala the great hero and king of Nishadha. I am the daughter of King Bhima of Vidarbha, but I have lost my way in this forest. If I cannot find my king I shall surely die of grief.” And she told the sages there of her love for Nala and how the gods had been unkind and he had lost his kingdom by gambling. He is a great king, brave in battle, expert with horses, fierce in war, patient in peace. He is a good ruler to the poor, chastise of the wicked, friendly to brahmanas. Splendid as the king of the gods. Indeed he competed for my hand with Indra himself. Nala is a kind and devoted husband and father. Somehow we were separated. And I have wandered far and long to find him. But I have lost him here in this forest. And now I fear I will lose myself. Has anyone here seen my Nala? Has the monarch of the Nishadhas passed this way? If I don’t find him soon, perhaps I shall leave this mortal body and find the heavenly bliss that you all seek. How can I endure my existence alone, cursed and exiled?”
The sages said: “O blessed one. The time shall come. We see him. By mystic power we can see the future. We see that your future will bring happiness. We see Nala, the tiger of men. You are by his side. But you must first pass through a long time of hardship. You shall be together again. Soon you will behold your king. Mark our words.”
And so saying the saints with their holy fires disappeared from before her eyes. All at once the sacred fires were gone. The holy hermits had vanished. Their humble huts and meditation cells vanished. No smoke came from he sacred fires. They had left no ashes. Even the cows and happy monkeys swinging in the trees had gone, vanished.
The forest floor in the ashoka grove was deserted and dusty.
Damayanti was left standing alone again in the forest. Desolate, she asked the ashoka trees, “Where are all the saints? Where have the hermits gone? Why have they deserted me? Where is my king? Have you seen my husband?”
Mad with grief, she ran from tree to tree, saying, “Where have the holy devotees of Krishna gone? Why have they left me here? Where is the river stream that ran here watering the lotuses? Where are the colorful parrots who chant the holy Vedas in Sanskrit verse?”
She wandered about until she came upon an ashoka tree. Tears in her lotus eyes, she cried, “O noble tree, your name is ashoka, meaning free from lamentation. Free me from my lamentation and tell me where my husband is. He wore the torn half of my cloth. Answer me.”
But the green and leafy tree had no answer.
In this way Damayanti passed through the forest traveling ever deeper into regions dark and dangerous. She passed groves of trees and meandering streams. She passed placid mountains and saw wild deer and birds. She roved over hills and through caverns until she thought she had lost all hope. Arriving at last at a pleasant river, she bathed in its cool, clear waters.
And as she bathed, she saw a cloud of dust across the waters, downstream. It was a large caravan. As the caravan arrived, she could see horses and elephants, chariots and carts laden with goods. They had stopped on the opposite banks of the river and began to ford the waters.
She ran toward them, but the group was astonished to see a disheveled madwoman of the forest running at them and shouting. They stopped.
“Who are you?” They said. “Are you a forest spirit or a demon sent to curse us to hell. Please bless our caravan that we may pass this river with no harm.”
Nala and Damayanti
The Magic Dwarf:
A Race to the Finish 
In the kingdom of Ayodhya, Rituparna had made Vahuka the Magic Dwarf, who was really Nala in disguise, his horsemaster. Vahuka was to train Jivala the chariot-driver and see to it that the horses were fast.
Vahuka slept in the stables with the horses. Jivala came to him in the morning, Vahuka led him to the powerful black stallion named Blaze, who had rebelled and thrown the chariot of the king.
“Come here, Jivala,” He said. Blaze’s eyes grew wide as if in terror. “It’s all right boy.” Jivala was afraid of the horse, but followed the instruction. The dwarf was so short he couldn’t reach the horse's neck. He stood up on a wooden stool and held the reins. “Here, boy, don’t be afraid.” Jivala approached.
“Look here,” he said, holding the reins as he stood up on a stool.
Jivala followed, but didn’t understand. What was he supposed to see? He saw a dwarf holding the reins of that hideous beast who had almost killed his master the king.
“What is it, Vahuka?” he said.
“See where the reins chafe the horse’s neck? The straps are too tight.”
“A tight strap makes a good horse,” said Jivala.
“No. This horse is in pain. Remove these reins.”
“Then how shall we control the horse?” said Jivala, who had never heard such nonsense.
“We will control him with love,” said Vahuka. “Do it now.”
He patted the horses face, looking him in the eye, and got down from the stool. Picking up the wooden footstool, he walked across the stable to the next horse.
“Do it now,” he said.
Jivala shook his head. What could a dwarf now about horses? He wasn’t even tall enough to touch his mane.
“Fine. As you say.”
Jivala set about removing the reins. The horse huffed and shook his head. Jivala manhandled the straps. The horse whinnied. Suddenly the dwarf was at his side again, tugging his leg.
“Gently!”
Jivala shrugged. He did his best to undo the straps. He could see that they had chafed through the horse’s skin. As he eased the straps off, a trickle of blood ran down Blaze’s face. He undid the leather straps and stepped back.
“You see, Jivala, this horse is in pain,” said Vahuka. A horse will never respond as long as he is in pain. You must treat him with love, not the whip. No more whip.”
“With all respect, my dear dwarf, I’m not sure I understand your methods. How will the horse go fast if we don’t whip them?”
“They will ride fast as the wind, with only a whisper from you, if you show them love.”
“As you say. You are the horse-master.”
Vahuka handed his assistant a small green bottle with some kind of liquid.
“This is a potion made of herbs. Apply this to his injuries before the blood dries. Do the same for the other horses. I want you to rest all the horses for 3 days.”
Vahuka pointed to the dried and fetid straw piled in the center of the stable.
“Is that their feed?”
“Why yes, sir. The hay comes from town.”
“I want fresh alfalfa.”
“Fresh alfalfa is expensive sir, we’ve always used this hay.”
“This dried hay is not for these champions. They want fresh alfalfa.”
Pointing to the water trough, he said, “How often do you change this water?”
“Why, once a week, sir.”
“No. Change that water now. It’s stagnant. Tell the king you need a helper if must be, but these conditions are not fit for fine horses. If he wants fast horses, they must be happy horses.”
Jivala was beginning to see the logic. He looked down at the strange man with the coal black beard and the winkle in his eye.
“All right sir. I’ll get some helpers.”
A week passed. The stables were clean. The alfalfa was fresh. The mares and foals ate peacefully. The stallions drank pure water. The wild black stallion, Blaze, ran free in the fields of the king without harnesses, straps or reins. All the horses in the stable grew strong. They no longer feared and hated Jivala.
As Jivala worked with a helper to change the water, he felt a tug on his leggings. He turned and saw the coal black eyes of Vahuka looking up at him. “They’re ready. It’s time for a little demonstration,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s have a race.”
After consultation with the king, a day was set for the race. King Rituparna would select his two best horses. He would race against his famous chariot-driver, Jivala. If Jivala won, he would keep the horse. If the King won, he would give ten cows in charity to the local brahmanas.
The people of Ayodhya turned out to see the spectacle. The weather was fine. They chose a large meadow between the forest of Ayodhya and the fields where the cows grazed. At noon, the spectators sat under brightly colored umbrellas and drank refreshing drinks as the summer sun grew warmer.
First King Rituparna rode forth on a fine white mare, which he called Storm. He was dressed in fine silk cloths and his horse was decorated in Ayodhya’s greatest finery. The horses golden reins and tackle shined in the sun. Jivala was mounted on the fast grey stallion, Thunder. He was wearing the uniform of the king’s charioteers and his horse was decked with silver, the reins fastened tight.
King Rituparna smiled and waved at the crowds gathered there. The townspeople and men of the court cheered their champion. He brought his horse to the line.
Jivala held the reins closely on Thunder. He trotted to the line. A few ladies cheered him from a distance.
Just as the race was about to begin, the crowd broke into laughter. King Rituparna turned to see what the scandal was all about. He could see his hunchbacked horsemaster mounted on Blaze, trotting to the line.
