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From the Mahabharata

There was once a king named Nala who ruled the kingdom of Nishadha in central India. He had everything going for him—he was skilled at chariot racing, excellent at cooking, handsome enough to make people stop and stare, and ran his kingdom so well that everyone prospered. The only thing missing was a wife. Not for lack of options—women talked about him constantly—but because he hadn’t found anyone who felt right.

Meanwhile, in the neighboring kingdom of Vidarbha, Princess Damayanti had the same problem in reverse. She was so beautiful that people said even the gods would fall for her. But beauty like that came with complications. Every prince in the region wanted to marry her, but none of them interested her in the slightest.

Love Through a Messenger

Nala spent a lot of time wandering his palace gardens, lost in thought. One day he caught a golden-winged swan that had been hanging around the lake. The swan, instead of panicking, spoke to him in a human voice.

“Release me,” the swan said, “and I’ll do you a favor. I’ve been to Vidarbha recently, and I’ve seen Princess Damayanti. She’s the most beautiful woman in the three worlds. You’re the most accomplished man I’ve ever met. You two would be perfect for each other. Let me go tell her about you.”

Nala released the bird immediately. That night he went to bed thinking about a woman he’d never met, wondering if the swan was telling the truth.

The swan flew to Vidarbha and found Damayanti in her father’s gardens with her attendants. When the women tried to catch the beautiful birds, Damayanti managed to grab the same swan that had spoken to Nala.

“I come from King Nala of Nishadha,” the swan told her. “He’s the most handsome, skilled, and virtuous king I’ve ever seen. There’s no one in the three worlds who would be a better match for you. You should marry him.”

Damayanti released the swan and stood there as the sun set, thinking about a man she’d never met, wondering if the swan was telling the truth.

Both of them fell in love based on reputation alone—which sounds ridiculous until you remember they lived in a time when strategic marriages were arranged by parents, and actual love was considered a bonus feature, not a requirement.

The Swayamvara

Damayanti’s father, King Bhima, noticed his daughter wasn’t eating, seemed distracted, and generally acted like someone with a serious problem. After the royal physicians drew a blank on what was wrong with her, the king finally realized: his daughter had grown up, and it was time for her to get married.

He announced a swayamvara—a ceremony where the bride publicly chooses her husband from assembled suitors. Invitations went out across the kingdoms.

Nala immediately prepared to leave for Vidarbha. But word of the ceremony had also reached the heavens. Four major gods—Indra (king of the gods), Agni (god of fire), Varuna (god of water), and Yama (god of death)—decided they wanted Damayanti for themselves.

On the road to Vidarbha, the gods spotted Nala’s chariot. They descended to earth and blocked his path.

“We need a favor,” Indra said. “We’re going to this swayamvara too. Go ahead of us and tell Damayanti she should choose one of us instead of you.”

Nala was trapped. You don’t say no to gods—that’s how you end up as a cautionary tale. But he was also desperately in love with a woman he’d never met.

“I’ll deliver your message,” he said carefully. “But I’m also going there to try to win her for myself.”

The gods thought this was hilarious. A mortal competing with gods? Sure, kid. Knock yourself out.

The Impossible Choice

When Nala arrived at the palace and met Damayanti privately to deliver the gods’ message, she looked at him and knew immediately: this was the man the swan had described.

“I’ve chosen you,” she told him flatly. “I don’t care if gods want to marry me. I want you.”

“That’s great,” Nala said. “But how are you going to pull that off when four major deities are showing up to your swayamvara?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Damayanti said.

On the day of the ceremony, Damayanti entered the hall and saw five identical men standing in a row. The gods had transformed themselves into perfect copies of Nala, right down to his clothes and mannerisms.

This was the kind of test that could break someone. Damayanti stood there, staring at five identical versions of the man she loved, knowing that four of them were gods in disguise who would be furious if she rejected them.

She closed her eyes and prayed.

“If I’ve been faithful in my heart,” she said, “if my love for Nala is true, then please—show me which one is real.”

And here’s where the story reveals something interesting about gods versus humans: gods don’t have the same physical limitations. Damayanti opened her eyes and looked carefully. Four of the figures stood perfectly still, their garlands fresh, their feet hovering slightly above the ground, no shadows beneath them. One figure—just one—had sweat on his forehead, a wilting garland, feet firmly on the ground, and a shadow.

She walked straight to the real Nala and chose him.

The gods, impressed by her cleverness and devotion, blessed the couple instead of punishing them. Indra granted that Nala would always be present at sacred rituals. Agni gave him mastery over fire. Yama granted him excellent taste and a commitment to dharma (righteousness). Varuna ensured he’d always have access to water.

Nala and Damayanti married. They had twin children. For years, everything was perfect.

The Demon’s Revenge

But someone else had wanted to attend that swayamvara and arrived too late: Kali, a demon who personified the worst age of the world (the Kali Yuga). When Kali learned that Damayanti had rejected four major gods to marry a mortal, he was furious.

“I’ll destroy their happiness,” he vowed.

For twelve years, Kali waited for an opportunity. Finally, one day Nala forgot to wash his feet before entering the temple for his daily prayers. That small ritual lapse was all Kali needed. The demon entered Nala’s body and took control of his will.

Kali’s accomplice, another demon named Dvapara, entered the dice themselves.

Nala’s brother Pushkara had always been jealous of him. Now, possessed by Kali’s influence, Nala became obsessed with gambling. When Pushkara challenged him to a game of dice, Nala couldn’t refuse.

