There he rendered up the horses--with the chariot there he left. That young maiden Indrasena--Indrasen, that noble boy. To king Bhima paid his homage--sad, for Nala's fall distressed, Thence departing, to Ayodhya[62]--took the charioteer his way. In his grief to Rituparna--that illustrious king, he came, As his charioteer, the service--entered of the lord of earth. BOOK IX. Scarce Varshneya had departed--still the king of men played on, Till to Pushkara his kingdom--all that he possessed, was lost. Nala then, despoiled of kingdom--smiling Pushkara bespake: "Throw we yet another hazard--Nala, where is now thy stake? There remains but Damayanti--all thou hast beside, is mine. Throw we now for Damayanti--come, once more the hazard try." Thus as Pushkara addressed him--Punyasloka's inmost heart By his grief was rent asunder--not a single word he spake. And on Pushkara, king Nala--in his silent anguish gazed. All his ornaments of splendour--from his person stripped he off, With a single vest, scarce covered,--'mid the sorrow of his friends. Slowly wandered forth the monarch--fallen from such an height of bliss. Damayanti with one garment--slowly followed him behind. Three long nights Nishadha's monarch--there without the gates had dwelt. Proclamation through the city--then did Pushkara bid make, "Whosoe'er befriendeth Nala--shall to instant death be doomed." Thus, as Pushkara gave order--in the terror of his power, Might the citizens no longer--hospitably serve the king. Near the walls, of kind reception--worthiest, but by none received; Three nights longer staid the monarch--water was his only drink, He in unfastidious hunger--plucked the fruits, the roots of earth. Then went forth again the outcast:--Damayanti followed slow. In the agony of famine--Nala, after many days, Saw some birds around him settling--with their golden tinctured wings. Then the monarch of Nishadha--thought within his secret heart, These to-day my welcome banquet--and my treasure these will be. Over them his single garment--spreading light he wrapped them round: Up that single garment bearing--to the air they sprang away; And the birds above him hovering--thus in human accents spake, Naked as they saw him standing--on the earth, and sad, and lone:-- "Lo, we are the dice, to spoil thee--thus descended, foolish king! While thou hadst a single garment--all our joy was incomplete." When the dice he saw departing--and himself without his robe, Mournfully did Punyasloka--thus to Damayanti speak: "They, O blameless, by whose anger--from my kingdom I am driven, Life-sustaining food unable--in my misery to find-- They, through whom Nishadha's people--may not house their outcast king-- They, the forms of birds assuming--my one robe have borne away. In the dark extreme of misery--sad and frantic as I am,