It was a ridiculous sight. The hump-backed dwarf, with his hooked nose, coal black beard and strange garb was riding bare-back, his raven hair wild in the wind. He stood up on the horse’s back, waving at the crowd, and flipped in the air. The crowd went wild at the dwarf’s equestrian antics. As a clown, he was a great success. But in a race with royalty? Blaze didn’t even have a saddle. How could he hope to compete with the king?
He reached the line. King Rituparna looked at the pitiful dwarf mounted on the wildest horse in the stable. “Where’s your saddle?” He said. “I never heard of a race without a saddle.”
“Long ago, in the land of the mlecchas, I learned to ride without a saddle. In the sands of the deserts where the camels roam, the nomads ride bare-back. As your horse-master I should be considered as a candidate for this race.”
The King smiled, “What shall be the stakes?”
“Friendly stakes,” said Vahuka. “I’m tired of the soup you serve around here. I have a mind to show my skill at cooking. If I win, you make me head of your kitchen.”
The horses stamped their feet. Jivala held the reins even tighter. The king laughed. “A horse-master chef? I hope your soup doesn’t smell of the stables.”
The minister of war held a silk handkerchief high in the air. When it fell to the ground the race would begin.
“Very well, Vahuka,” he said. “Take care with that horse. He has a deadly character.
The war minister raised the handkerchief still higher. They readied the horses for a charge. Blaze, Thunder, and Storm tensed the large muscles in their necks. Their eyes bulged.
The silk handkerchief was in the air. The reins tightened. King Rituparna’s horse Storm shot off down the field, his hooves shaking the earth. Dust flew. Jivala was next on Thunder. Blaze trotted down the field. Vahuka smiled peacefully, standing on the horses back and waving to the crowd. The stallion stopped and reached down to taste a flower, unconcerned as the two royal horses sped down the racecourse.
Rituparna had put quite a distance between his own Storm and Jivala’s Thunder.
As they turned the first corner, Vahuka sat down and stroked the horse’s mane, fondly. “Run like the wind," he whispered in the horse’s ear.”
Suddenly Blaze bolted into action. His head went horizontal, his teeth were gritted, his eyes showed white. He seemed to fly above the earth. He charged, his hooves thundering over the turf, as he carried the dwarf Vahuka just as the wind carries a leaf.
Jivala felt a rush of air as Blaze raced past, nostrils flared. The dwarf smiled at him as he pulled even tighter on the reins. He wanted to reach for the whip, but the whip had been banned.
But Vahuka needed no whip. He whispered again to Blaze as they rocketed past Jivala on Thunder.
King Rituparna was still far ahead, nearing the finish line. Some of the crowd cheered the king, but others began cheering the dwarf who was closing. Jivala was far behind as Blaze kicked up the dust.
As they came into the final turn, Rituparna smiled. It would be an easy victory. The brahmanas would be happy with their new cows. He could hear the crowd cheering him on.
As they came into the stretch, Vahuka on Blaze was inching up on Storm. Both horses were straining to run as fast as they could, but Blaze was running without the weight of a saddle, without the chafing of the bridle, and his rider ran without the restraints of a king’s rich garments. Leaning forward, the dwarf whispered again. Blaze ran even faster.
Rituparna was shocked. “Who is this dwarf?” He thought, “Is he a Gandharva in disguise?” just as Vahuka raced past. He pushed Storm to respond, but the horse could run no faster.
In a trifle, the race was over. Vahuka rode Blaze fast as the wind to the finish line. King Rituparana arrived a full second later. They waited a bit for Jivala, whose horse Thunder was exhausted. The crowd cheered the victor. “Hurray for Vahula! Hurray for the Dwarf! Vahula ki Jai!” they shouted.
After the race, King Rituparna congratulated Vahuka and appointed him master of the kitchens. The following day, Vahuka prepared a great feast for all. Brahmanas were invited to the feast which was served at an auspicious hour. After an aroti ceremony offering everything to the Deity of Vishnu, all were served. They sat in the courtyard in the shade of a huge tamarind tree. There were rich subjis, simple rice dishes with saffron soaked in ghee or clarified butter. There were refreshing drinks and payasam, sweet rice. A large variety of fresh fruits, vegetables, and different kinds of savories, samosas, and pakoras were served, followed by a number of desserts. Everyone agreed that Vahuka was quite a cook.
