Wandering in the savage forest--where wild beasts and serpents dwell. May the suns and winds of heaven--may the genii of the woods,[70] Noblest, may they all protect thee--thine own virtue thy best guard." To his wife of peerless beauty--on the earth, 'twas thus he spoke. Then of sense bereft by Kali--Nala hastily set forth; And departing, still departing--he returned again, again; Dragged away by that bad demon--ever by his love drawn back. Nala, thus his heart divided--into two conflicting parts, Like a swing goes backward, forward--from the cabin, to and fro. Torn away at length by Kali--flies afar the frantic king, Leaving there his wife in slumber--making miserable moans. Reft of sense, possessed by Kali--thinking still on her he left, Passed he in the lonely forest--leaving his deserted wife. BOOK XI. Scarcely had king Nala parted--Damayanti now refreshed, Wakened up, the slender-waisted--timorous in the desert wood. When she did not see her husband--overpowered with grief and pain, Loud she shriek'd in her first anguish--"Where art thou, Nishadha's king? Mighty king! my soul-protector--O, my lord! desert'st thou me. Oh, I'm lost! undone for ever--helpless in the wild wood left; Faithful once to every duty--wert thou not, and true in word. Art thou faithful to thy promise--to desert me thus in sleep. Could'st thou then depart, forsaking--thy devoted, constant wife; Her in sooth that never wronged thee--wronged indeed, but not by her. Keep'st thou thus thy solemn promise--oh, unfaithful lord of men, There, when all the gods were present--plighted to thy wedded wife? Death is but decreed to mortals--at its own appointed time, Hence one moment, thus deserted[71]--one brief moment do I live.-- But thou'st had thy sport--enough then--now desist, O king of men, Mock not thou a trembling woman--show thee to me, O my lord! Yes, I see thee, there I see thee--hidden as thou think'st from sight, In the rushes why conceal thee?--answer me, why speak'st thou not. Wherefore now ungentle stay'st thou--like to one forsworn, aloof? Wherefore wilt thou not approach me--to console me in my woe? For myself I will not sorrow--nor for aught to me befalls. Thou art all alone, my husband,--I will only mourn for thee. How will't fare with thee, my Nala--thirsting, famished, faint with toil. Nor beholding me await thee--underneath the trees at eve." Then, in all her depth of anguish--with her trouble as on fire, Hither, thither, went she weeping--all around she went and wailed. Now springs up the desolate princess--now falls down in prostrate grief; Now she pines in silent sorrow--now she shrieks and wails aloud. So consumed with inward misery--ever sighing more and more, Spake at length king Bhima's daughter--spake the still devoted wife: