At midnight all slept.... In the deep silence a herd of wild forest elephants, with moisture oozing from their temples,[309] came down to drink from the gurgling stream which flowed nigh to the camp. When they scented the tame elephants lying crouched in slumber, they trumpeted aloud, and of a sudden charged ponderously and fell upon them like to mountain peaks tumbling into the valleys beneath.... Trees and tents were thrown down as they trampled through the camping ground, and the travellers awoke panic-stricken, crying: “Oh! Alas! Ah! Oh!” Some fled through the forest; others, blind with sleep, stood gasping with wonder, and the elephants slew them. The camp was scattered in the dire confusion; many animals were gored; men overthrew one another, endeavouring to escape; many shrieked in terror, and a few climbed trees. Voices were heard calling: “It is a fire!” and merchants screamed, “Why fly away so speedily? Save the precious jewels, O ye cowards.”
Amidst the tumult and the slaughter Damayantí awoke, trembling with fear, and she made swift escape, nor suffered a wound. In the deep forest she came nigh to the few men who had found refuge, and she heard them say one to another:
“What deed have we done to bring this misfortune upon us? Have we forgotten to adore Manibhadra[310], the high king of the Yakshas? Worshipped we not, ere we set forth, the dread spirits which bring disasters? Was it doomed that all omens should be belied? How hath it come that such a disaster hath befallen us?”
Others who had been bereft of their kindred and their wealth, and were in misery, said: “Who was she—that ill-omened, maniac-eyed woman who came amongst us? In truth she seemed scarcely human. Surely it is by reason of her evil power that disaster hath befallen us. Ah! she is a witch, or she is a sorceress, or mayhap a demon.... Without doubt she is the cause of all our woes.... Would that we could find her—oh the evil destroyer! Oh the curse of our host!... Let us slay the murderess with clods and with stones, with canes and with staves, or else with our fists....”[311]
When the terrified and innocent Damayantí heard these fearsome threats, she fled away through the trees, lamenting her fate, and wailing: “Alas! alas! my terrible doom doth haunt me still. Misfortune dogs my footsteps.... I have no memory of any sin of thought or deed—of any wrong done by me to living beings. Perchance, oh, alas! I did sin in my former life, and am now suffering due punishment.... For I suffer, indeed. I have lost my husband; my kingdom is lost; I have lost my kindred; my noble Nala has been taken from me, and I am far removed from my children, and I wander alone in the wood of serpents.”
When morning broke, the sorrowful queen met with some holy Brahmans who had escaped the night's disaster, and she went with them towards the city of Chedi.
The people gazed with wonder on Damayantí when she walked though the streets with her dust-smeared body and matted hair. The children danced about her as she wandered about like to a maniac, so miserable and weary and emaciated.
It chanced that the sorrowing woman came nigh to the royal palace. The mother of the king looked forth from a window, and beheld her and said: “Hasten, and bid this poor wanderer to enter. Although stricken and half-clothed she hath, methinks, the beauty of Indra's long-eyed queen. Let her have refuge from those staring men.”