Sweet as the draught of Amṛita,
With its deep and gentle accent,
Like rumble of the thunder-cloud,
Saying “Daughter of Vidarbha!”
To me with clear and blessed sound.
Rich, like Vedas murmured flowing,
At once destroying all my grief?
There are graphic descriptions of the beauties and terrors of the tropical forest in which Damayantī wanders. At last she finds her way back to her father’s court at Kuṇḍinạ Many and striking are the similes with which the poet dwells on the grief and wasted form of the princess in her separation from her husband. She is
Like the young moon’s slender crescent