When King Duṣyanta arrived at the hermitage and did not see the sage, he inquired after him. The maiden there, radiant and smiling sweetly, replied to him. The king’s gaze fell upon her—she shone with the beauty of youth, marked by the glow of self-restraint and austerity. Moved by her presence, Duṣyanta approached and spoke to her. “O fair-hipped one,” he asked gently, “who are you? Whose daughter are you, and what brings you to this forest? From where do you come, adorned with such beauty and virtue?” He continued, “At the very sight of you, auspicious one, my heart is carried away. I wish to know you—please, tell me about yourself, beautiful maiden.” Duṣyanta, captivated, declared, “I stand here, slender-waisted one, desiring to speak my heart. Listen to my words, O one whose thighs are graceful as serpents, shining in your youth like an intoxicated elephant.” He revealed his lineage to her: “I am born in the line of royal sages, especially of the race of Puru. Today, O radiant and fair-hipped one, Duṣyanta chooses you.” He confessed, “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, sweet-voiced one, in whom I feel this longing. You are a Kṣatriya—tell me, who are you?” He added with sincerity, “Indeed, timid one, my heart does not seek a Brāhmaṇa maiden. It is you I desire, wide-eyed one; accept one who is devoted. Share in the kingdom, large-eyed one, and do not think otherwise.” Hearing these words in the hermitage, the maiden responded with a gentle smile, her words soft and sweet. “O Duṣyanta,” she said, “I am considered the daughter of the venerable sage Kaṇva, ascetic, steadfast, and righteous, a great soul.” “But, O king,” she continued, “I am not independent. Kāśyapa is my teacher and father. Seek your purpose from him alone; you should not act otherwise.” She praised her father further: “The venerable one, honored by the world, is of pure vows, illustrious king. Even if virtue wavers, he of firm vows does not.” Duṣyanta, still curious, asked, “How, O radiant one, were you born as his daughter? I have a great doubt about this—please, dispel it for me here.” Shakuntalā replied, “As this event has come to me, and as it 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 sage’s daughter.” She recounted, “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.” She began the tale: “Long ago, Vishvamitra, possessed of great austerity, was performing severe penance, and he greatly troubled Shakra, the lord of the gods. Fearing that the power of Vishvamitra’s blazing austerity might cast him down from his place, 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 ask. That great ascetic Vishvamitra, radiant as the sun, is performing fierce penance, and he is shaking my mind. Menakā, this task is yours: Vishvamitra, 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—how could I 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 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. When a famine had passed, the sage returned to Akshama, and there, by the river, the lord named it Pāreti. There, with a glad heart, he caused Matanga to perform a sacrifice, and you, out of fear, went to drink Soma, O lord of the gods.’” “‘In his anger, he created another world, endowed with stars; he made the constellations beginning with Śravaṇa, and gave refuge to Triśaṅku, even though he was struck down by his guru’s curse. How could Kauśika, the royal sage, free himself from the curse of a brahmarṣi, when the gods, scorning him, destroyed the sacrificial rite? That mighty ascetic, lord of great energy, created other sacrificial limbs, and at that time led Triśaṅku to heaven. I am greatly afraid of him whose deeds are these; instruct me, O lord, so that he does not burn me in his anger. By his energy he could burn up the worlds, shake the earth with his foot, swiftly compress mighty Meru, and turn the directions around.’” “‘How could a woman like me approach one so endowed with ascetic power, blazing like fire, and with senses conquered? How could a woman like me touch one whose face is like blazing fire, whose eyes are the sun, moon, and stars, whose tongue is time, O best of gods? Even Yama, Soma, the great sages, the Sādhyas, the Viśvedevas, and all the Vālakhilyas are afraid of his power—so why should a woman like me not be afraid?’” Thus, Shakuntalā told the king of her divine origin and the awe-inspiring tale of her birth, as recounted by the sage Kaṇva.