‘When King Kayamba heard the messenger’s words, ignorant of his own weaknesses, he bit his lips in anger and replied,
‘“Is your king a fool? Is he crazy? Is he insane? How can he not know that I am like a Garuda bird; as the Garuda bird is the natural and mighty enemy of the snakes, I destroy all my snake-like enemies.
‘“Does Nala not at least have some ministers who are capable of knowing a proper course of action from one that should not be pursued, and who might have prevented him from speaking in this outrageous manner?
‘“O messenger! Go. Tell your master to prepare himself for battle, if he is tired of his life. I am ready!”
‘The messenger went back and told Nala what Kayamba had said. Nala was furious and marched out against him with his full army of elephants, horses, chariots and footsoldiers.
‘He surrounded Takkasīlā from all sides. He ringed the city with a line of elephants, as if with a second impenetrable city wall.
‘Kayamba, unable to endure Nala’s insult, armed himself and marched out of his city. Their two armies met in battle. In that battle the flash of their many weapons doubled the intensity of the sun’s rays; the sky was packed solid with the hosts of arrows that they shot; there was a glow from the flames of the fires that were sparked when their sswords clashed; gods, demi-gods and goblins watched as the headless corpses danced, while the severed heads of the warriors looked like so many lotuses afloat on rivers of flowing blood. Nala said to Kayamba, “What is gained by the death of all these footsoldiers, dying here like flies? Let just the two of us fight each other.” And so the two of them like two gargantuan mountains in motion began to fight, using arm wrestling and other close means of combat. Kayamba called the shots, but Nala defeated him at every type of fighting that he demanded. Finally Kayamba fled; he renounced all desires and stood fixed in meditation.
‘When Nala saw him like that, he said, “I am the loser, you are the victor, for you have chosen the path of righteousness. Come and rule your kingdom.” Because he was without desires, Kayamba ignored Nala as if he did not even exist, as if had no more substance than the wind. Nala was impressed by Kayamba moral strength and placed Kayamba’s son Jayasattī on the father’s throne.
‘The kings celebrated Nala’s consecration as emperor over the entire territory of half of Bharaha; once the great King Vinhu had similarly been installed as world emperor. Back in KosalĀ Nala spent his days enjoying himself with Damayaṃtī in pursuit of various pleasures, while his treasury was filled with more and more wealth, coming from the tribute that other kings brought him in submission, and heavenly damsels sang praises of his might.
‘But Nāla’s brother Kûvara, a blot on his own family, coveted Nala’s throne and lay in wait for Nala, watching for him to make some mistake. As Fate would have it, just as the moon is marred by a dark mark on its surface, Nala became addicted to the vice of gambling. Kūvara was thrilled, for he thought to himself, “I can win the kingdom from Nala in a dice game.” The two of them gambled together for a long time, victory going to the one and then to the other, as the knot in the rope on a drum moves from side to side. But Fate so ordained it that eventually Nala just could not defeat Kūvara. Although Nala was not a bad player, the dice fell against him. The cruel Kûvara beat him again and again. Kûvara wrested from Nala cities, towns, villages and settlements. Like a lake in summer, its water dried up by the sun, Nala was stripped of all of his wealth. The people watched in horror as Nala was blinded by his lust for the game. Kûvara was delighted as he saw his dreams being realized. The people, devoted to Nala, cried out in grief. When Damayaṃtī heard their lament, she came running.
‘She said, “My lord! I beg of you, do this for me. Stop playing. These dice have become your enemy; they will give you nothing but grief.
‘“Give the kingdom to your younger brother Kûvara; do not give him the chance to make fun of you, having stolen your kingdom by force.
‘“My heart is pained that this kingdom, conquered by valour in battle, should be gambled away in a game of dice, thrown away, like learning that is imparted to a person of the lower classes.”
‘“But as a mad elephant in rut ignores the jab of the elephant goad, Nala ignored her words. She turned to the ministers and cried, “Stop Nala from gambling.”
‘They too told Nala again and again to stop playing, but Nala kept on. When a person has a fatal disease, medicine is of no use to him.
‘Nala lost his entire kingdom; Nala lost even Damayaṃtī and the other women in his harem; he lost the very jewellery that adorned his person. Kūvara shouted at Nala, “Leave my kingdom at once. You cannot stay here. Father gave you the kingdom, but the dice have now given it to me.”
