Kanva, the wise sage, turned to Sarvadamana, the son of Shakuntala and Dushyanta, and spoke gently, “My child, you must carry your mother; you are strong enough to return with the sages, O descendant of Puru.” With these words, Kanva directed his disciples, “Quickly, take Shakuntala and her son from the hermitage. Bring her, adorned with all auspicious signs, to her husband, for it is not pleasing for a woman to remain too long among her own kin. Do not delay; lead her away promptly, for the sake of reputation, propriety, and righteousness.” Hearing that her son was honored by the righteous sage Kashyapa and having received his blessing, Shakuntala’s heart overflowed with joy. Urged repeatedly by Kanva to depart, Sarvadamana turned to both Kanva and his mother, saying, “Mother, why do you wait? Let us go to the king’s palace.” With these words to the noble lady, the wife of Dushyanta, the young prince bowed at the sage’s feet and prepared to depart. Shakuntala, with palms joined in reverence, circumambulated her father Kanva and spoke with humility, “If, in ignorance, I have ever said, ‘He is not my father,’ or if I have spoken harshly, falsely, or in any improper or unwelcome way, may you forgive me for that.” Hearing her words, Kanva, his head bowed, remained silent; even he, though a sage, could not hold back tears, moved by his human love. Kanva then summoned the ascetics of the forest—those who lived on water or air, those who ate fallen leaves, or subsisted on fruits and roots, those who were restrained in their senses, emaciated, their veins standing out. He called together those with matted hair or shaven heads, clothed in bark or skins, all steadfast in their vows. Moved by compassion, Kanva addressed them, “This illustrious daughter of mine, born and raised in the forest, has always been cherished by me and knows nothing of the world. Let her be escorted by all of you from the hermitage to the house of the Kshatriya. At the second yojana lies the city of Pratishthana, O Brahmanas. “In that city, Shakuntala’s grandfather, the king, once dwelled for a long time with Urvashi. Pratishthana, at the confluence of the Ganga and Yamuna, is rich in marshes, jungles, wealth, and grain. When you reach the confluence, bathe, offer oblations into the fire, and eat roots and fruits. Then, O Brahmanas, you should return, for otherwise the journey will weary you.” The ascetics replied, “So be it,” and set out, leading Shakuntala toward the city of Dushyanta. They took the lotus-eyed boy, radiant as a yak-tail fan, and departed from the forest to the splendid city where Dushyanta resided. Traversing forests, rivers, mountains, and streams, the righteous ascetics guided Shakuntala, overcoming every obstacle. They passed through mountain valleys, riverbanks, kingdoms, cities, and sacred hermitages, their fatigue dispelled by the purpose of their journey. At midday, they finally reached Pratishthana, the city built by Puruhuta for the son of Ila. The city was well-guarded with strong gates and battlements, protected by engines and machines, making it difficult for enemies to approach. Within, the city teemed with mansions and palaces, adorned with goods of every kind. Beautiful halls, pavilions, and assembly places were surrounded by water-houses. A grand royal road, splendid and well-laid, ran through the city, decorated with gateways like the peaks of Mount Kailasa. The city was further adorned with auspicious arches and exits, encircled by gardens and mango groves, and girdled by sala trees. Lotus ponds and gardens surrounded the city, which was inhabited by people of all classes and stages of life, each steadfast in their duties and ever engaged in festivals. Prosperous with wealth and grain, adorned with jewels, and filled with learned men devoted to sacrifice and ritual, the city was free from wrongdoers. Its people were generous, compassionate, averse to unrighteousness, and eager for heavenly merit. Such was Pratishthana, a city like Indra’s own realm. In its midst stood the royal palace, resplendent as Indra’s mansion, filled with treasures and at its heart, a divine assembly hall adorned with jewels. There, the royal sage Dushyanta sat, adorned with ornaments, surrounded by Brahmanas, Kshatriyas, and wise counselors. Bards, genealogists, and minstrels praised him as he attended to those with requests, dismissing them when their business was complete. At ease, the king sat, when the great sages, hearing the cries of birds skilled in omens, observed the signs and said, “For Shakuntala, the omens are auspicious. These signs indicate our purpose will be fulfilled. Surely, you will become queen, and today your son will be made crown prince.” With the sound of instruments resounding at the city gate of Vardhamanapura, the sages entered, Shakuntala at their head. As the prince entered, the people praised him; the descendant of Puru walked through the city gates, feeling as if he had entered Indra’s own realm. All the townspeople gathered, eager to see the prince. Shakuntala shone before them like a goddess, as if fortune itself had arrived—like Paulomi returning from Indra’s world with Jayanta.