Śakuntalā continued:
“My father Kaṇva, in reply to that sage's inquiry, narrated what he himself had once heard:
‘In ancient tis, Viśvāmitra, devoted to the fiercest austerities, grew so powerful that Indra, king of the gods, beca fearful that the sage might shake his very seat in heaven through the force of his penance.
Disturbed, Indra summoned nakā, foremost among the Apsarases, and said:
“O nakā, thou art the most graceful among the celestials. I ask of thee a task that only thou canst perform. Viśvāmitra, blazing like the midday sun, has been imrsed in harsh penance. Should his strength grow further, I fear he may claim what is mine.
Go to him. Distract his austerity. Use thy beauty, thy voice, and gentle arts to lead him from his path.”
nakā, folding her hands, answered respectfully:
“O lord of the celestials, I obey—but know that this task is fraught with danger. The sage is not only mighty, he is also quick to wrath. His anger once struck even the noble Vasiṣṭha with grief. Though born a Kṣatriya, he has earned Brāhmaṇa-hood through penance alone.
It was he who created the river Kauśikī for his ablutions. When famine ca, his wife was fed by Triśaṅku, then cursed and wandering as a hunter. In return, Viśvāmitra made him priest and perford his sacrifice, forcing the gods themselves to drink Soma under fear.
He once created a second heaven, filled with stars beginning with Śravaṇa, and gave refuge to Triśaṅku against divine law. His power can shake mountains. He can circle the ten directions in a mont.
His eyes are the sun and moon;
His breath, a storm; his anger, ruin.
How shall I, a woman, even stand before him?”
Yet, obedient to Indra’s will, she added:
“If I must go, then let not go alone. Let Marut, the wind-god, strip of my garnt at the right mont. Let Kāma, the god of love, aid with desire’s subtle fire. Let the breezes bring perfus from forest blossoms to awaken his senses. With all this, perhaps, the sage’s mind will turn.”
Seeing that all her conditions were t, nakā departed for the forest retreat of the great Kauśika (Viśvāmitra).”
Śakuntalā continued:
“And Kaṇva said, when questioned by the visiting sage:
‘Śakra (Indra), hearing nakā’s hesitation, commanded Marut, the god of wind, who can enter all places unseen, to assist her at the right mont.
Obedient to that divine sche, nakā entered the forest retreat. There she beheld Viśvāmitra, shining with ascetic fire, purified of all sin by the rigour of his penances, yet still absorbed in austerity.
She approached and saluted him respectfully. Then, as she lingered in the grove, she began to move gracefully, dancing lightly, as if at play. Just at that mont, Marut, by Indra’s design, stirred the wind and stole away her garnts—white as moonlight.
She ran in feigned distress to retrieve them, casting glances of modesty and annoyance, performing it all within the sage’s view. And Viśvāmitra, though firm in vows, looked upon her.
He saw her form—flawless, youthful, adorned not by ornant but by nature—and his resolve wavered.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Desire, long buried, rose like fla;
The fire of penance turned to na.
And thus the ṛṣi, strong in soul,
Gave way where even gods lose hold.
He gestured his desire, and nakā, with grace, accepted his company. They remained together in the grove for a long ti—though to them it passed like a single day. And from that union, she conceived and bore a daughter, who was nad later Śakuntalā.
As her term drew near, nakā went to the banks of the Mālinī, a sacred river flowing through the Himavat mountains. There, in that peaceful valley, she gave birth to the child. But, being bound still to the celestial realms, she left the newborn on the riverbank and departed.
The forest was wild, filled with lions and tigers, yet no harm ca to the infant. A circle of vultures descended and surrounded her, guarding her silently.
No beast drew near, no claw was raised—
The child was kept, the gods amazed.
For though abandoned, she was not alone,
Protected by wings, not flesh and bone.
It was there, O sage, that I ca to perform my ablutions. I saw her lying amidst the birds, untouched by harm, surrounded by silence and wings. Moved with compassion, I brought her ho and raised her as my own.