‘Nala said to Kūvara, “Fortune is never far from men who are strong and mighty, my good man! Do not be so sure of yourself.” Taking with him only the clothes on his back, Nala left with a smile. Even in adversity the steadfast never falter.
‘Damayaṃtī followed Nala, but Kūvara blocked her way. “Fawn-eyed lady!” he said, “you must not go. I won you at dice. Now you must adorn my harem.” At this the ministers said to Kūvara, “Damayaṃtī would not even touch the shadow of another man, so chaste is she. Do not put her in your harem. A man should look on his older brother’s wife as he looks on his own mother.
‘“If you force her then she will reduce you to a heap of ashes. A chaste woman can do anything.
‘“Do not rouse the anger of this chaste woman; do not bring disaster on yourself. She would follow her husband; let her go. Why do you try to stop her? You need not give Nala a village or a settlement. Give him provisions for the journey and a single chariot with a charioteer.”
‘“When Kūvara heard the words of the minister, he let Damayaṃtī go with Nala. He gave Nala the chariot as the minister had asked. But Nala said, “I have given up all the wealth and glory that I had acquired in conquering half of Bharaha and I felt no pain at their loss; what do I need with a chariot?” The ministers said to Nala, “We have served you for a long time and would follow you now, but Kūvara prevents us. And there is another thing,
‘“It is our tradition that we serve whoever is king in your lineage. Now that you have given Kuvāra the kingdom, how could we abandon him?
‘“Now Damayaṃtī alone must be your wife, your minister, your friend and your footsoldier. Her body is as tender as blossoms of the sirisa tree; how will she be able to walk with her soft lotus-like feet on the road that is rough with dirt and pebbles; how will she be able to go, burned by the rays of the sun? Lord! Take the chariot. Please, do this for us. Get on this chariot with the queen.” When the ministers begged him in this way, Nala mounted the chariot with Damayaṃtī. When the women of the city saw Damayaṃtī in a single garment, as if she were going for her bath, they cried such large tears that it seemed that they wore two necklaces of pearls.
‘As Nala proceeded through the city he saw, in its center, a pillar five hundred cubits high. Without a moment’s sad thought for the loss of his kingdom, he playfully lifted up the pillar as if it were a plantain stalk. Then, as if to show that, though uprooted from his kingdom, he would plant his feet there firmly once more, he put the pillar back where it had stood. When the townspeople saw that they all said, “Strange indeed are the workings of Fate, if even Nala, with his strong arms, can lose his kingdom. Once when Nala and Kūvara were playing in the city garden a monk with divine sight and knowledge came into the garden. He told them, ‘In the future Nala will be the ruler of the southern half of Bharaha. He will move the five-hundred cubit pillar that stands in the center of the city.’ Now with our very own eyes we have seen both of these predictions come true. The only thing that seems wrong is that although Nala still lives someone else has become king of Kosalā. On the other hand, the words of a sage can never prove false. If Kūvara does not please his subjects, then surely Nala will be king here again.” And so Nala left the city, listening to words like these from the townspeople. The chariot was
wet with tears that fell from Damayaṃtī’s eyes as she wept.
‘Nala asked the daughter of Bhīma, “Queen, where shall we go?’ She said, ‘King! Let us go to Kumdinapur, where you may honor my father by being his guest.” And so the charioteer at Nala’s command spurred on the chariot’s horses in the direction of Kumdinapur. In time Nala came to a forest; there the roaring of fierce tigers terrified travellers, while deer fled in fear at the cruel calls of the leopards; everywhere there slithered snakes puffed up with poison, panicking the other creatures, and all around could be heard the cries of many a predatory beast. There Nala and Damayaṃtī were set upon by wild men who carried bows and arrows. Nala jumped off the chariot and stood boldly in front of them, brandishing his sword. Damayaṃtī got down from the chariot and grabbing his arm, stopped him, saying, “Why do you waste your efforts on the likes of these creatures, like a lion attacking jackals? Is your sword not ashamed to strike at those men, who are little more than beasts; that sword is the palace in which the Royal Goddess of Victory dwells, the Goddess of Victory over half of Bharaha.” Damayaṃtī let out a loud cry; no one could have stood there in the midst of that cry which was imbued with all the power of her chastity. The wild men fled in every direction, like so many deer at the roar of a lion. Damayaṃtī and Nala followed them deep into the forest.
