When King Duṣyanta arrived at the tranquil hermitage, he was greeted by a maiden whose dark eyes sparkled with delight at the arrival of such a worthy and venerable guest. She was young, beautiful, virtuous, and composed, her broad, lotus-like eyes and mighty arms perfectly matched her noble bearing. Her shoulders were like a lion’s, her arms long, and her body marked by every auspicious sign. With gentle sweetness, she addressed the king, welcoming him warmly. She quickly honored Duṣyanta, offering him a seat and bringing water for his feet and for his refreshment, as was the custom of hospitality. Once she had properly received him, she inquired after his health and well-being, her voice full of care. Smiling, she asked, “What brings you here, noble one? What purpose leads you to this hermitage, and what do you wish to accomplish?” Duṣyanta, too, spoke kindly, asking, “Who are you, who now graces this auspicious hermitage of the great sage?” Seeing her flawless in every limb and having been so graciously received, the king replied, “I am the son of the royal sage, the great-souled Ilina. My name is Duṣyanta, O lotus-eyed maiden, and I have come to pay respects to the illustrious sage Kaṇva.” The maiden answered, “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 present and having heard her words, the king turned his gaze to the noble maiden, radiant and lovely in her smile. Her beauty shone forth, adorned by her austerity and self-restraint, her youth and form captivating. The king spoke to her, “Who are you, O fair-hipped one? Whose daughter are you, and why have you come to dwell in this forest? From where do you come, O lovely one, adorned with such beauty and virtues?” He continued, “At the very sight of you, O auspicious one, my heart has been carried away. I wish to know you—tell me, beautiful one. I stand here, O slender-waisted one, desiring to speak; listen to my words, O one with serpent-shaped thighs, shining like an intoxicated elephant.” “Born in the line of royal sages, I am of the race of Puru. Today, O radiant and fair-hipped maiden, Duṣyanta chooses you. My heart inclines toward no other Kṣatriya woman, nor toward any sage’s daughter, whether inferior or superior. Therefore, know that my 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 pressed further, “Indeed, O timid one, my heart does not move toward a Brāhmaṇa maiden. It is you I seek, 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 by the king in that peaceful hermitage, the maiden replied with a gentle smile, her words sweet and composed. “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, O illustrious one. Even if virtue wavers, he of firm vows does not.” Curious, Duṣyanta asked, “How, O radiant one, were you born as his daughter? I have a great doubt—please dispel it for me here.” The maiden responded, “Just as this event has come to me, and as it happened before, he speaks differently among others, though his 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. “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 that greatly troubled Śakra, the lord of the gods. Fearing that by the power of his blazing austerity, Viśvāmitra might cast him down from his throne, Purandara spoke these words to Menakā: “‘Among the celestial nymphs, you, Menakā, excel in virtues; do me a favor, blessed one, and listen to what I will tell you. That great ascetic Viśvāmitra, radiant as the sun, is performing fierce penance, and he is shaking my mind. Menakā, this task is yours: Viśvāmitra, O slender-waisted one, is resolute and nearly impossible to disturb, established in fierce austerity. Go and entice him so that he does not cast me down from my position; disrupt his penance and do me this great favor. With beauty, youth, sweetness, gestures, smiles, and speech, O lovely-hipped one, entice him and turn him away from his penance. “‘He is a great and radiant sage, possessed of immense austerity and quick to anger; even the Lord knows this about him. Of his energy, austerity, and wrath, even you are afraid, yet how is it that I would not be afraid? He who deprived the greatly fortunate Vasishtha of his beloved sons, and who, though born a kshatriya, forcibly became a brahmin. He who, for the sake of purity, created a river difficult to cross and full of waters, which people in the world know as the most sacred Kausiki. Where, in former times, in that difficult place, the great-souled sage’s wife was once supported by Matanga, the righteous royal sage who had become a hunter.’ “Thus, O king,” concluded the maiden, “I have spoken to you the true account of my birth, as told by the venerable sage himself.