The scriptures speak of three fathers: he who gives the body, he who sustains life, and he who offers wisdom and food. I am her father in the truest sense.
Because she was protected by śakuntas—birds—on that lonely riverbank, I nad her Śakuntalā, ‘she who was guarded by birds.’
And since that day, she has been to a daughter in truth and spirit.”
Śakuntalā concluded:
“This is what my father Kaṇva told the sage who had once asked. So now, O king, you know—I am the daughter of Kaṇva. I know no other. Though my body was born of nakā and Viśvāmitra, it is he who raised , taught , and gave a na.
Thus have I told you all that has co to regarding my birth.”
Vaiśampāyana said:
Hearing all that Śakuntalā had spoken, King Duṣmanta, deeply moved, responded with warmth and admiration.
“Well spoken, O princess, truly well spoken!
Co, be my queen, O graceful one.
Garlands of gold, robes of silk,
Pearls from distant shores, coins and fine carpets—
All these I shall give to thee today.
Let the kingdom itself be thine!”
“O lovely one,” he continued, “wedding now according to the Gandharva rite, be mine. Among all forms of marriage, that of mutual love—so say the wise—is highest for a Kṣatriya.”
Śakuntalā answered in modest tones, “My father hath gone to gather fruit. Wait but a little, O King. He will bestow upon thee.”
But Duṣmanta, earnest and full of desire, replied:
“In truth, thou art thine own mistress.
A self-given bride is no breach of dharma.
Eight forms of marriage the sages describe—
Brahma, Daiva, Ārṣa, and Prajāpatya,
Then Āsura, Gandharva, Rākṣasa, and the eighth—Paiśāca.
Of these, the first four are for Brāhmaṇas,
The next two also suit Kṣatriyas.
The Gandharva—pure, born of love—
Is praised as highest for royal n.”
He added, “There is no sin in this. With hearts aligned and desires known, let us unite.”
Śakuntalā, hearing his learned words and his heartfelt plea, gave her consent—but with one firm condition:
“If this be sanctioned by dharma, and I am free to give myself,
Then, O scion of Puru, hear my resolve:
The son born of this union shall be thy heir.
If thou acceptest this vow, let us be one.”
Without delay or doubt, Duṣmanta said:
“So be it. I swear by dharma and truth.
Co with to my capital,
Where thou shalt be queen over all I rule.”
Thus the noble monarch took Śakuntalā as his wife in the Gandharva manner, their hearts bound without ritual or witness. He stayed awhile in the āśrama, assuring her again and again that he would return with his royal retinue to escort her.
Then, setting forth for his capital, he began to ponder Kaṇva's response.
“What will the venerable Ṛṣi say,
When he learns of our union, done in secret?”
With such thoughts, the king entered his city.
Just then, Kaṇva returned to his hermitage. But Śakuntalā, modest and shy, did not co out to greet him. The great sage, possessed of spiritual vision, saw all clearly.
Smiling gently, he said to her:
“Fear not, child. What hath been done
Is no sin and no disgrace.
The Gandharva rite, when hearts are pure,
Is honoured by the wise.”
He continued, “Duṣmanta is a man of virtue. You have chosen well. The son born of this union will be mighty—a ruler of the sea-girt earth. His armies will be irresistible.”
Relieved and joyous, Śakuntalā brought water and fruits for her father, washed his feet, and humbly spoke:
“O father, bestow thy blessings on King Duṣmanta,
Whom I have accepted as husband,
And on those who serve him.”
Kaṇva, moved by affection, replied:
“O fair one, for thy sake I shall bless him.
Speak now, ask the boon thou desirest.”
Then Śakuntalā, ever loyal in heart, said:
“Grant this, O revered one—
That the kings born in Duṣmanta’s line
May ever be righteous,
And never lose the thrones they inherit.”
Reviews
All reviews (0)