And in the meanwhile Kali, who was resolved on effecting what he had promised, was seeking an occasion against Nala, who lived according to the Śástras. Then, one day, Nala lost his senses from drunkenness, and went to sleep without saying the evening prayer and without washing his feet. After Kali had obtained this opportunity, for which he had been watching day and night, he entered into the body of Nala. When Kali had entered his body, king Nala abandoned righteous practices and acted as he pleased. The king played dice, he loved female slaves, he spoke untruths, he slept in the day, he kept awake at night, he became angry without cause, he took wealth unjustly, he despised the good, and he honoured the bad.
Moreover Dvápara entered into his brother Pushkara, having obtained an opportunity, and made him depart from the true path. And one day Nala saw, in the house of his younger brother Pushkara, a fine white bull, named Dánta. And Pushkara would not give the bull to his elder brother, though he wanted it and asked for it, because his respect for him had been taken away by Dvápara. And he said to him, “If you desire this bull, then win it from me at once at play.” When Nala heard that challenge, in his infatuation he accepted it, and then those two brothers began to play against each other. Pushkara staked the bull, Nala staked elephants and other things, and Pushkara continually won, Nala as continually lost. In two or three days Nala had lost his army and his treasure, but he still refused to desist from gambling, though entreated to desist, for he was distracted by Kali. Damayantí, thinking that the kingdom was lost, put her children in a splendid chariot, and sent them to the house of her father. In the mean-while Nala lost his whole kingdom; then the hypocritical Pushkara said, “Since you have lost everything else, now stake Damayantí on the game against that bull of mine.”
This windy speech of Pushkara’s, like a strong blast, made Nala blaze like fire; but he did not say anything unbecoming, nor did he stake his wife. Then Pushkara said to him, “If you will not stake your wife, then leave this country of mine with her.” When Nala heard this, he left that country with Damayantí, and the king’s officers saw him as far as the frontier. Alas! when Kali reduced Nala to such a state, say, what will be the lot of other mortals, who are like worms compared with him? Curse on this gambling, the livelihood of Kali and Dvápara, without law, without natural affection, such a cause of misfortunes even to royal sages.
So Nala, having been deprived of his sovereignty by his brother, started to go to another land with Damayantí, and as he was journeying along, he reached the centre of a forest, exhausted with hunger. There, as he was resting with his wife, whose soft feet were pierced with darbha grass, on the bank of a river, he saw two swans arrive. And he threw his upper garment over them, to capture them for food, and those two swans flew away with it. And Nala heard a voice from heaven,—“These are those two dice in the form of swans, they have descended and flown off with your garment also.” Then the king sat down despondent, with only one garment on, and providently shewed to Damayantí the way to her father’s house; saying, “This is the way to Vidarbha, my beloved, to your father’s house, this is the way to the country of the Angas, and this is the way to Kośala.” When Damayantí heard this, she was terrified, thinking to herself—“Why does my husband tell me the way, as if he meant to abandon me?” Then the couple fed on roots and fruits, and when night came on, lay down both of them, wearied, in the wood, on a bed of kuśa grass. And Damayantí, worn out with the journey, gradually dropt off to sleep, but Nala, desiring to depart, kept awake, deluded by Kali. So he rose up with one garment, deserting that Damayantí, and departed thence, after cutting off half her upper garment and putting it on. But Damayantí woke up at the end of the night, and when she did not see in the forest her husband, who had deserted her and gone, she thought for some time, and then lamented as follows: “Alas, my husband, great of heart, merciful even to your enemy! You that used to love me so well, what has made you cruel to me? And how will you be able to go alone on foot through the forests, and who will attend on you to remove your weariness? How will the dust defile on the journey your feet, that used to be stained with the pollen of the flowers in the garlands worn on the heads of kings! How will your body, that could not endure to be anointed with the powder of yellow sandal-wood, endure the heat of the sun in the middle of the day? What do I care for my young son? What for my daughter? What for myself? May the gods, if I am chaste, procure good fortune for you alone!” Thus Damayantí lamented, in her loneliness, and then set out by the path, which her husband had shewn her beforehand. And with difficulty she crossed the woods, forests, rivers, and rocks, and never did she depart from her devotion to her husband in, any point. And the might of her chastity preserved her on the way,[17] so that the hunter, who, after delivering her from the serpent, fell in love with her for a moment, was reduced to ashes. Then she joined a caravan of merchants, which she met on the way, and with them she reached the city of a king named Subáhu. There the daughter of the king saw her from her palace, and pleased with her beauty, had her brought and gave her as a present to her mother. Then she remained in attendance on the queen, respected by her, and when questioned, she answered only—“My husband has abandoned me.”
And in the meanwhile her father Bhíma, having heard the tidings of Nala’s misfortune, sent trustworthy men in every direction, to make search for the royal couple. And one of them, his minister named Suveṇa, as he was wandering about disguised as a Bráhman, reached that palace of Subáhu. There he saw Damayantí, who always examined guests, and she saw with sorrow her father’s minister. And having recognized one another, they wept together so violently, that Subáhu’s queen heard it. And the queen had them summoned, and asked them the truth of the matter, and then she found out that the lady was Damayantí, the daughter of her sister. Then she informed her husband, and after shewing her honour, she sent her to the house of her father with Suveṇa and an army. There Damayantí remained, reunited with her two children, enquiring under her father’s guidance for news of her husband. And her father sent out spies to look for her husband, who was distinguished by preternatural skill in cooking and driving. And king Bhíma commanded the spies to say; “Moon, where have you hid yourself so cruelly, deserting your young bride asleep in the forest, dear as a cluster of white lotuses, having taken a piece of her robe?”[18] This he told them to utter wherever they suspected the presence of Nala.
