novelraw Arc 4 - Nalopakhyana - Chapter 1 - Yudhiṣṭhira’s Despair and the Sage’s Counsel
Arc 4 - Nalopakhyana - Chapter 1 - Yudhiṣṭhira’s Despair and the Sage’s Counsel
Janamejaya said, “When the high-souled Pārtha went to the region of Indra to obtain weapons, what did Yudhiṣṭhira and the other sons of Pāṇḍu do?”
Vaiśampāyana replied:
“When Arjuna ascended to the world of the gods, the sons of Pāṇḍu remained in the forest of Kāmyaka with Krishna beside them. One day, those warriors, stricken with grief, sat together upon a clean and solitary sward. Longing for Dhanañjaya, their voices faltered with sobs, and sorrow pressed upon them like a mountain.
Then Bhīma, mighty-armed and unrestrained in speech, turned upon his elder brother with eyes blazing in wrath. His voice thundered across the forest, like a storm breaking the stillness of the night.
‘That bull of the Bharata line,
On whose strong arms our lives recline,
Arjuna, hope of friend and kin,
Hath gone away at thy command.
Upon his might our trust was laid,
Our foes already overweighed.
In dice-hall shame I held my hand,
Yet could have slain them where they stand.
With Keśava’s power beside our own,
The earth was ours, the throne our throne.
But bound by thee, we sit in pain,
While Dhṛtarāṣṭra’s sons grow vain.
O king, remember kṣatriya’s way—
To rule, not waste in woods the day.
Summon Partha, summon Mādhava,
And strike the foe without delay!
Duryodhana, Karṇa, Suvala’s seed—
I’ll fell them all with mace and speed.
Let armies guard them, line on line,
I’ll break their ranks with might divine.’
Vaiśampāyana said:
Thus Bhīma spoke, his wrath unbridled. He pressed his brother with words sharp as thunderbolts, urging him to abandon patience and seize the hour.
‘The crooked must by crooked fall—
So speak the sages, known to all.
A night of vow, the Veda saith,
May count a year in scripture’s breath.
If thus the reckoning be done,
Thirteen full years are passed and gone.
Why wait till Suyodhana’s might
Enslaves the earth in endless night?
Grant me thy leave and I shall go,
To Hastināpura’s halls of woe.
Like fire that leaps on grass so dry,
I’ll burn our foes, they all shall die!’
And Vaiśampāyana continued:
So Bhīma, scorcher of enemies, implored Yudhiṣṭhira to grant him leave. Fierce in his vow and aflame with grief, he sought to strike Duryodhana at once, believing righteousness itself demanded the destruction of the deceitful through deceit.
Thus rebuked by Bhīma, king Yudhiṣṭhira the just touched his brother’s crown with affection, and with calm words sought to soothe him.
“O mighty-armed one,” he said, “without doubt, when the thirteenth year has passed, thou, aided by Arjuna and guided by Kṛṣṇa, shalt bring down Suyodhana and his allies. Yet as for saying ‘the time is fulfilled,’ I cannot utter falsehood. Truth is my dharma, and never will it leave me. Without deceit, with arms alone, shall we conquer the deceitful, and in righteousness destroy Duryodhana.”
Smiling faintly, he added:
“Truth is the staff on which I lean,
Though loss and grief press sharp and keen.
By dharma’s path our foes shall fall,
And righteousness prevail o’er all.”
While Yudhiṣṭhira thus spoke, the great Ṛṣi Vṛhadasva appeared in the hermitage, radiant with austerity and wisdom. The king rose swiftly to greet him, offering the Madhuparka in due form. When the sage had been seated and refreshed, Yudhiṣṭhira placed himself beside him. The weight of sorrow pressed upon his voice, and he said:
“O holy one, summoned by cunning men, I was undone at dice. Unskilled in play, untrained in guile, I was ensnared by their deceit. Wealth and kingdom I lost, and worse still—they dragged into the public assembly my wife, dearer to me than life. Defeated once more, we were banished here, to wear deer-skins in the forest.
Each night I lie awake, remembering the cruel words of our enemies and the bitter cries of my friends. Without Arjuna, the wielder of heavenly arms, on whom our lives depend, I am nearly undone. O sage, when shall I behold again the kind face of Vibhatsu, returning with weapons of the gods? Tell me—hast thou ever seen a king more wretched than I am?”