Two of the brahmanas there had traveled from the court of King Bhima in Vidarbha. As they were eating, one of them said, “I have traveled far and wide in the kingdom of Ayodhya and have never seen anyone with such skill at horses.”
His friend said, “There is only one man capable of such a feat. But alas, he was exiled to the forest by the cruel King Pushkar after losing everything in a dice game.”
The first brahmana laughed: “You must mean King Nala. Nala was tall with curly golden hair. This Vahuka is a clown. He may be good with horses but he has nothing in common with King Nala.”
His friend smiled as he licked a bit of buttery rice from his finger, “He has another thing in common with Nala. This saffron rice. I have only tasted rice like this once before; in the kingdom of Vishadha at the feast of Damayanti.”
“You're right my friend. It may be that Nala has come upon hard times and disguised himself. We must return to Vidarbha and inform the King of these strange events.”
And after finishing their meal the two brahmanas excused themselves and set off on the road to Vidarbha and King Bhima.
महाभरत
Mahābharata
As retold by
Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi
Nala and Damayanti
The Stampede of the Wild Elephants
When she saw the caravan fording the river, downstream, Damayanti rubbed her eyes. Was this a dream? Would they disappear like the holy hermits in the enchanted forest?
They began to wade across. There were men dressed in the style of merchants, horses, asses laden with goods and bullock carts whose heavy wheels wore grooves in the mud. The men helped guide the carts across the river.
The water was only knee-deep at the ford. The reeds grew tall, and geese played on the waveless water. A few women carrying baskets began across, as the men with the carts reached the cane bushes on the near side.
 
Damayanti realized then that this was not a dream. For the first time in days she was close to civilization. These people would help her recover her Nala. She ran to them, waving her arms in desperation.
The men and women of the caravan saw a madwoman running toward them waving her arms. They shrank from the slender-waisted Damayanti. Half-clad in a torn sari she seemed like a maniac, thin and pallid. Her locks were all matted and covered with dust. Some ran in terror from this river spirit. Others approached her in pity and asked, “Who are you? Are you a spirit of this wood? Are you a yaksha or a rakshasa who protects these waters? If you are some divine god, bless us poor merchants who are on our way to market in the city of Chedi which lies through through these woods some leagues away.”
And Damayanti said, “I am only a poor girl who has lost her way. I am the daughter of Bhima, king of Vidarbha. I am looking for my great husband, the king Nala, ruler of the Nishadhas, who has lost his kingdom and been exiled to the forest. Please tell me if you have seen him pass by here.”
Now, the leader of that caravan was a merchant man named Suchi. He said, “O queen, daughter of Vidarbha, we have seen no such man or king pass this way. We have marched for many a day through this forest and have seen neither man nor woman. Elephants and leopards haunt these perilous woods. We have seen buffaloes, tigers, and bears. But no men.”
 
“Good sir, tell me where you and your company are bound,” she said.
“We are heading for the city of Lord Suvaha, the honest and truth-telling king of the Chedis. Join us, for we shall take you back to civilization through this dark and terrible forest. This is no place for a young and beautiful girl such as you.”
They made camp for the night on the banks of that placid stream. Damayanti bathed, and was given fresh cloth by some of the women of the merchants. And after eating a hot meal in the company of the ladies there, she rested. On the following day, Damayanti joined the caravan’s march as they went through the forest on the way to Chedi.
After a three day march, they left the dark and awful forest and arrived at the shores of a great lake, covered with lotuses. All around the lake were unusual flowers, bamboo and sugar cane.
    
The water of the lake was crystal pure and refreshing. There was plenty of grass for the horses and oxen, and plenty of sweet sugar cane. It was a natural oasis of fruits and flowers, coconuts and bananas, lotuses and kadamba flowers. Melodious birds filled the air with song.
  
Their leader, Suchi, signalled to make camp there. And they found delightful shelter in that pleasant grove.