‘In the meantime other savage men of the forest made off with their chariot; when fate is against a person even all of his heroism is for nought.
“Nala took Damayaṃtī’s hand as he led her through the forest, reminding her of the time when he first took her hand in his at their wedding.
‘Drops of blood dripped from Damayaṃtī’s tender lotus-like feet as they were cut by the sharp tips of the grass; as she walked, the path behind her seemed to be studded with lady-bugs.
‘When he was king, Damayaṃtī had wound a turban on Nala’s head; now with pieces of his garment he bound her sore feet.
‘As Damayaṃtī sat under a tree, exhausted from the journey, King Nala fanned her with the edge of his garment.
‘Nala gathered water in his cupped hands for the thirsty Damayaṃtī to drink. She asked him, “How much farther must we go in this forest today?”
‘Nala answered, “Queen! The forest is a hundred furlongs deep. We have gone five furlongs already today. Take heart.” As they talked there, the sun, as if ashamed that it could do nothing to help them, hid behind the peak of Sunset Mountain. Nala made a bed of kankeli blossoms for Damayaṃtī there in the forest. He said to her, ‘Queen, lie down here and give sleep a chance to seal up your sufferings for a time. Do not be afraid that anything will happen to you. I will keep watch over you.’ Nala then took half of the garment that he wore and spread it down on the bed of flowers. Damayaṃtī prayed to the Jinas and recited the prayer of praise to the five Jain holy ones, the Jinas, others who have reached Final Liberation, the leading monks and teachers among the monks, and the entire monastic community. Then she fell asleep there on the bed that Nala had made for her. As she slept Nala thought to himself:
‘“Men who must turn to their fathers-in-law for help are not real men at all. How can I go to Damayaṃtī father’s house in this pitiable state?
‘“I must steel myself and leave Damayaṃtī, even though I love her. Like a beggar I will go somewhere else on my own.
‘“Nothing will happen to Damayamti; she will be protected by her chastity. Their virtuous conduct, a suit of armor covering every limb, protects chaste women.’”
‘And so Nala took his dagger and cut off half of his garment. On a corner of Damayamti’s clothes he wrote these words in his own blood:
‘“The road to Vidarbha lies just south of this fig tree; or if you prefer, the road to Kosala lies to the north of this tree.
‘“I must go elsewhere.’
‘And then Nala tiptoed away, crying silently. He looked back and saw his beloved wife sleeping there, but then he went on a short distance before he began to think, “What will happen if a hungry tiger or lion in search of food should see her sleeping there alone? I will wait here until the sun comes up. At dawn let her go where she will.” And so Nala retraced his steps back to her, like a beggar who has nothing left. When he saw her lying there asleep on the ground, he thought to himself, “Alas, Damayaṃtī sleeps here alone in the forest, clad in only a single garment. The women of Nala’s harem never even saw the sun. It is because of me that this lotus-eyed lady has been reduced to this state. What can I do, I am lost! Shameless, I must be made of stone that I can look on my beloved wife lying here on the ground and feel no guilt. When she wakes up here in the forest without me, she may even prove herself to be better than I am by dying. I cannot bear to abandon her; she was a faithful wife to me. Let me die or live, whatever happens, as long as we are together. No, I should be the one to suffer here in this forest, which is filled with hundreds of dangers, not Damayaṃtī, too. When she reads what I have written, surely, she will go home to her father and live happily there.” Convinced of this, Nala somehow got through the night. In the morning when it was time for his beloved wife to awaken, Nala vanished with swift steps.
