Indra, with commanding dignity, said unto Nala, “O King of Niṣadha, thou art bound by thy word. Let not hesitation overcome thee. Enter fearlessly the guarded palace of the princess, where armed men and women keep strict watch. By divine grace, none shall perceive thee, nor will any obstacle impede thy path. Enter the halls of Damayantī.”
Thus, instructed by the King of Gods, Nala journeyed to Vidarbha and, unseen by mortal eyes, entered the resplendent chambers of the princess. For the first time, he beheld Damayantī in person—her radiance surpassing even the praise sung by the celestial swan. Surrounded by a hundred companions, each rivalling the other in grace, she shone supreme, like Laksmi amid the stars. Her heart was already captive to the image of Nala, whom she adored unseen, finding solace only in thoughts of him.
As the king approached, his presence illumined the hall. The maidens, astonished at his majesty, rose with reverence, whispering among themselves, “Who is this divine being that shines like a god?” They bowed and stood aside. Damayanti gazed upon him—the sovereign of Niṣadha, whose splendour resembled Kāma himself, whose majesty equaled Indra’s, whose brilliance was as the Sun’s, whose gentle face glowed like the Moon, whose strength mirrored Varuṇa’s, and whose wealth was akin to Kubera’s.
Her heart trembled with wonder, and yet with noble composure she spoke: “O illustrious one, thou seemest no mortal but a being of celestial birth. Tell me, who art thou, whence hast thou come, and by what power hast thou entered this guarded palace? My father guards these halls with strict codes of royal decorum. Thy sudden presence stirs strange emotions within me—speak truly of thy mission.”
Nala, with humble grace, replied, “O tender one, slender as the creeper, I am Nala, King of Niṣadha. I come as messenger of the gods—Indra, Agni, Yama, and Varuṇa—who attend thy svayaṃvara. They have sent me to convey their prayer: that thou choose among them thy lord. By their blessing, I entered unseen, for the divine will shields me from mortal gaze.”
Hearing this, Damayantī’s heart sank in sorrow. Since the day the swan had spoken Nala’s name, her mind was his, her soul bound to his memory. With tears she said, “O King, how can a mortal like me be the consort of gods? I worship them as my protectors, but my heart belongs to thee. From the day I heard of thee, I have adored thee as my chosen lord. All this svayaṃvara is arranged for thy sake alone. If thou reject me, I shall embrace death—by fire, by poison, or by the rope—for without thee life is but a burden.”
Nala, though deeply moved, replied with firm restraint, “O pure one, think of the might of the immortals who seek thy hand—Indra the sovereign of heaven, Agni the radiant, Varuṇa the lord of waters, and Yama the righteous judge. Thou choosest a mortal, not worthy even of the dust beneath their feet. If they be displeased, calamity may befall. Save me, therefore, from breaking my word, sworn before the five elements.”
Her heart wept, yet wisdom shone through her grief. “O noble Nala,” she said gently, “I shall spare thy honour. When the gods attend my svayaṃvara, I shall, before them all, garland thee as my husband. Thus, no blame shall fall upon thee. If they be angered, I shall bear their wrath to preserve thy virtue.”
Finding no means to dissuade her, Nala departed and reported her resolve to the gods. Soon the svayaṃvara commenced, attended by kings and celestials alike. The guardians of the universe, to test her devotion, appeared all in Nala’s form—five indistinguishable figures, each identical in beauty and majesty.
Damayantī entered the hall, her eyes serene as lotus petals, a white garland in hand, while Vedic hymns resounded through the air. She looked upon the five Nalas, confused. Folding her hands, she prayed silently to the unseen powers: “O eternal guardians, reveal truth to me, that I may know my lord.” Her prayer, pure and fervent, moved the gods to mercy. At once, signs appeared—those who were divine stood without touching the earth, neither sweating nor blinking.
Thus enlightened, she approached the true Nala and placed the garland upon his neck. Instantly the hall resounded with hymns and divine music; flowers rained from heaven; the gods blessed the couple. Indra said, “In every sacrifice thou performest, I shall be present.” Agni and Varuṇa blessed him, promising that fire and water would ever serve him. Yama granted the boon that Nala’s mind would remain steadfast in righteousness.
As the gods departed, they met Kali and Dvāpara on their way. When asked where they went, Kali replied, “To Damayantī’s svayaṃvara—I hope she may choose me.” The gods smiled and said, “Thy journey is in vain—the ceremony is done, and Damayantī is wed to Nala.”
Jealous and wrathful, Kali vowed revenge: “I shall destroy his fortune and plant discord between them.” Knowing Nala’s fondness for dice, he bided his time, for Nala’s purity barred his entry. But when once the king, through momentary lapse, became impure, Kali entered his being, spreading restlessness of mind.
He then incited his ally Pushkara to challenge Nala to a game of dice, promising victory through enchanted dice. Bound by royal code, Nala accepted. The game began—day after day, week after week—his fortune slipped away under Kali’s spell. Wealth, jewels, chariots, horses, elephants—all were lost.
Wise scholars and Damayantī herself implored him to desist, but he, possessed by fate, heeded them not. Seeing ruin approach, Damayantī secretly sent their children, Indrasena and Indrasenā, to her father’s care. At last, Nala lost his kingdom and all his glory to Pushkara. Stripped of all wealth, he abandoned his palace and, with Damayantī by his side, walked into exile.
Thus unfolds the grand design of destiny—a play of divine test and human frailty. The love born of purity met the trial of temptation; righteousness yielded for a moment to passion, and through that breach entered ruin. Yet the tale endures as a timeless lesson—that steadfast virtue, a strong mind, and a pure soul are the true shields of man; for when these falter, even kings may fall, and Kali triumphs over the noblest hearts.
