By whatsoever means, are to be sought,’
    The sages say, ‘by whatsoever won.’ 
    Choose, therefore, Pushkara, which way of these
    Shall please thee; either meet me with the dice,
    Or with thy bow confront me in the field.” 
      When Pushkara this heard, lightly he smiled,
    Concluding victory sure; and to the Prince
    Answered, exulting:  “Dishtya! hast thou gained
    Stakes for a counter-game, Nishadha, now?
    Dishtya! shall I have my hard-won prize,
    Sweet Damayanti? Dishtya! didst thou come
    In kissing-reach again of thy fair wife? 
    Soon, in thy new gold splendid, she shall shine
    Before all men beside me, as in heaven
    On Sakra waits the loveliest Apsara. 
    See, now, I thought on thee, I looked for thee,
    Ever and ever, Prince.  There is no joy
    Like casting in the game with such as thee. 
    And when to-day I win thy blameless one—­
    The smooth-limbed Damayanti—­then shall be
    What was to be:  and I can rest content,
    For always in my heart her beauty burns.” 
      Listening the idle talk that babbler poured,
    Angry Prince Nala fain had lopped away
    His head with vengeful khudga;[29] but, unmoved,
    Albeit the wrath blazed in his bloodshot eyes,
    He made reply:  “Play! mock me not with jests;
    Thou wilt not jest when I have cast with thee!”
      So was the game set, and the Princes threw
    Nala and Pushkara, and—­the numbers named—­
    By Nala was the hazard gained:  he swept
    His brother’s stake, gems, treasure, kingdom, off;
    At one stroke all that mighty venture won. 
      Then quoth the conquering Prince to Pushkara,
    Scornfully smiling:  “Mine is now once more
    Nishadha’s throne; mine is the realm again,
    Its curse plucked forth; Vidarbha’s glory thou,
    Outcast, shalt ne’er so much as look upon! 
    Fool! who to-day becom’st her bond and slave. 
    Not by thy gifts that evil stroke was wrought
    Wherefrom I fled before; ’twas Kali’s spell—­
    Albeit thou knew’st nought, fool—­overmastered me;
    Yet will I visit not in wrathful wise
    My wrong on thee; live as thou wilt; I grant
    Wherewith to live, and set apart henceforth
    Thy proper goods and substance, and fit food. 
    Nay, doubt not I shall show thee favor, too,
    And be in friendship with thee, if thou wilt,
    Who art my brother.  Peace abide with thee!”
      Thus all-victorious Nala comforted
    His brother, and embraced him, sending him
    In honor to his town; and Pushkara—­
    Gently entreated—­to Nishadha spake,
    With folded palms and humbled face, these words:—­
    “Unending be thy glory.  May thy bliss
    Last and increase for twice five thousand years,
    Who grantest me wherewith to live, just Lord!