Be this done
    Forthwith, good mother!—­whether known or not
    Unto the Maharaja.” 
                        When she heard,
    The Queen told Bhima what the Princess prayed,
    Who gave consent; and having this good leave
    From father and from mother (O my King!),
    Command was sent that Vahuka be brought
    Where the court ladies lodged. 
                                  So met those twain;
    And when Prince Nala’s gaze fell on his wife,
    He stood with beating heart and tearful eyes. 
    And when sweet Damayanti looked on him,
    She could not speak for anguish of keen joy
    To have him close; but sat there, mute and wan,
    Wearing a sad-hued cloth, her lustrous hair
    Falling unbanded, and the mourning-mark
    Stamped in gray ashes on her lovely brow. 
    And, when she found a voice, these were the words
    That came from her:  “Didst ever, Vahuka—­
    If Vahuka thy name be, as thou say’st—­
    Know one of noble nature, honorable,
    Who in the wild woods left his wife asleep—­
    His innocent, fond wife—­weary and worn? 
    Know’st thou the man.  I’ll say his name to thee;
    ’Twas Nala, Raja Nala!  Ah, and when
    In any thoughtless hour had I once wrought
    The smallest wrong, that he should leave me so,
    There in the wood, by slumber overcome? 
    Before the gods I chose him for my lord,
    The gods themselves rejecting; tell me how
    This Prince could so abandon, in her need,
    His true, his loving wife, she who did bear
    His babes—­abandon her to whom he swore—­
    My hand clasped, in the sight of all the gods,
    And Agni’s self—­’Thy true lord I will be!’
    Thou saidst it!—­where is now that promise, fled?”
      While thus she spake (O Victor of thy foes!),
    Fast from her eyes the woe-sprung waters ran. 
    And Nala, seeing those night-black, loving eyes
    Reddened with weeping, seeing her falling tears;
    Broke forth:  “Ah! that I lost my throne and realm
    In dicing, was not done by fault of mine;
    ’T was Kali wrought it; Kali, O my wife,
    Drove me to leave thee.  Therefore, long ago
    That evil one was stricken by the curse
    Which thou didst utter, wandering in the wood,
    Desolate, night and day, grieving for me. 
    Possessing me he dwelt; but, cursed by thee,
    Tortured he dwelt, consuming with thy words
    In fierce and fiercer pain, as when is piled
    Brand upon burning brand.  But he is gone;
    Patience and penance have o’ermastered him. 
    Princess, the end is reached of our long woes. 
    That evil one being fled, freeing my will,
    See, I am here; and wherefore would I come,
    Fairest, except for thee?  Yet, answer this:—­
    How should a wife, right-minded to her lord—­
    Her own and lawful lord—­compass