Brahmins, it is said, do not wield weapons in their hands; rather, their true weapon is anger, which they direct with the force of righteousness. With this anger, they are able to vanquish their enemies, just as Indra destroys the demons with his thunderbolt, as fire burns with its own energy, and the sun scorches with its rays. While a king disciplines with the rod of punishment, a Brahmin’s wrath, when aroused, can be more devastating—capable of destroying like the wielder of the thunderbolt himself. Yet, O gentle one, I know of a great sage who is without anger. O lovely-hipped, blameless lady, it is you whom I desire, even as you desire me. Know that I am here for your sake, for my heart is set upon you. One’s own self is indeed one’s friend and refuge; by oneself alone should one give oneself, following the path of righteousness. In brief, there are eight forms of marriage remembered as righteous: Brahma, Daiva, Arsha, Prajapatya, and Asura. The Gandharva, Rakshasa, and Paisacha are also counted, making eight in total; Manu Svayambhuva spoke of the righteousness of these as before. Understand that the first four forms are praised for Brahmanas, while for Kshatriyas, six forms are considered righteous and blameless. For kings, the Rakshasa form is also prescribed; among Vaishyas and Shudras, the Asura form is remembered. Of these five, three are righteous and two are not. The Paisacha and Asura forms should never be practiced; thus, the path of righteousness is to be followed. For Kshatriyas, the Gandharva and Rakshasa forms are righteous—have no doubt. Whether performed separately or together, there is no uncertainty here. Therefore, since you desire me as I desire you, O beautiful one, you are worthy to become my wife through the Gandharva form of marriage. If I truly follow the path of righteousness, and if I am master of myself, O best of the Purus, then listen to the condition I set for our union. Swear to me with truth, as I speak in private: the son born from me will be your immediate successor. He shall be the crown prince, O great king—this I declare to you truly. If this is so, O Dushyanta, let our union take place. Dushyanta, lord of the people, agreed to all her words and said, “Speak whatever else you desire.” This is well known in the world as marriage according to the scriptures; the wise praise the marriage rite as beneficial for the people. For the sake of quelling public rumor, let the marriage be performed according to the proper rite; here are sacrificial vessels, darbha grass, flowers, and unbroken grains. As the marriage is properly performed, so will the offspring be proper; therefore, offer ghee, sacrificial grains, and sand, O Brahmana, as is right for you. All the other rites of marriage are here, O king; even harsh words, O king, should be forgiven for the sake of righteousness. “So be it,” said the king to her, without hesitation. “But, O pure-smiling one, I will not take you to my city immediately. As you are worthy, O lovely-hipped one, so I speak to you.” Having spoken thus, the royal sage addressed her, who was blameless in conduct. Then, summoning the priest, Dushyanta spoke fitting words: “What the princess has said, I am not able to disregard. My illustrious son should not be without the proper rite; therefore, perform the marriage as prescribed in the scriptures—delay not.” Thus addressed by the king, the twice-born priest, though greatly constrained, performed the splendid royal marriage rite according to the prescribed procedure. At the command of the foremost Brahmin, with auspicious rituals and festivities completed, Dushyanta took Shakuntala’s hand in accordance with custom, and they dwelt together as husband and wife. Trusting her, Dushyanta prepared to depart, assuring her again and again, “For your sake, I will send a fourfold army. Accompanied by elders versed in the three Vedas and various royal people, with thousands of palanquins, we relatives will come. Mute people, Kiratas, hunchbacks, and dwarfs, along with those wearing fine tunics, the army will be joined by charioteers and bards. With the sound of conches and drums, the procession will reach the forest; thus, O pure-smiling one, I will bring you to my city. Otherwise, I will not take you to my abode, honored one; with all auspicious hospitality, O beautiful-browed, I pledge this to you in truth.” Having spoken thus, the royal sage embraced her, who walked blamelessly, and looked at her with a gentle smile. He embraced Shakuntala again after circumambulating her, and she, with a lovely face, fell at the king’s feet. Raising her up, he said again and again, “Do not grieve. I swear by my good deeds, O daughter of the king, I will surely bring you.” Having thus promised her, King Dushyanta departed, his mind pondering all that had occurred, and made his way toward Kashyapa. The blessed one, engaged in austerity, upon hearing this, wondered what he should do. “I have come without appeasing him—will the eminent Brahmin be pleased?” Thus thinking, Dushyanta entered his own city. After a short while, Kanva also arrived at the hermitage. Out of modesty, Shakuntala did not approach her father. As if apprehensive, she slowly drew near to the sage, took his burden, and prepared a seat for him. She washed the feet of the great-souled Kashyapa, but out of shame could not meet his gaze. Bashful and silent, Shakuntala did not speak to the sage; fearful, O bull among the Bharatas, for she felt she had slipped from her own duty.