But that land was the favorite of the elephants. And as they slept, a group of wild elephants came from out the forest and began to run to the lotus-filled lake to drink and bathe themselves and to feast on the sugar cane.
Those mighty beasts ran right through the pleasant groves where the caravan lay sleeping. And as the merchants arose and tried to defend themselves, waving their arms and screaming, there the elephants panicked.
The elephant herd charged and stampeded, crushing horses and camels; and in their wild rampage they killed some of the merchants with their tusks and others by trampling.
Some of the merchants ran in terror only to be trampled. Others climbed trees to escape the charging elephants who did great destruction to the caravan and to their camp.
Some uttered cries of terror as they were crushed beneath the powerful legs of the mad elephants.
In the chaos, some men drew swords and spears. They threw their spears at the elephants, killing other men.
And so it was that the caravan that had rescured Damayanti suffered great loss on account of the elephants. The campfires were overturned. The flames became a raging fire burning through the sugar cane. And the conflagration reached even the men who had hidden in the trees. And there arose a tremendous uproar like to the destruction of the three worlds at the end of time.
In the morning the elephants had gone. And some of the more unscrupulous followers of the caravan had gathered the jewels and gold of the others and made off with their wealth, fleeing the camp. Others merely fled the frantic carnage, returning to the river from whence they came.
And as the sun came up, those who were left behind wondered much at these occurrences saying, “Such misfortune has never befallen us before. Perhaps we have offended some spirit of the forest.”
Envious tongues blamed Damayanti, saying, “Yes. We were fine before that madwoman arrived. She must be a Rakshasa, or some other supernatural being or a demon sent from hell to torture us.”
When she awoke, she could hear the others talking. Damayanti took shelter behind a tree and listened as the others conspired against her.
“This demon-girl is bad luck. We should kill her,” said one.
“She must be a Rakshasa who bewildered our leaders with her beauty. But she must be stopped before her magic kills us all..”
One of the elders who had survived said, “She should be stoned to death. Or left to be trampled by the elephants.”
Another said, “She must be drowned in her own lake. Or beaten to death with our very fists, the she-devil.”
An old woman said, “Who is this woman? She brought evil upon us. Did you see her maniac eyes, her barely-human form? She is a witch whose black magic has cursed us all to death. Who else but a demon would cause us harm. Let us set upon her with stones and bamboo sticks. We must put her to death or perish ourselves.”
In terror and shame Damayanti fled to the shade of the forest. There she found a path that wound around the other side of the lake where there were no flowers but only brambles and thorns. Her bare feet bled to step on the rocky path.
“Why am I so cursed? Could the gods be so angry with me? What was my sin? I scarcely met this host of men when they were slaughtered by mad elephants. But my accursed life was spared, that I might spend more time in sorrow. No one dies before his time, they say. And what befalls us, good our bad is our own destiny. And yet, even as a child I never did anything so sinful as to cause such a terrible reaction. I must have offended the gods at my swayamvara. I rejected them for Nala. Perhaps had I chosen a god for my husband, I wouldn’t find myself lost in this terrible forest. But how could I have chosen otherwise. Nala was my destiny.”
And so, lamenting her fate, Damayanti walked on towards the sunset. And as she came over a small rise in the footpath, she could see, shining in the distance the stone towers of the city of Suvahu the truth-seeking king of the Chedis. At last.
नारायणं नमस्कृत्य नरं चैव नरोत्तमम्
देवीं सरस्वतीं चैव ततो जयम् उदीरयेत्
महाभरत
Mahābharata
As retold by
Michael Dolan, B.V. Mahāyogi
Nala and Damayanti
The Magic Dwarf:
"Where has she gone?"
Brihadaswa said, “Late at night, Jivala was passing by the stables. He could see the light of a candle flickering through a window. He approached and heard the plaintiff sound of a lute, accompanied by a low, gruff voice. The dwarf was singing.
Curious, Jivala came closer to the window. He could see the dwarf playing a curious musical instrument. As he listened, he could hear Vahuka sing a sad and original ballad about a king who loses his empire. “What a strange song,” thought the king. He walked to the door of the stables and entered quietly, but As he approached, the dwarf stopped singing and put down his lute.