‘In the last hours of the night, as a pleasant breeze blew carrying with it the fragrance of lotuses, Damayaṃtī had a dream. She had climbed a mango tree with lovely blossoms and fruits. She had eaten its juicy ripe fruits, when a wild elephant tore the tree up by its roots and she fell to the ground, like the egg of a bird from its nest. At that Damayaṃtī woke up. When she did not see Nala there, like a deer that has been separated from the herd, she looked for him everywhere. She began to think, “Oh no! The worst has happened. I have been abandoned here in the forest with no one to protect me. No, no it can’t be; my beloved must have gone to find some lake to get water for me to wash my face. Or maybe some demi-goddess has kidnapped Nala so that she could make love with him. The trees are still here and the mountains, and this is the same forest; only Nala is not here, with his face as lovely as the moon.” Damayaṃtī searched everywhere, her mind confused by all of these conflicting thoughts. When she could not find Nala she grew frightened and began to think about the meaning of her dream. “The mango tree laden with fruits and flowers was King Nala. That I ate the fruits was my enjoyment of the pleasures of being a queen. That a wild elephant uprooted the tree corresponds to Nala’s losing his kingdom on account of Fate, and that I fell from the tree, that is my abandonment by Nala. This dream tells me that it will be hard indeed for me to see him again.”
‘Damayaṃtī began to weep and wail in loud sobs. After all, women are cowardly at heart and are not strong in times of trouble.
‘“My lord! Why have you abandoned me? Was I too heavy a burden for you? Surely the skin that a snake sheds was no great weight on its back.
‘“O Goddesses of the Forest! I beg you, show me my husband, or show me the path that has been purified by the touch of his lotus feet. Even better, O Earth! Split open like a ripe fruit that I may enter through the crack and find some peace in the world below.’
‘As Damayaṃtī lamented, watering the forest trees with her tears, unable to think of any place, anywhere, that would make her happy now that Nala had left her, she suddenly noticed the words written on the edge of her garment. Her face beamed with delight as she read them out. She thought to herself, “My beloved has abandoned me in deed but not in thought; otherwise he would not have shown me this favor of leaving me this message. I shall carry out his words as I would the words of my elders; in that way no harm will come to me in this world. I shall go to my father’s house. In any case, for a woman who is without her husband, her husband’s house is a place of scorn.” So Damayaṃtī decided; she took the path that lead south of the fig tree. She kept her eyes on Nala’s words as if they were Nala himself, walking by her side. Through the power of her unblemished chastity, no danger was able to touch her. Thus:
‘A lion, claws stretched out in anger, hideous to behold with its terrible fangs, was unable even to get near her.
‘A herd of angry elephants, with noisy bees buzzing around the rut juice oozing from their temples and with trunks held high, kept as far away from her as it could.
‘A forest fire, having darkened the skies, licking the heavens with its surging flames, died out before it even reached her, not causing her the slightest pain.
‘Poisonous snakes, their hoods raised, spitting drops of poison in their ever growing anger, were not able to strike her.
‘As soon as they spotted her, goblins and demons and the like, their great pride humbled, turned their backs on her and marched off in the other direction.
‘As she wandered, her body washed with sweat from the exertion of her journey, her feet dripping blood from the thorns that pierced them, her beauty concealed by the veil of dust that covered her, Damayaṃtī came upon a large caravan. She thought to herself, “Oh, my merit has led me to this vast caravan, which will be my way out of this forest.” But no sooner had she consoled herself with this thought, then the caravan was attacked by highway robbers, brandishing all sorts of fearful weapons. Everyone was terrified. Damayaṃtī cried out, “Do not be afraid,” and she shouted at the thieves, “You wicked men! Do not attempt to loot this caravan which is under my protection! If you do you will suffer the consequences.” But that did not stop the thieves. And so she let out a loud cry into which she had infused all the power of her chastity. At that the thieves dispersed like a flock of crows at the sound of the twang of a bowstring. The members of the caravan all said, “This woman who has saved us must be some goddess, who is here in response to our merits.” The leader of the caravan bowed down to her with all the respect he would show to his own mother. He asked her, “Goddess! Who are you? Why are you wandering here in the forest?” She wept and told him everything that had happened to her, just as she would have told a good friend. He said, “As the wife of the great king Nala you deserve to be honored by me. Besides that, I am indebted to you, for you have saved me from those thieves. And so I ask you to honor my dwelling with’your presence.” With those words he led Damayaṃtī to his encampment. There the caravan leader waited on her as if she were indeed a goddess.
The Forest of Thieves and the Magic Garden: An Anthology of Medieval Jain Stories (Penguin Classics) Page 19
