Soon after Nala had fled into the forest depths, deserting the faithful Damayantí, he beheld a great fire that blazed furiously. As he drew near, he heard a voice crying over and over again from the midst of the sacred flames: “Hurry, Nala! Oh, hurry, Nala, and come here!”

Now, Agni had given Nala power over fire, so crying: “Have no fear,” he leapt through the flames. In the space within that blazing circle be beheld the king of serpents lying coiled up in a ring with folded hands and unable to move. “Lo! I am Karkotaka,” the serpent said, “and am suffering this punishment because that I deceived the holy sage Nárada, who cursed me, saying: ‘You will remain here amid the flames until Nala comes to free you from my curse’. So do I lie without the power to move. O mighty rajah, if you will rescue me, I will reward you abundantly with my noble friendship and help you attain great happiness. Oh, lift me speedily from out of this fiery place, you noble rajah!”

When he had spoken thus, Karkotaka, king of the serpents, shrank to the size of a man’s finger, at which point Nala uplifted and carried him safely through the flames to a cool and refreshing space without.

The serpent then said: “Now walk on and count your steps, so that good fortune may be assured to you.”

Nala walked nine steps, but before he could take the tenth, the serpent bit him, and the rajah was suddenly transformed into a misshapen dwarf with short arms.

Then Karkotaka said: “Know now that I have thus changed your form so that no man may know you. My poison, too, will cause unceasing anguish to the evil one who possessed your soul and he will suffer greatly until he shall set you free from your sorrow. So will you be delivered from thine enemy, O blameless one. My poison will harm you not, and henceforth, because of my power, you will have no need to fear the wild boar, or any foeman, or a Brahman, or the sages. Ever in battle, you will be victorious. Now, go your way and be called ‘Váhuka, the charioteer’. Hasten to the city of Ayodhya and enter the service of the royal Rajah Rituparna, the skilful in dice. You will teach him how to subdue horses, and he will impart to you the secret of dice. Then will you again have joy. Sorrow not, therefore, for your wife and your children will be restored to you, and you will regain your kingdom.”

Then the serpent gave unto Nala a magic robe, saying: “When it is your desire to be as you were, O king, think of me and put on this garment, and you will immediately resume your true form.”

Having spoken thus, the king of serpents vanished from sight. Thereupon Nala went towards the city of Ayodhyá, and he stood in the presence of the royal Rajah Rituparna, to whom he spoke thus: “My name is Váhuká. I am a tamer of steeds, nor is my equal to be found in the world, and I have surpassing skill in cooking viands.”

The rajah welcomed him and took him into his service, saying: “You shall make my horses fleet of foot. Be the master of mine own steed, and your reward will be great.”

He was well pleased and gave Váhuka comrades Várshneya, who had been in Nala’s service, and Jívala also. So the transformed rajah abode a long time at Ayodhya, and every evening, sitting alone, he sang a single verse:

Where is she all worn but faithful, weary, thirsty, hungering too? Thinks she of her foolish husband? Does another man her woo?

Ever thus, he sang, and his comrades heard him and wondered greatly. So it came that one evening Jívala spoke to Nala and said: “For whom do you sorrow thus, O Váhuka? I pray you to tell me. Who is the husband of this lady?”

Nala answered him with a sad voice and said: “Once there was a peerless lady, and she had a husband of weak will. And lo! As they wandered in a forest together, he fled from her without cause, and yet he sorrowed greatly. Ever by day and by night is he consumed by his overwhelming grief, and brooding ever, he sings this melancholy song. He is a weary wanderer in the wide world, and his sorrow is without end; it is never still. His wife wanders all forlorn in the forest. Ah! She deserved not such a fate. Thirsting and hungry, she wanders alone because her lord forsook her and fled; wild beasts are about her, seeking to devour; the wood is full of perils. It may be that she is not now alive.”

Thus did Nala sorrow in his secret heart over Damayantí during his long sojourn at Ayodhya while serving the renowned Rajah Rituparna.

Meanwhile, King Bhima was causing a search for his lost daughter and her royal husband. Abundant rewards were offered to Bráhmans, who went through every kingdom and every city in quest of the missing pair. It chanced that a Brahman, named Sudeva, entered Chedi when a royal holiday was being celebrated, and he beheld Damayantí standing beside Princess Sunanda and the queen mother at the royal palace.

Sudeva perceived that her loveliness had been dimmed by sorrow. He said to himself as he gazed upon her: “Ah! The lady with lotus eyes is like to the moon, darkly beautiful. Her splendour has shrunken like the crescent moon veiled in cloud—she who earlier was beheld in the full moonlight of her glory. Pining for her lost husband, she is like a darksome night when the moon is swallowed. Her sorrow has stricken her like to a river which has become dry, like to a shrunken pool in which lotus blooms shrivel and fade. She is, indeed, like to withered lotus. Does Nala live now without the bride who thus mourns for him? When, oh when shall Damayantí be restored once again unto her lord as the moon bride is restored to the peerless moon? I think I will speak.”

