Damayanti Laments and Hears the Chariot

Damayanti heard the roar of the chariot and her heart stopped. It filled the entire earth — a deep, rolling thunder like clouds gathering at the onset of the monsoon. It was the sound she had heard a thousand times before, when Nala drove his own chariot through the gates of Kundina. No other chariot in the world made that sound. No other driver controlled horses the way he did. She began to speak, not to anyone in the room, but to herself, to the air, to whatever god might be listening. "The roar of the chariot fills up the entire earth and gladdens my heart. It must be King Nala." Today, she said, if she did not see him — the valorous Nala, whose face was like the moon, who possessed innumerable qualities — there was no doubt she would perish. If she was not engulfed today in the arms of that brave one, whose touch brought pleasure, there was no doubt she would perish. If Nishadha did not come to her today, with a voice like the roar of the clouds and with a complexion of gold, there was no doubt she would perish. If that Indra among kings, whose valour was like a lion and who could restrain a mad elephant, did not come to her, there was no doubt she would perish. She did not remember the slightest falsehood in him. She did not remember the slightest injury. The great-souled kept all his promises, even those made in jest. Her lord was forgiving, brave, gentle, generous, and in control of his senses. He was not addicted to low vices. Nishadha had always behaved towards her like one who was impotent — restrained, controlled, never giving in to base impulse. "Remembering his qualities, I am tormented day and night. My heart is about to be rent asunder because of the sorrow of being separated from that beloved one." She rose. She would go to the palace and see the chariot for herself.