The Brahmin scholars sent by Damayanti wandered through many kingdoms, yet none could answer her test of words, and most returned without result. At last, one scholar named Parnada came before her and said, “When I journeyed to Ayodhya, ruled by King Rituparna, I spoke the words you had instructed. There I met a man—short in stature, dark in hue, and with deformed hands—who served the king as a cook and a charioteer, earning a payment of one hundred ganyadas. He excelled both in preparing food and in swift travel. As I spoke, he sighed deeply and said, ‘The woman who knows the faults of her husband and keeps them within her heart, neither exposing them nor forsaking him, shall in due time see her desires fulfilled. The merit she gathers by such virtue will protect her even in future births.’ Having uttered these words, he withdrew to his dwelling. His speech was wise and dignified, though his form was humble.”
Hearing this, Damayanti mused in silence. “If he is not Nala,” she thought, “why would he answer thus? Send more learned men to discover his true nature.” After taking her mother’s consent, she summoned Sudeva and said, “You are known among scholars for sharp perception; your discerning eyes once found me. Now go to Ayodhya as a wandering Brahmin and bring back King Nala with your wisdom. Tell the noble Rituparna, sovereign of Uttarakosala, radiant as the sun and bound by virtue, that King Bhima, despairing of his daughter’s fate, has proclaimed a second svayamvara, for no one has yet found Nala.”
Sudeva departed and reached Ayodhya. Coming before King Rituparna, they spoke of the svayamvara to be held on the morrow. The king, moved by curiosity, called Bahuka and said, “I must see the svayamvara of Damayanti. Take me to Vidarbha within this single day; show the full power of your mastery over horses.” Bahuka bowed, agreeing to the command, though his heart was heavy with grief. “Alas,” he thought, “I left her alone in the forest. How could she, pure and loyal, choose another? Men are fools who think women bear all their wrongs in silence. Yet Damayanti is wise—she has surely devised some subtle means to test me. Her patience and perseverance are beyond measure, and her method, though perilous, is full of purpose. I must learn the truth.”
Thus resolved, he yoked the divine steeds, once driven by Varshneya, his old charioteer now in Rituparna’s service. As the chariot stood ready, the horses trembled for a moment. Rituparna, observing this, said, “These seem frail; can they endure such a vast journey? Choose another pair.” Bahuka smiled faintly. “O King, these horses will run with the speed of the wind. Before dusk, we shall stand in Vidarbha.” “If you can truly do so,” replied Rituparna, “I shall reward your mastery of the horse’s heart with any gift you name.”
Then the chariot leapt forward, and the world around them blurred. Mountains, rivers, and forests flashed past as though fleeing from sight. Rituparna marveled— “Is this the chariot of the Sun? Who is this man—Bahuka, Anura, or some celestial sage like Salihotra or Matali? Or could he be Nala himself, disguised by divine power? None else on earth holds such mastery.” Still, his mind wrestled with doubt. Suddenly, as they sped on, his upper garment was caught by the wind and flew far behind. “Bahuka, halt!” he cried. “Varshneya will walk back to retrieve my cloth.” Bahuka replied calmly, “We have already passed thirteen miles; how could he walk so far? Such is the swiftness of these steeds.”
Soon they reached a vast belleric myrobalan tree heavy with fruit. Rituparna said, “Among my many arts is the knowledge of numbers. I can count the fruits and leaves of this tree without erring. Two great branches hold ten thousand and one fruits and leaves; the rest, two thousand ninety-five.” Bahuka halted the chariot, felled a branch, and counted. The numbers matched exactly. Amazed, he bowed in reverence and said, “O King, what is this science?” The monarch replied, “It is Akshahridaya, the lore of numbers. He who masters it becomes pure of mind, freed from sin and poison, and endowed with noble wisdom. His heart serves ever the good of the world.”
Bahuka humbly requested to learn it, and the king imparted the sacred art with Vedic sanctification. Joy filled both—the giver delighted in finding a worthy pupil, and the receiver in gaining divine knowledge. Bahuka then said, “O King, I shall, in return give you the secret of Ashvahridaya, the lore of horses; keep it till the moment is ripe.” At that instant, by the virtue of the newly gained knowledge, the forces of Kali and Karkotaka poison departed from his body and stood trembling before him. Nala raised his hand to curse, but Kali cried, “Spare me, for I am already burned by the serpent’s venom. Let me go. Whosoever remembers you and Damayanti with devotion shall be beyond my power.” Nala, granting mercy, let him dwell upon that very tree, from which henceforth evil spirits preyed upon passersby.
Thus, freed from affliction, Nala retained command over his form, though still in Bahuka’s guise. Swiftly, they reached Vidarbha by evening. Rituparna, with King Bhima’s leave, entered the city. The chariot’s thundering wheels and the ringing hoofs of the steeds filled the sky with a sound like roaring clouds. Hearing it, Damayanti’s heart trembled. “No hand but Nala’s could guide such motion,” she thought, her pulse quickening with both hope and fear. When she beheld him, grief mingled with wonder at his altered form. Rituparna, received with royal honours, was lodged in a resplendent palace, while Damayanti’s heart burned with the knowledge that her stratagem had at last brought her lord nearby.
Thus ends a tale of daring and devotion—of keen wit, patient pursuit, and divine justice. The story reveals that true effort, guided by reason and virtue, and crowned with faith, never fails to draw the grace of heaven.