“Banished, shamed, my queen defiled,
My brothers grieve, my foes reviled.
Of all the kings beneath the sun,
Who bears a heavier fate than one?”
The sage Vṛhadasva, serene and smiling, replied:
“O son of Dharma, thou thinkest thy sorrow unmatched. Yet there was once a king who bore still greater misery. If thou wilt hear, I shall tell thee the tale.”
At these words Yudhiṣṭhira bowed low and said, “Tell me, O illustrious one, for I long to know.”
Then Vṛhadasva spoke, his voice measured like sacred chant:
“There was once among the Niṣādhas a ruler named Vīrasena. His son was Nala, noble and famed for his mastery of virtue and wealth. Yet by the deceit of dice he was vanquished by his brother Puṣkara.
Bereft of kingdom and treasure, he wandered the forest with his queen. No army, no kinsmen, no friends stood beside him—he was utterly alone.
But thou, O king, art not so forsaken. Thy heroic brothers surround thee like gods, and Brahmanas of wisdom and austerity guide thee as sages of heaven. Therefore, grieve not too greatly.”
“Though Nala walked in woods apart,
Bereft of kin, with broken heart,
Thou art not left to grief alone—
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Thy strength is shared; thy light is shown.”
Yudhiṣṭhira, consoled by the sage’s words, folded his palms and said:
“Then tell me fully, O wise one, the tale of Nala, son of Vīrasena. For in the sorrow of others, the afflicted heart finds solace.”
This balances narration in prose with elevated verse for Yudhiṣṭhira’s lament, his dharmic stance, and Vṛhadasva’s counsel.
Vṛhadasva said:
“There was once a king named Nala, son of Vīrasena. Strong of arm, radiant in beauty, skilled in the lore of horses, he excelled in every princely accomplishment. At the head of kings he shone, even as Indra among the gods, and in brilliance he was like the sun himself.
He ruled the Niṣādhas with justice, intent on the welfare of the Brahmanas, versed in the Vedas, master of a vast army, beloved alike of men and women. Truthful, restrained in passions, protector of all, foremost of bowmen, he stood among kings like Manu of old.
At the same time among the Vidarbhas there was a king named Bhīma, fierce in prowess, virtuous and beloved by his people, yet childless. Long did he strive with mind steadfast to obtain issue. At last there came unto him a Brahmarṣi, the illustrious Damana. Desirous of children, Bhīma with his queen worshipped the sage with due reverence, and well-pleased, the holy one granted him a boon: three sons of lofty soul and a daughter shining like a jewel.
The sons were Dama, Dānta, and illustrious Damana—mighty of form and fierce in valor. But the daughter, Damayantī, slender-waisted and faultless, was famed throughout the world for her beauty, grace, and good fortune. When she came of age, hundreds of maidens, decked in ornaments, waited upon her as the attendants of Śacī wait upon the queen of heaven. Among them she shone like lightning flashing amidst the clouds, her great eyes radiant like those of Śrī herself. Neither among men, nor gods, nor Yakṣas had any seen such loveliness before; her beauty filled with wonder even the hearts of the celestials.
So it was that Nala too, unrivalled in charm, equal in beauty to Kāma himself, came to hear of Damayantī.
Heralds carried songs of Nala’s fame,
And to Damayantī spake his name;
While before the king the bards would tell
Of Bhīma’s daughter’s beauty as well.
Without beholding each other’s face,
Their hearts were bound in secret embrace.
A love not born of sight or speech
Had grown in the souls of both, each to each.
Thus Nala’s heart burned with longing, and he would wander alone in the gardens by his palace, seeking solace. One day he beheld a flock of swans with golden wings gliding through the groves. With swift hands he caught one, but the bird spoke in human voice:
“Slay me not, O king. I will do that which shall please thee. I will go to Damayantī and praise thee in such a way that she shall desire no husband but thee.”
Nala, astonished, set the swan free. Rising into the sky with its fellows, it flew to the land of Vidarbha.
There, in the gardens of her father’s palace, Damayantī and her maidens beheld the wondrous birds. With delight they pursued them, each running after one. The swan that Damayantī followed led her aside to a secluded spot and, pausing, addressed her in words clear and sweet:
“O Damayantī, slender of waist and radiant as lightning, there is a king among the Niṣādhas named Nala. In beauty he equals the Aśvins, peerless among men, as Kāma himself in form. If thou shouldst wed him, then thy loveliness and virtue shall find their purpose. For among celestials, Gandharvas, Nāgas, Rākṣasas, and men, we have seen none to rival him. As thou art a jewel among women, so is Nala foremost among men. The union of the best with the best alone is fitting.”
