In those days, King Duṣyanta, wise and discerning, journeyed through the sacred forests. He was a man learned in the true nature of substances, actions, and their qualities, skilled in judging causes and effects, and so attuned that he could understand the cries of birds and monkeys. His wisdom was nourished by the treatises of Vyāsa, and he was counted among those who truly understood the world. As he traveled, Duṣyanta heard his own fame celebrated in the revered scriptures. Even the foremost philosophers of materialist schools echoed his renown, and his name was spoken with respect in every direction. Here and there, he saw eminent Brāhmaṇas, steadfast in their vows, immersed in sacred recitation and offerings. The king’s heart was filled with awe as he beheld seats of wondrous design, carefully arranged and pleasing to the eye. Observing the twice-born performing worship at the shrines of the gods, Duṣyanta felt as though he had entered the very world of Brahmā. He could never tire of gazing upon that excellent and auspicious hermitage, protected by Kāśyapa’s great austerities and blessed with the virtues of a forest of penance. Accompanied by his ministers and priests, Duṣyanta entered the abode of Kāśyapa, which was surrounded on all sides by great sages, radiant with the fire of their austerities. The place was secluded, exceedingly charming, and auspicious—a true sanctuary of peace. As he walked deeper into the hermitage, Duṣyanta sent his ministers away and soon realized that the sage himself was not present. The hermitage was empty. Standing there, the mighty-armed king called out in a loud voice that echoed through the forest: “Who is here?” In response, a maiden emerged from within the hermitage. She shone with a radiance like the goddess of fortune herself, dressed in the simple garb of an ascetic. Seeing King Duṣyanta, the dark-eyed maiden was greatly pleased, recognizing the arrival of a worthy and venerable guest. She was endowed with youth and beauty, virtuous and well-conducted. Her eyes were broad as lotuses, and she gazed upon the king—himself broad-chested and mighty-armed. With lion-like shoulders and long arms, marked by all auspicious signs, she greeted him with sweet words. Swiftly, she welcomed him, honored him, and offered him a seat. She brought water for washing his feet and for hospitality, fulfilling the sacred duties of a host. Having honored him properly and asked after his well-being, she inquired about his health. With a gentle smile, she asked, “What brings you here? What business do you have in this hermitage, and what do you wish to accomplish?” The king, in turn, asked, “Who are you, who dwells in this auspicious hermitage of the great sage?” His words were gentle, and his heart was moved by her flawless form and the honor she had shown him. “I am the son of the royal sage Ilina,” he told her. “My name is Duṣyanta, O lotus-eyed one, and I have come to pay my respects to the illustrious sage Kaṇva.” The maiden replied, “My revered father has gone from the hermitage to gather fruits. Please wait a moment, and you will see him when he returns.” Not finding the sage, and thus addressed by her, the king’s gaze lingered on the noble maiden, radiant and lovely in her smile. She shone with beauty, her austerity and self-restraint enhancing her youthful form. The king spoke to her: “Who are you, O fair-hipped one? Whose daughter are you, and why have you come to this forest? From where do you come, adorned as you are with such beauty and virtue?” He confessed, “At the very sight of you, O auspicious one, my heart has been carried away. I wish to know you—tell me, O beautiful one. I stand here, desiring to speak; listen to my words, O one with serpent-shaped thighs, shining like an intoxicated elephant.” “I am born in the line of royal sages, especially of the race of Puru. Today, O radiant one, Duṣyanta chooses you. My heart does not incline toward any other Kṣatriya woman, nor toward any other sage’s daughter, whether inferior or superior. Therefore, know me as one whose mind is fixed upon you, O sweet-voiced one, in whom I have this feeling. You are a Kṣatriya—tell me, who are you?” He continued, “Indeed, O timid one, my heart does not move toward a Brāhmaṇa maiden. I seek you, O wide-eyed one; you should accept one who is devoted. Enjoy the kingdom, O large-eyed one, and do not think otherwise.” Thus addressed, the maiden replied with a gentle smile, her words sweet and soft: “I am considered the daughter of the venerable Kaṇva, O Duṣyanta—the ascetic, steadfast, and righteous great soul. I am not independent, O king; Kāśyapa is my teacher and father. Seek your purpose from him alone; you should not act otherwise. The venerable one, honored by the world, is of pure vows. Even if virtue wavers, he of firm vows does not.” Duṣyanta, filled with wonder, asked, “How, O radiant one, were you born as his daughter? I have a great doubt—please dispel it for me here.” She replied, “As this event has come to me, and as it has happened before, he speaks differently among others, though his own nature is otherwise. That fool, covered by sin, thus becomes a thief of his own self. Listen, O king, to the true account of how I am the daughter of the sage.” She continued, “Once, a certain sage came here and questioned me about my birth: ‘Since you are one whose seed is held upward, how then is this Shakuntalā yours? How did a daughter arise from you? Tell me the truth, O Kāśyapa.’ To him, the venerable one replied as it was; hear that, O king.” “Long ago, Viśvāmitra, possessed of great austerity, was performing severe penance, and he greatly troubled Śakra, the lord of the gods. Fearing the power of Viśvāmitra’s blazing austerity, Śakra, the mighty Indra, said to Menakā, ‘By the power of his penance, he may cast me down from my place…’” Thus, the maiden began to recount the wondrous tale of her own birth, as the king listened with rapt attention in that sacred forest hermitage.