The Brahman then approached Damayantí and said: “I am Sudeva. Your royal sire and your mother and your children are well. A hundred Brahmans have been sent forth throughout the world to search for you, O noble lady.”

Damayantí heard him and wept.

The Princess Sunanda spoke to her queen mother, saying: “Lo! Our handmaid weeps because that the Brahman has spoken to her. We shall speedily know now, who she is.”

Then the queen mother conducted the holy man to her chambers and spoke to him, saying: “Who is she? This mysterious and noble stranger, O holy man?”

Sudeva spoke in answer: “Her name is Damayantí, and her sire is King Bhima, lord of Vidarbha. Her husband is Nala. She has had a dark beauty spot from birth, like a lotus between her fair eyebrows. Although it is covered with dust, I perceived it, so I knew her. By Brahma was this spot made as to the sign of his beauty-creating power.”

The queen mother bade Sudeva remove the dust from the beauty spot of Bhima’s daughter. When this was done, it came forth like to the unclouded moon in heaven, and the royal lady and her daughter wept together and embraced the fair Damayantí.

Then the queen mother said: “Lo! you are mine own sister’s daughter, O beauteous one. Our father is the Rajah Sudáman who reigns at Dasárna. Once I beheld you as a child. Ah! Ask of me whatsoever you desire, and it shall be yours.”

“Alas! I am a banished mother,” Damayantí said with fast-flowing tears. “Permit me, therefore, to return to my children who have been orphaned of mother and father.”

The queen mother said: “Be it so.”

Then Damayantí was given an army to guard her on her journey towards her native city. All her kindred and friends were welcomed there with great rejoicing. King Bhima rewarded Sudeva with a thousand coins and a town’s revenue for a village.

When Damayantí was embraced by her mother, she said: “Now our chief duty is to bring home Nala.”

The queen wept and spoke to her husband, the royal Bhima, saying: “Our daughter still mourns heavily for the lost lord and cannot be comforted.”

Then Bhima urged the Brahmans to search for Nala, offering a munificent reward when he should be found. Damayantí addressed these holy men before they departed and said unto them: “Wheresoever you go, speak this my message over and over again:

“Where are you gone, O gambler, who severed my garment in two? You left your loved one as she lay slumbering in the savage wood. Lo! She is awaiting your return: by day and by night, she sits alone, consumed by her grief. Oh, hear her prayer and have compassion, you noble hero, because she ever weeps for you in the depths of her despair!”

So the holy men went through every kingdom and city, repeating the message of Damayantí over and over again. But when they began to return one by one, each told with sadness that his quest had been in vain.

Then came unto Vidarbha that Brahman, the wise Parnada, who had sojourned a time in the city of Ayodhya. He addressed the daughter of Bhima, saying: “To Rituparna I spoke regarding your husband, repeating your message, but he answered not a word. So I went out from before him. After which there came to me his charioteer, a man with short arms and misshapen body. His name is Váhuka, and he is skilled in driving the swift chariot and preparing viands. He sorrowed greatly, and with melancholy voice spoke to me these words:

‘In excess of her sorrow, a noblewoman will compose herself and remain constant, and so win heaven by her virtues. She is protected by the breastplate of her chastity and will suffer no harm. Nor will she yield to anger although she is deserted by her lord, whose robe the birds have taken away, leaving him in sore distress. She will not be moved to wrath against her husband, the sorrow-stricken and famine-wasted, who has been bereft of his kingdom and despoiled of happiness.’

When I heard the stranger’s speech, I came speedily here to repeat it to you.”

Damayantí at once went and spoke to her mother privately, for she was assured that Vahuka, the charioteer, was her royal lord. Then she gave her wealth to the Brahman, saying: “You will get more if Nala returns home.” The wise Parnada was weary with travel, and he departed to his own village.

Neither Damayantí nor her mother made known unto King Bhima their discovery nor yet their immediate purpose. Secretly the wife of Nala spoke to Sudeva: “Hasten to the city of Ayodhya, and appear before the Rajah Rituparna as if you have come by chance, and say to him: ‘Once again is the daughter of Bhima to hold her swayamvara. All the kings and sons of kings are hastening as before to Vidarbha. Tomorrow at dawn, she will choose for herself a new lord, for no one knows whether Nala lives or not.’”

So Sudeva went unto Ayodhya and spoke as Damayantí desired of him, and then said: “If you want to win the princess, O Rituparna, you must go swiftly, for when the sun rises she will choose her a second husband.”

Rituparna at once sent for Vahuka and said: “O skilled charioteer, I must hasten to Vidarbha in a single day because fair Damayantí holds her swayamvara at dawn tomorrow.”

At these words, the heart of Nala was torn with grief, and he said to himself: “Is this but a stratagem to deceive me? Or is she whom I wronged estranged in mind? Has she grown fickle of heart, she who has been soul-stricken by grief in the depths of despair?”

Then he said to Rituparna: “As you desire so will I do, O Rituparna. I will drive you in a single day to Vidarbha.”

Having promised this, he went forth and selected four steeds of high courage with the ten good marks, which were as swift as the wind. He yoked them in haste, spoke to them soothingly, and then set forth with Rituparna and Varshneya also at full speed. The rajah sat in silent wonder as the chariot went swiftly, and to himself, he said: “Vahuka has the god-like skill of the charioteer of heaven. Can he be Nala, who has taken himself another body? If he is not Nala, he is one who has equal skill. Great men are wandering at times to and fro in disguise—gods who are hidden in human form.”

So the rajah marvelled and thought while he rejoiced in the matchless skill of the misshapen charioteer.

Swiftly they went. Over hills and rivers and forests and lakes, the chariot glided like a bird through the air. Of a sudden, the rajah’s robe was swept away, and he cried to the charioteer, saying: “Stop for a moment, so that Varshneya may hasten back and recover my garment.”

Nala paused not and said: “Your robe is now five miles behind us, and we cannot wait to recover it.”

So they went on with all speed. Before long, Rituparna beheld a lofty fruit tree named Vibhítak, and he said to Vahuka: “Now, skilful charioteer, you shall perceive my ability in numbers. No single mind is accomplished in every kind of knowledge. On two yonder branches, fruit tree are fifty million leaves and two thousand and ninety-five berries.”

Vahuka said: “The leaves and the fruit are invisible to me. But I will tear off a branch and count the berries while Varshneya does hold the bridle.”

“But,” urged the rajah, “we cannot pause on our journey.”

Vahuka said: “You may stay with me, or you can let Varshneya drive you at full speed.”

Then the rajah spoke soothingly, saying: “O matchless charioteer! I cannot go on without you to Vidarbha. I trust in you. If you will promise that we will reach the city before night falls, I will do even as you desire.”

The transformed Nala made answer: “I will indeed make haste when I have counted the berries.”

So the horses were drawn up, and Nala tore a branch from the tree. Having counted the berries, he found they were in number even as the rajah had said, and he exclaimed: “Wonderful, indeed, is your power, O Rituparna! I would like to know your secret.”

Now the rajah was eager to proceed on his way, and he said: “I know the secret of the dice and am therefore skilled in numbers.”

“Then,” said Nala, “if you will impart to me your secret, I will give you knowledge in steeds.”

Rituparna made answer thereat: “So be it,” and he forthwith informed the charioteer in the science of dice.

Now when Nala grew skilful in dice, Kali immediately passed out of his body, and Nishadha’s fallen king vomited forth the serpent poison and was made weak with the struggle. Released from the venom, Kali resumed his original form, but he was beheld by Nala alone, who sought to curse him.

In his terror, the evil demon folded his hands and said: “Do not injure me, O king, and I will give you matchless fame. Know that Damayantí cursed me heavily in her wrath when you deserted her in the forest, and I have ever since endured great agony. Night and day, too, have I been scorched by the poison of the king of serpents. Now I seek your pity. I come to you that you mayst be my refuge. Lo! I promise if you will not curse me, that he who henceforth praises you will have no dread of me in his heart.”

Nala’s wrath subsided, and he permitted Kali to enter the cloven fruit tree. Then he leapt into the chariot and drove on, and Kali returned unto his own place.

The chariot flew on like a bird, and the soul of Nala was elated with gladness. But he still retained the form of Vahuka.

At eventide, the watchmen on the walls of Vidarbha proclaimed the coming of Rituparna, and King Bhima gave permission that he should enter by the city gate.

All that region echoed the thunder of the rumbling chariot. Nala’s horses, which Várshneya had driven from Nishadha, were within the city, careered and neighed aloud as if Nala were beside them once again.

Damayantí also heard the approaching chariot, and her beating heart was like a cloud which thunders as the rain comes on. Her soul was thrilled by the familiar sound, and it seemed to her that Nala was drawing near. On the palace roofs peacocks craned their necks and danced, and elephants in their stalls, with uplifted trunks, trumpeted aloud as if rain were about to fall.

Damayantí said: “The sound of the chariot fills my soul with ecstasy. Surely my Lord comes. Oh, if I see not soon the moon-fair face of Nala, I will surely die, for, thinking of his virtues, my heart is rent with sorrow. Unless he comes now, I will no longer live but will perish by fire.”

This story was first written by Donald Alexander Mackenzie. It has been adapted for Readomania by our editorial team.