At the time when Śakuntalā was about to give birth, her venerable father Kanva spoke with gentle authority, instructing her, “My child, do as I say; by following my words, you will act rightly.” Hearing the counsel of the women around her, Śakuntalā, slender of limb and resolute in heart, accepted their words, thinking, “So be it.” In due course, she gave birth to a son of immeasurable energy. Three years after her union with King Duṣyanta, Śakuntalā bore this radiant boy—a child endowed with beauty, generosity, and virtue, O Janamejaya, descendant of Duṣyanta. At the moment of his birth, a wondrous shower of flowers rained down from the heavens. Divine drums resounded in the skies, and the celestial Apsarases danced with joy. As the gods sang sweet hymns, Indra himself spoke: “O Śakuntalā, your son will become a universal emperor. His strength, energy, and beauty will be unmatched on earth. This scion of the Paurava line will perform a hundred horse sacrifices. Through countless royal rites, including the Rājasūya, he will fulfill his purpose, bestowing immense gifts upon the brāhmaṇas as offerings.” Hearing these divine words, all the great sages living in Kaṇva’s hermitage honored Śakuntalā, Kaṇva’s own daughter. Filled with joy at this blessing, Śakuntalā called the brāhmaṇas together, and the illustrious sages honored them as well. Kaṇva, foremost among the virtuous, performed for the child all the sacred rites, beginning with the birth ceremony, and continued them as the boy grew. Each ritual was conducted properly and justly. The boy flourished—his teeth shone white as ivory, and his frame grew strong and leonine. He bore the mark of the discus upon his hand, radiating a divine splendor, broad-chested and powerful, resembling another Viṣṇu himself. This boy, so like a son of the gods, grew swiftly in the hermitage. Yet, out of respect and a certain apprehension for the sage Kaṇva, King Duṣyanta refrained from summoning his son, though he often remembered him in his heart. As the years passed, the king did not recall the ascetic. After six years, the boy turned his attention to the life of the hermitage. With his feet, he struck down tigers, lions, boars, wolves, buffaloes, and bears—those wild beasts that threatened the peace of the forest. With his strength, he seized and subdued them with his arms, binding them to trees all around the hermitage. He climbed trees, played, and ran freely, roaming the wilds filled with groups of lions and tigers. In battle, the boy slew all the Rākṣasas and Piśācas—his enemies—using only his fists, bringing great delight to the sages. Once, a mighty son of Diti, enraged at the slaughter of the Daityas, approached the boy, intent on killing him. But when this being drew near, the boy laughed, seized him with his arms, bound him tightly, and began to crush him. Overpowered by the boy’s strength, the Daitya could not escape; blood flowed from his mouth as he cried out in fear at the gates of the hermitage. The sound so terrified the herds of deer, lions, and other animals that they fled, and even those within the hermitage lost control of themselves in fright. The Daitya dragged himself away on his knees and collapsed. All who witnessed this were amazed at the boy’s deeds. Constantly beset by the boy’s prowess, the Daityas and Rākṣasas, now fearful of him, no longer dared approach the hermitage. Seeing his superhuman feats, all the dwellers of Kaṇva’s hermitage, together with Kaṇva himself, decided to give the boy a name. “Let him be called Sarvadamana, for he subdues all things.” Thus, the boy became known as Sarvadamana. Endowed with valor, strength, and might, Sarvadamana never turned away those who were afflicted—be they queen or son. Yet, Śakuntalā, her body pale as the moon, was overwhelmed by worry. Her hair hung loose, she was emaciated, sorrowful, and clad in soiled garments. Seeing her in such a state, the sage Kaṇva reflected deeply on the scriptures, the Vedas, and the twelve years that had passed. Recognizing the time had come, Kaṇva considered the boy’s investiture as crown prince. He addressed Śakuntalā with affection: “Hear my words, gentle one, my daughter, pure-smiling one. Among women devoted to their husbands, the highest duty is service to the husband—by mind, speech, and bodily action. With my permission, you have observed this vow. By such conduct, you will attain blessed worlds. In this world, you will obtain distinguished prosperity; therefore, today, gentle one, you must go to the presence of the descendant of Puru. “Since King Duṣyanta does not come himself, thinking too much time has passed, go and propitiate him, wishing for his welfare. Seeing Duṣyanta established as crown prince, you will rejoice. For the gods, elders, and Kṣatriyas—and above all, for husbands—union is beneficial. Therefore, daughter, you must go with your son, fulfilling my wish. You must not reply, for you are bound by my command.” Having thus spoken to his daughter, Kaṇva turned to his grandson, embracing the Paurava child and affectionately smelling his head. He said, “King Duṣyanta, famed among men, is born of the lunar dynasty. This pure-vowed lady is his chief queen and your mother.” Thus, with blessing and command, Kaṇva prepared Śakuntalā and her son for their destined reunion with King Duṣyanta.