Damayanti begged him to stop. The citizens tried to intervene. But Nala, no longer fully in control of himself, kept playing.

He lost everything. His wealth. His army. His palace. His clothes. Everything except Damayanti herself, and Pushkara had the decency to refuse that final, desperate wager.

Before things got worse, Damayanti sent their children with the charioteer to her father’s kingdom for safety. Then she followed her destitute husband into exile, refusing to abandon him.

Abandoned in the Forest

For three days they wandered the forest together. On the third night, Nala saw some golden-feathered birds—actually dice in disguise—and threw his cloth over them, hoping to catch them for food. The birds flew away with his garment, leaving him naked.

That’s when Nala made the worst decision of his life.

He looked at Damayanti sleeping and thought: She deserves better than this cursed existence. Her father would take her back. She’d be safe.

So he took their shared cloth, cut it in half with a sword, wrapped himself in his half, and abandoned her in the forest while she slept.

When Damayanti woke up and realized what had happened, she was devastated. She wandered through the forest calling for him, asking the trees and rivers and animals if they’d seen her husband.

Her trials were brutal. A serpent wrapped around her, but a hunter killed it—then the hunter tried to assault her. Damayanti prayed for protection, and the hunter was struck by lightning and turned to ash. She joined a group of merchants traveling to the Chedi kingdom, but a rampaging elephant killed many of them, and the survivors blamed her, calling her cursed. She fled and eventually found refuge with a group of Brahmins who brought her to Chedi, where the queen mother took her in as a servant.

Nala’s Transformation

Meanwhile, Nala wandered the forest, tormented by guilt and still possessed by Kali. He encountered a snake-king named Karkotaka trapped in a wildfire. Taking pity, Nala rescued the serpent.

In gratitude—or maybe as a strange kind of mercy—the snake bit him. The bite transformed Nala into a hunched, deformed dwarf, completely unrecognizable. But it also weakened Kali’s hold on him.

“Go to the kingdom of Ayodhya,” the serpent advised. “Seek employment with King Rituparna. This will lead to your redemption.”

Nala traveled to Ayodhya and took a job under the name Bahuka, serving as the king’s charioteer and cook. His cooking was so extraordinary that people said it tasted divine. During this time, he secretly studied the mathematics of dice with Rituparna, determined to eventually reclaim his kingdom through skill rather than luck.

Each night, he recited a cryptic, sorrowful verse that no one could fully understand.

The Search and Reunion

Back in Vidarbha, Damayanti’s father sent Brahmins across the kingdoms searching for his daughter and son-in-law. One found Damayanti in Chedi and brought her home.

Damayanti refused to give up on finding Nala. She devised a plan: she had Brahmins travel the kingdoms reciting specific verses she’d composed, knowing Nala alone would recognize them and respond.

When a Brahmin reached Ayodhya and recited the verses publicly, Bahuka (the disguised Nala) responded with his own verse, subtly revealing his identity.

Then Damayanti pulled off an elaborate ruse. She announced a second swayamvara, claiming she’d given up on Nala and would choose a new husband. But there was a catch: the ceremony would take place the very next day in Vidarbha—a hundred miles away. No normal charioteer could make that journey in a single day.

Except Nala.

When King Rituparna received the invitation, he insisted Bahuka drive his chariot to Vidarbha. Nala, desperate to see his wife, drove with such extraordinary skill that they completed the impossible journey in one day.

Upon arrival, Damayanti suspected the deformed charioteer might be her husband. She sent her servant to test him—having him cook his signature dish, observing that fire and water appeared instantly at his command, noticing his garland never wilted, watching the doorway magically rise higher for him to pass through.

Finally, she brought their children to him. When Nala saw them, he broke down and wept.

Damayanti confronted him directly. “Why did you abandon me? And why are you here if you’re attending my swayamvara for another husband?”

“You’re remarrying?” Nala said, still in disguise. “You’ve taken another husband?”

“It was a trick to find you,” Damayanti said. She swore by her purity and fidelity that she’d remained faithful. The wind god Vayu himself called down from the heavens, confirming her truth.

At that moment, the curse broke. Nala’s true form was restored, and he stood before her as himself again.

Restoration

King Bhima welcomed Nala back. Nala returned to Nishadha with an armed escort and challenged his brother Pushkara to a rematch.

This time, free from Kali’s possession and armed with the mathematical knowledge he’d learned from Rituparna, Nala won decisively. He reclaimed his kingdom and all he’d lost.

But instead of seeking revenge, Nala forgave his brother and sent him away in peace.

Nala and Damayanti were reunited with their children. They ruled Nishadha together for the rest of their lives, and their kingdom prospered once more.

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Why This Story Matters:

The tale of Nala and Damayanti is one of the most beloved love stories in Indian literature, found in the Vana Parva (Book of the Forest) section of the Mahabharata. Unlike Western fairy tales that end with “happily ever after” at the wedding, this story explores what happens when love is tested by separation, loss, and suffering.

The story emphasizes several key themes in Hindu philosophy: the power of dharma (righteousness), the role of fate and divine intervention, the importance of faithfulness, and the idea that suffering can lead to spiritual growth. Damayanti’s intelligence and determination—not just her beauty—save the day multiple times. And Nala’s journey from prideful king to humble servant and back teaches that sometimes you have to lose everything to understand what truly matters.

The golden swans, the swayamvara, the disguise, and the clever reunion have inspired countless retellings across Indian languages and art forms for over 2,000 years, making it one of the most enduring love stories in world literature.

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