And in the meanwhile king Nala travelled a long way at night in that forest, clothed with the half-garment, and at last he saw a jungle-fire. And he heard some one exclaim—“Great-hearted one, take me away from the neighbourhood of this fire, in order that I, being helpless, may not be burned up by it.”[19] When Nala heard this, he looked round, and beheld a snake coiled up near the fire, having his head encircled with the rays of the jewels of his crest,[20] as if seized on the head by the jungle-fire, with terrible flaming weapons in its hand. He went up to it, and in compassion put it on his shoulder, and carried it a long distance, and when he wished to put it down, the snake said to him—“Carry me ten steps further, counting them as you go.” Then Nala advanced, counting the steps, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven—listen, snake—eight, nine, ten, and when he said ten (daśa),[21] the snake took him at his word, and bit him in the front of the forehead, as he lay on his shoulder. That made the king small in the arms, deformed and black. Then the king took down the snake from his shoulder, and said to him—“Who art thou, and what kind of a return for my kindness is this which thou hast made?” When the snake heard this speech of Nala’s, he answered him,—“King, know that I am a king of the snakes named Kárkoṭaka, and I gave you the bite for your good; that you will come to learn; when great ones wish to live concealed, a deformed appearance of body furthers their plans. Receive also from me this pair of garments, named the ‘fire-bleached,’[22] you need only put them on and you will recover your true form.” When Kárkoṭaka had said this, and had departed after giving those garments, Nala left that wood, and in course of time reached the city of Kośala.
And going by the name of Hrasvabáhu, he took service as a cook in the family of king Ṛituparṇa, the sovereign of Kośala. And he acquired renown by making dishes of exquisite flavour, and by his skill in chariot-driving. And while Nala was living there, under the name of Hrasvabáhu, it happened that once upon a time one of the spies of the king of Vidarbha came there. And the spy heard men there saying,—“In this place there is a new cook, of the name of Hrasvabáhu, equal to Nala in his own special art and also in the art of driving.” The spy suspected that the cook was Nala himself, and hearing that he was in the judgment-hall of the king, he went there and repeated the following Áryá verse, taught him by his master, “Moon, where have you hid yourself so cruelly, deserting your young bride asleep in the forest, dear as a cluster of white lotuses, having taken a piece of her robe?” The people present in the judgment-hall, when they heard that, thought that his words were those of a madman, but Nala, who stood there disguised as a cook, answered him, “What cruelty was there in the moon’s becoming invisible to the lotus-cluster, when it reached and entered another region, after one part of the heaven[23] had become exhausted?”
When the spy heard this, he surmised that the supposed cook was really Nala transformed by misfortune, and he departed thence, and when he reached Vidarbha, he told king Bhíma and his queen and Damayantí all that he had heard and seen.
Then Damayantí, of her own accord, said to her father, “Without doubt that man is my husband disguised as a cook. So let this amusing artifice be employed to bring him here. Let a messenger be sent to king Ṛituparṇa, and the moment he arrives let him say to that king, ‘Nala has gone off somewhere or other, no tidings are heard of him; accordingly to-morrow morning Damayantí will again make her Svayamvara; so come quickly to Vidarbha this very day;’ and the moment the king hears his speech, he will certainly come here in one day, together with that husband of mine who is skilled in chariot-driving.” Having thus debated with her father, Damayantí sent off that very moment a messenger to the city of Kośala with exactly this message. He went and told it, as it was given him to Ṛituparṇa, and the king thereupon, being excited, said affectionately to his attendant Nala, who was disguised as a cook: “Hrasvabáhu, you said—‘I possess skill in chariot-driving.’ So take me this very day to Vidarbha if you have sufficient endurance.” When Nala heard that, he said, “Good! I will take you there,” and thereupon he yoked swift horses, and made ready the splendid chariot. He said to himself; “Damayantí has spread this report of a Svayamvara in order to recover me, otherwise, I know, she would not have behaved in this way even in her dreams. So I will go there and see what happens.” With such reflections he brought to Ṛituparṇa the chariot ready. And as soon as the king had mounted it, Nala proceeded to drive on that chariot with a speed exceeding even that of Garuḍa. Then Ṛituparṇa dropped his garment, and wished to stop the chariot in order to recover it, but Nala said to him,—“King, where is that garment of yours? Why the chariot has in this moment left it many yojanas behind.” When Ṛituparṇa heard this, he said:—“Well, give me this skill in chariot-driving, and I will give you my skill in dice, so that the dice shall obey your command and you shall acquire skill in numbers. And now look; I will give you a proof of the truth of what I say. You see this tree in front of us; I will tell you the number of its leaves and fruits, and then do you count them for yourself and see.” When he had said this, he told him the number of the leaves and fruits on that tree, and Nala counted them and found them exactly as many as he had said. Then Nala gave to Ṛituparṇa his skill in driving, and Ṛituparṇa gave to Nala his skill in dice and numbers.
And Nala tested that skill on another tree, and found the number of leaves and fruits to be exactly what he had guessed. And while he was rejoicing, a black man issued from his body, and he asked him who he was. Then he said, “I am Kali; when you were chosen by Damayantí, I entered your body out of jealousy, so you lost your fortune at play. And when Kárkoṭaka bit you in the forest, you were not consumed, but I was burnt, as you see, being in your body. For to whom is a treacherous injury done to another likely to be beneficial? So I depart, my friend, for I have opportunities against others.” After saying this, Kali vanished from his sight, and Nala at once became well-disposed as before, and recovered his former splendour. And he returned and remounted the chariot; and in the course of the same day he drove king Ṛituparṇa into Vidarbha, so rapidly did he get over the ground, and there the king was ridiculed by the people, who asked the cause of his coming; and he put up near the palace.