“Vahuka,” said the Jivala. “Don’t stop. I just came to sweep up the stables. I must confess, you have surprised us all. I never thought you would outrace the king of Ayodhya. And all the royal guests at court are satisfied. The brahmanas there have never tasted such rich food. Your feast was quite a success. And they’re all talking about the horse race. I must say, you’ve made quite a reputation here in Ayodhya, my dear little dwarf. And now it turns out you play the lute. I’m sorry to interrupt, you sir. Please continue your song.”
And Vahuka the dwarf looked at his friend Jivala. He picked up his lute again. He said, “Very well, my lord. I’m not much of a singer. But my song tells an old story. Perhaps you’ve heard it before. And he sang Jivala a strange ballad of a far off kingdom where a great and noble king ruled. He was married to a fair princess, who had chosen him from among the gods.
He ruled peacefully for twelve years, but one day, the king broke ekadashi. and fell under the influence of a demon, Kali. Possessed by the demon he played at dice and lost his kingdom. Exiled to the forest, he abandoned his wife, was bitten by a snake-prince, and became an ugly dwarf, bound to train horses.
When he finished Jivala was astonished. “What could it mean?” he though. “Was Vahuka telling his life in song? Was he accursed or possessed by some strange demon?”
“That’s a strange song,” he said. “And so sad. Is this your composition?”
Vahuka smiled. “Like most sad ballads, this one tells an unbelievable story, and yet it reminds me of someone and the melody is not without merit.”
“But you have traveled far and wide,” said Jivala, suspecting that Vahuka wasn’t telling the whole story. “Have you ever known anyone like this king who wagered his empire at dice?”
“Such things only happen in ballads, my friend” said the mysterious dwarf. He smiled widely, showing his broken teeth between his coal black beard as he slipped the ivory plectrum between the strings and put up his lute. “I’m glad the people enjoyed the feast. What does his lordship like for breakfast?”
“It’s such a sad ballad. There must be some truth in it,” said Jivala who stood in the stable doorway, leaning on his broom.
“Well, according to the poets, the sweetest songs sing of the saddest things.”
“Yes, but the song seems personal to you. What about the dwarf?”
“Oh, the old ballads are filled with dwarfs and dragons, Nagas, yakshas and rakshasas. You mustn’t take these things seriously. Surely they have been made up by poets to scare children into going to bed early. There are many such songs.”
“Do you know any others?” said Jivala.
“Oh, all right. If you like,” said the dwarf. He picked up his lute and took the plectrum from the strings. And once again he began to play and sing:
क्व नु सा क्षुत्पिपासार्ता श्रान्ता शेते तपस्विनी ।
स्मरन्ती तस्य मन्दस्य कं वा साद्योपतिष्ठति ॥
kva nu sā kṣutpipāsārtā śrāntā śete tapasvinī |
smarantī tasya mandasya kaṃ vā sādyopatiṣṭhati ||
“Where is she, worn and weary? Where is she, hungry and thirsty and torn by penance. Where does she rest?
Does she remember the fool who left her? And who is she serving now? O where has she gone?”
And Jivala said, “Who might be the lady’s husband?”
“The song tells of a man who lost his sense. The lady is faultless. But this fool leaves her, possessed by ghosts. And so he wanders, racked by sorrow.
"The wretch made false promises. He cannot rest by day or night. And so at night, he remembers her, singing this song, ‘O where has she gone?’ You want to hear the rest?”
“Play on,” said Jivala.
And taking up his theme again, Vahuka sang,
“Having wandered the whole round world, the wretch can’t sleep at night.
His soul possessed by Kali, his mind consumed with fright.
He broods and sings this verse of grief, it gives him some relief.
‘O where O where has my lady gone; he left her like a thief
Abandoned in the forest dark, the forest lone and dread.
O where O where has my lady gone? Alive? Or is she dead?
Dead to the love that we once had, lost to beasts of prey?
O where has she gone, where does she roam?
Her lord has gone away.’”
From Mahābhārata 3.64.9–19
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