Damayantī replied with a blush:
“Go, O golden-winged one,
Bear my words to Niṣādha’s son.
Tell him Damayantī’s heart is bound,
That in his love her joy is found.”
The swan, gladdened, took wing and returned to Nala, bearing to him the message of Damayantī’s love.
Vṛhadasva said:
“O Bharata, hearing the words of the swan, Damayantī lost all peace of mind for love of Nala. Sighing again and again, she grew pale and thin, her face wan with longing, her eyes fixed in dreamy abstraction as though demented by the god of love.
Her heart, possessed by Kāma, cast away all pleasures: couches, garlands, food, and play. Day and night she wept, murmuring only ‘Alas! Alas!’ And seeing her thus wasted, her maidens, by hints and whispers, spoke of it to King Bhīma.
The Vidarbha monarch, reflecting, thought: ‘My daughter is of age—this sickness of hers is surely the fire of love. It is time that her svayaṃvara be held.’ And he sent forth messengers to all the lords of earth:
‘Come, O heroes, for Damayantī, daughter of Bhīma, will choose her lord.’
Swiftly the kings set forth,
Chariots thundering across the earth,
Elephants trumpeting, banners flying,
Horses neighing, armies vying.
Bhīma received them with honor and gifts, and they made their camps around his city, the earth resounding with their clamor.
At that time, Narada and Parvata, those foremost of celestial ṛṣis, came in their wanderings to the palace of Indra. The lord of the gods worshipped them with reverence and asked of their welfare.
And Narada said:
“O Maghavan, all is well with us, and all is well also with the kings of the earth.”
Hearing this, Indra, slayer of Vṛtra, spoke with eagerness:
“Where are those kṣatriya heroes, my guests and companions? Where are the warriors who fight without fear of death, winning heaven by the valor of arms? I see them not in heaven’s courts. Where are they gone?”
Narada replied:
“The ruler of Vidarbha, O king of gods,
Hath a daughter famed abroad.
Damayantī, jewel bright,
Fairer than all in mortal sight.
Her svayaṃvara now is near,
And all the kings from far and near
Have gone with hope her hand to gain—
That pearl of women, free from stain.”
While they spoke thus, behold! the Lokapālas themselves—Agni, Yama, Varuṇa, and Indra—came together, radiant in glory. Hearing Narada’s words, they exclaimed in delight:
“We too shall go to that svayaṃvara!”
And with their attendants, riding their celestial vehicles, they set forth for Vidarbha, even as the mortal kings had gone.
At the same time, Nala, his heart aflame with Damayantī’s love, set out joyfully for her father’s city.
And as fate would have it, the gods beheld Nala on his path. Resplendent as the midday sun, glowing like Kāma himself in form, he filled them with wonder.
“They saw him stride with radiant face,
And marvelled at his godlike grace.
In beauty bright as heaven’s flame,
He shamed the very lords of fame.”
Astonished, the Lokapālas descended from their cars and approached him, saying:
“O Nala, foremost of kings, ruler of the Niṣādhas! Thou art devoted to truth and famed for righteousness. Aid us now—we ask thee as a friend. Be thou our messenger.”
Vṛhadasva continued:
“O Bharata, Nala, pledged by his word, bowed before the celestials and said, ‘I shall do it.’ Yet with folded hands he asked them:
‘Tell me, I pray you, who ye are,
And who it is that sends me far.
What message shall I bear away?
Speak truly, gods, and I obey.’
Then Maghavan himself replied:
‘We are the immortals—Indra, Agni, Varuṇa lord of waters, and Yama, the restrainer of men. For Damayantī’s sake we have come, desiring her in svayaṃvara. Go thou to her and say: “The guardians of the world, desiring thee, will come to the assembly. Choose one among them for thy lord.”’
Hearing these words, Nala bowed low but answered with anguish:
‘Alas! I too am bound by love,
By Damayantī’s face I move.
How can a heart with passion stirred
Go as a herald, bear such word?
Spare me, O gods, this cruel part—
To woo another while pierced at heart.’
But the celestials said:
‘O king, thou hast promised first, saying “I will.” Can truth now fail in thee? Perform what thou hast pledged without delay.’
