Menakā, the celestial nymph, and the sage Viśvāmitra were drawn to each other. She invited him, and he, too, desired her company. Thus, the two lived together for a very long time, their union pure and blameless. Immersed in their mutual enjoyment, they passed a thousand years together, though it seemed to them as brief as a single day. Though Viśvāmitra was a sage of great composure, having mastered desire and anger, his long-accumulated austerity came to an end through this union. With his ascetic power depleted, he was overcome by delusion; confusion and anger clouded his mind, and he began to eat roots and fruits. One day, he made a sound in the water with his feet as he returned to his hut on the island. Menakā, who wished now to depart, heard the sound of his approach. She perceived that his radiant ascetic energy, which had once blazed through the sky, was now spent. Realizing this sign, she knew his austerity had ended. Yet, having bathed after her period and seeing the sage overcome by passion, Menakā approached him, saying it was not proper for her to go yet. On the beautiful slopes of Himavat, near the Mālinī river, Viśvāmitra fathered a daughter with Menakā. This child, Śakuntalā, shone like a daughter of the gods, adorned with all ornaments, and lay upon a lovely bed. Menakā spoke tenderly to her radiant newborn: “O shining one, you possess the energy of the great sage’s fierce austerity. Now, my purpose here is fulfilled, for I came at the behest of the gods. It is time for me to return to heaven.” Leaving her daughter by the Mālinī river, Menakā, her task complete, swiftly ascended to Indra’s assembly. Alone in the forest, Śakuntalā lay surrounded by dangers—lions and tigers roamed nearby. Yet, birds gathered around her, shielding her from the flesh-eating beasts. There, the birds protected Menakā’s daughter. When I, Kanva, went to bathe, I saw the child lying there. In that lovely, solitary forest, the birds encircled the child. As soon as they saw me, these twice-born birds approached and fell at my feet, speaking sweetly and gently: “O Brahmin, take up the daughter of Viśvāmitra, entrusted to you. Your friend, who has conquered desire and anger, has gone to the Kauśikī. Therefore, raise this daughter with compassion.” I understand the speech of all creatures and am compassionate to all beings. So, I brought the child to my hermitage and raised her as my own daughter. According to the law of righteousness, he who gives the body, he who gives life, and he whose food one eats—these three are all called fathers. Because she was found surrounded by birds in the lonely forest, I named her Śakuntalā. Know, O Brahmin, that Śakuntalā is my daughter, and she, the blameless one, regards me as her father. Thus, when questioned, I told the great sage the story of my birth. Know me, O king, as the daughter of Kanva. For, not knowing her true father, she considers Kanva her father. O king, I have now told you all that I have heard as it happened. Hearing her words, the king replied, “It is clear you are a royal maiden, O blessed one. Become my wife, fair-hipped one, and tell me what I should do for you. I will bring you golden necklaces, garments, earrings, and bracelets, O beautiful one, and splendid jewels from many cities. Today I will fetch you necklaces and deer-skins; let the whole kingdom be yours from this day. O lovely one, be my wife. Come, timid one, marry me by the Gandharva rite, O beautiful lady, for among all forms of marriage, the Gandharva is said to be the best, O slender-waisted one.” Śakuntalā replied, “My father has gone, O king, to gather fruits for the hermitage. Wait a moment, and he will give me to you. For my father is always my lord, my highest deity. The one to whom my father gives me, he will be my husband. A father protects a girl in childhood, a husband in youth, and a son in old age; a woman is not fit for independence. Honoring my ascetic father, O king, how could I, who value righteousness, seek a husband unrighteously?” She continued, “Brahmins wield anger as their weapon, not weapons in their hands. With anger, they strike down their enemies as Indra does with his thunderbolt; fire burns with its energy, the sun burns with its rays. A king punishes with the rod, but a Brahmin burns with anger; when enraged, they destroy as the wielder of the thunderbolt destroys the demons.” The king replied, “I know, gentle one, that great sage; he is without anger. O lovely-hipped, blameless one, I desire you, who desire me. Know that I am here for your sake, for my mind is set on you. The self is its own friend, its own refuge; by oneself alone should one give oneself, according to righteousness.” He explained further, “In brief, eight forms of marriage are remembered as righteous: Brahma, Daiva, Arsha, Prajapatya, Asura, Gandharva, Rakshasa, and Paisacha. Of these, Manu Svayambhuva has spoken of their righteousness. The first four are praised for a Brahmana; for a Kshatriya, six, in order, are righteous and blameless. For kings, the Rakshasa is also prescribed; among Vaishyas and Shudras, the Asura is remembered. Of these five, three are righteous, and two are considered unrighteous. The Paisacha and Asura forms should never be practiced; by this rule, the course of righteousness is to be followed.