hy best guard."
To his wife of peerless beauty--on the earth, 'twas thus he spoke.
Then of sense bereft by Kali--Nala hastily set forth;
And departing, still departing--he returned again, again;
Dragged away by that bad demon--ever by his love drawn back.
Nala, thus his heart divided--into two conflicting parts,
Like a swing goes backward, forward--from the cabin, to and fro.
Torn away at length by Kali--flies afar the frantic king,
Leaving there his wife in slumber--making miserable moans.
Reft of sense, possessed by Kali--thinking still on her he left,
Passed he in the lonely forest--leaving his deserted wife.

BOOK XI.

Scarcely had king Nala parted--Damayanti now refreshed,
Wakened up, the slender-waisted--timorous in the desert wood.
When she did not see her husband--overpowered with grief and pain,
Loud she shriek'd in her first anguish--"Where art thou, Nishadha's king?
Mighty king! my soul-protector--O, my lord! desert'st thou me.
Oh, I'm lost! undone for ever--helpless in the wild wood left;
Faithful once to every duty--wert thou not, and true in word.
Art thou faithful to thy promise--to desert me thus in sleep.
Could'st thou then depart, forsaking--thy devoted, constant wife;
Her in sooth that never wronged thee--wronged indeed, but not by her.
Keep'st thou thus thy solemn promise--oh, unfaithful lord of men,
There, when all the gods were present--plighted to thy wedded wife?
Death is but decreed to mortals--at its own appointed time,
Hence one moment, thus deserted[71]--one brief moment do I live.--
But thou'st had thy sport--enough then--now desist, O king of men,
Mock not thou a trembling woman--show thee to me, O my lord!
Yes, I see thee, there I see thee--hidden as thou think'st from sight,
In the rushes why conceal thee?--answer me, why speak'st thou not.
Wherefore now ungentle stay'st thou--like to one forsworn, aloof?
Wherefore wilt thou not approach me--to console me in my woe?
For myself I will not sorrow--nor for aught to me befalls.
Thou art all alone, my husband,--I will only mourn for thee.
How will't fare with thee, my Nala--thirsting, famished, faint with toil.
Nor beholding me await thee--underneath the trees at eve."
Then, in all her depth of anguish--with her trouble as on fire,
Hither, thither, went she weeping--all around she went and wa