Thus pressed, Nala answered again:
‘How shall I enter those guarded halls? Around her chambers watchmen stand, the king’s commands are stern.’
And Indra said:
‘Through our power thou shalt pass unseen. No guard shall mark thy coming, no gate resists thy way.’
So be it—Nala consented, and went to the palace of Damayantī.
There he beheld the daughter of Bhīma, radiant as lightning amidst the clouds, seated with her maidens. Her beauty seemed to rebuke the moon’s own light, her limbs delicate, her waist slender, her gaze full of sweetness.
As Nala entered, the maidens sprang from their seats, astonished at his splendor. They whispered among themselves: “Oh, what comeliness! What gentleness shines from him! Is he some god, a Yakṣa, or a Gandharva?” They dared not speak aloud, but in their hearts, they bowed to him in reverence.
Damayantī too, though struck with wonder, smiled and spoke gently to the Niṣādha prince, who also smiled in return:
‘O thou of faultless form,
Whence hast thou come to me?
What art thou, stranger bright,
That stealeth heart from me?
These halls are barred and guarded,
The king’s command is stern;
How hast thou crossed these thresholds,
And entered, yet unspurned?’
To her Nala replied:
‘Lady, I am Nala, ruler of the Niṣādhas. Not of my own will alone have I come. I am the messenger of the gods.
Indra, Agni, Varuṇa, and Yama have sent me hither. Through their power I passed thy guards unseen. They desire thee, O lotus-eyed one, and bid thee choose among them thy lord. I have spoken as they commanded. Do now, O blessed lady, as thy heart determines.’”
Vṛhadasva said:
“Then Damayantī, bowing first to the gods, turned with a smile to Nala and spoke with trembling heart:
‘O king, love me as I love thee,
And bid me do what pleaseth thee.
Myself, my wealth, my life are thine—
In full devotion I am thine.
The words of the swans consume my soul,
Their fiery speech beyond control.
For thy sake only have I made
The kings assemble in this glade.
If thou forsake me, lord of men,
Whom I adore with heart and pen,
Then fire or water shall I seek,
Or poison’s path, so dark, so bleak.’
Nala, troubled, answered gently:
‘How canst thou, with the Lokapālas here, turn to a man? Choose thou the high-souled lords, the creators of the worlds, before whose feet even I am but dust. Displeasing the gods, a mortal meets his death. Save me, O lady of spotless limbs, and set thy heart upon them.
What woman would not wed Agni, who compasses and devours the earth? What woman would not bow to Yama, whose dread mace drives all beings to the path of dharma? Who would not choose Indra, lord of the celestials, chastiser of Daityas and Dānavas, showerer of rains and giver of victory? Or if thy heart leans towards Varuṇa, guardian of waters, then take him unhesitatingly. Accept my counsel, gentle one, and be united with the immortal gods.’
But Damayantī, her eyes brimming with tears, replied firmly:
‘O lord of earth, I bow to all the gods,
Yet thee, O Nala, I choose for spouse.
Before them all, this truth I vow,
To thee alone my heart I bow.’
Nala, still restrained by his promise, said:
‘O amiable one, act as thou pleasest. Yet remember—having pledged myself to the gods, how can I, sent on their mission, turn to my own desire? If my interest accords with virtue, I shall pursue it; do thou, O blessed lady, also act accordingly.’
Then Damayantī, smiling through her tears, spoke softly:
‘There is a way, O king, where no blame will fall on thee. Come to the svayaṃvara with the gods themselves. There, in the presence of Indra and the guardians of the worlds, I shall choose thee openly. Then no sin will rest upon thee.’
Hearing these words, Nala, comforted yet still burning with longing, took his leave and returned to where the gods awaited him.
Seeing him approach, the Lokapālas rose eagerly and asked:
‘O king, hast thou seen Damayantī of sweet smiles? What words did she speak to us? Tell us all, O sinless one.’
And Nala answered truthfully:
‘By your power I entered her guarded halls unseen. None marked me save the princess herself and her maidens, who marveled greatly at my form. I spoke to her of you, O gods, but her heart is fixed on me. Yet she bade me say this: “Let the gods come with thee to the svayaṃvara; before them all I shall choose thee. Thus no blame will rest upon thee.”
This, O foremost of celestials, is all that passed. The rest lies in your hands.’”