Through the dreary wilderness, Damayanthi moved, her heart sustained by a frail yet steady hope of finding her husband. Her lotus-like eyes shone once more with faith and confidence when, amid the vast desolation, she beheld a hermitage. Such hermitages were, in those days, living streams of faith—bridges between the mortal and the divine. There she beheld ascetics of various vows—some subsisting on water, others on air alone, some upon green leaves, and others upon fallen grains. With minimal sustenance, they endured, their spirits radiant with austerity. The sight rekindled her strength; her wavering hope deepened into faith.
Around her the forest was still wild and perilous, haunted by beasts, birds of prey, hunters, and thieves; yet in this sacred retreat dwelt sages with matted locks and coarse linen garments, their faces luminous with the fire of penance. As she stepped into their presence, all her weariness and fear dissolved. Folding her hands, she bowed before the venerable seers—Vasishtha, Vamadeva, Valakhilya, Bhrigu, and Narada—and spoke humbly of her sorrow.
“I am the wife of King Nala of Nishadha,” she said, “a ruler devoted to sacrifice and reverence towards holy men. Through fate’s unkindness, I have been separated from him and now wander this wilderness in search of him. I have come to your sacred abode seeking counsel. Tell me, O sages, where I may find my lord, for my life ebbs away in longing.”
Moved by her tears, the sages replied, “O Damayanthi of lotus eyes, blessed with the signs of fortune, be not dismayed. Soon you shall behold your husband Nala, the noble king of Nishadha, in his former glory and splendour. This we have seen by divine vision. Cast away fear, for the time of reunion draws near.”
When they vanished, hermitage and sages alike seemed to melt into the air, leaving her as though she had awakened from a dream. Still lost in wonder, she journeyed onward until she came upon a great caravan of traders. Seeing her wild hair, dust-stained garments, and face powdered with fallen pollen, they murmured among themselves—some thinking her mad, others deeming her a spirit of the woods. Some mocked, some fled, and some bowed, believing her a goddess descended to earth.
Damayanthi, addressing them gently, said, “O traders, it is a blessing to meet you in this desolate forest. I am the wife of King Nala, separated from him by misfortune. Have you seen him—a noble man, kind as nectar, wandering here in sorrow?”
The caravan leader, Suchi, answered, “We have seen no such man, lady, but we have seen lions, tigers, and wild elephants. No traveller dares these parts; even the sun’s rays scarcely pierce the thickets. We journey now toward the city of the Chedi king, Subahu.”
“Then take me with you, I pray,” she entreated. Trusting the sages’ prophecy, she joined their company. That evening, they camped beside a pond of cool, clear water. But at midnight, herds of elephants came down to drink; like thunderclouds they trampled the sleeping men, tusks goring, feet crushing, until the camp was shattered. Those who survived fled to the treetops in terror.
Damayanthi, unharmed, gazed upon the ruin and mused, “Fate spares those who would die and destroys those who strive to live. I sought escape from sorrow, yet sorrow clings to me. Is this retribution from the gods for my swayamvara? Has destiny turned cruel for some forgotten fault?” Thus lamenting, she continued with the few survivors until at length they reached the city of the Chedis.
As she entered the royal way, the queen mother beheld her from afar—a lady of slender form, her beauty dimmed yet not destroyed, like the moon veiled by clouds. Though clad in soiled garments, majesty and grace still shone from her every movement. “Go,” said the queen mother to her attendants, “bring that noble woman.”
When Damayanthi was brought before her, the queen asked kindly, “Who are you, and what sorrow oppresses you?”
Damayanthi replied, “My husband, valiant and righteous, lost his kingdom in a game of dice. I followed him into exile, but wearied with hunger and grief, I slept and was abandoned by fate. Since then, I wander in search of him, living upon fruits and roots.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she spoke.
The queen mother moved with compassion, said, “O lady of dark-lotus eyes, dwell here with me. I shall send Brahmins forth to seek your lord.”
Damayanthi bowed and said, “I will gladly serve within your palace, adorning the hair and ornaments of your maidens. Yet I must not be set to mean tasks, nor shall I eat without offering first to the gods. I will not speak with men save those sent in search of my husband.”
“So be it,” said the queen mother. “You shall live here as you will, free from restraint.” Thus, Damayanthi, queen of Nala, abode in the Chedi palace, performing pious rites and praying for her lord’s return.
Meanwhile, Nala, wandering through the forest, beheld a fire raging between earth and sky. From within came a cry: “O King, save us!” He rushed into the blaze and saw a serpent coiled in agony. Bowing, the serpent spoke, “I am Karkotaka. Cursed by a sage, I lie here motionless. The fire grows; deliver me, and I shall do you good. Bear me to a pond and cast me therein.”
Nala lifted him, and the serpent shrank to the size of a thumb. When the king had gone ten paces, Karkotaka bit him, and at once Nala’s fair form became rough and hideous. Then the serpent resumed his true shape and said, “Grieve not. This guise shall guard you from foes and evil beings. None shall know you, yet you shall conquer all adversaries. When you wish to regain your form, remember me, and you shall be restored. Go now to Ayodhya, to King Rituparna of the Ikshvaku race. Teach him the art of Ashvahṛdaya (the science of horse-speed) and learn from him Akṣahṛdaya (the secret of dice). Live there as his charioteer, under the name Bahuka.”
Having spoken, Karkotaka vanished. Nala went forth to Ayodhya, and presenting himself before Rituparna, said, “I am skilled in training horses, in cooking, and in the crafts of sculpture. Permit me to serve you.” The king welcomed him and set him over his stables. Nala tamed the wild steeds, taught the riders their art, and delighted the court with his skill and gentle bearing.
Thus, through hardship and disguise, he continued his destined path. In life, every trial is transient, and endurance yields reward. Faith in oneself, trust in the divine, and steadfast labour bring the soul to its rightful place. Such is the law eternal.
