As Shakuntala made her way through the city, the people gathered, marveling at her and her son. Again and again, they spoke of Shakuntala’s virtues, describing her as lion-eyed, lion-toothed, lion-shouldered, and mighty-armed. They praised the boy too, saying he possessed a lion’s chest, a lion’s strength, and a lion’s stride. His broad shoulders, wide chest, and head shaped like a parasol marked him as someone truly great. His palms and soles were red, his mouth was red, and his voice resounded like a drum. He bore the auspicious signs of royalty, and the splendor of a king was evident in him. In every aspect—form, beauty, body, and energy—he was the equal of King Dushyanta himself. The people wondered aloud, “Whose son could this be?” Their admiration was echoed by thousands, and all the women, speaking with reason, joined in the praise. With affection like that of close relatives, the city’s people followed Shakuntala. Hearing their words, Shakuntala fell silent, her heart heavy with the gravity of her task. When she reached the palace doors, she was overcome by emotion and began to ponder deeply, weighed down by what she must do. Embarrassed and filled with shame, she wondered, “How can I, without embarrassment, speak to the king about my own cause?” Despite her sorrow and inner turmoil, Shakuntala gathered her resolve. Lost in thought, she approached the king and was admitted into his presence. With her son, radiant as the rising sun, she entered the royal court, where Dushyanta sat upon his throne, shining like Indra himself. Bowing her head, filled with both joy and humility, Shakuntala honored the king as was proper. She said to her son, “Bow to the king, your father, steadfast in his vows.” With her face lowered in modesty, Shakuntala stood before the king. Clinging to a pillar, she said softly, “Be gracious.” Her son, too, greeted the king with joined palms, his eyes wide with joy as he looked at his father. King Dushyanta, considering the scene with a mind set on righteousness, addressed Shakuntala: “What is the purpose of your coming? Speak, O lady of beautiful complexion. I will do whatever you ask, especially for you and your son.” Shakuntala replied, “Be gracious, O great king, and I will speak. This son, O king, has been born to you from me, O subduer of foes. Therefore, let this son be consecrated by you as crown prince. And as was agreed in the hermitage, abide by that, O best of men. Previously, at our meeting, you made that promise. Remember that, O mighty-armed one, concerning the hermitage of Kanva.” But Dushyanta’s heart had grown attached to the pleasures of the palace and to other women, and so Shakuntala and her son had faded from his mind. Yet, as he looked upon them now, he held them in his thoughts with a gentle smile, and for a long moment, he was filled with happiness. Still, after hearing Shakuntala’s words and remembering her, the king said, “I do not remember our union, O gentle lady. I do not wish to engage in union in vain; this is my resolve. I do not recall, O blessed one, any union with you. I do not remember any connection of righteousness, wealth, or desire with you. Go or stay as you wish, or do whatever else you desire.” At these words, Shakuntala’s eyes reddened with anger and indignation. Her lips quivered as she glanced sideways at the king, as if her gaze could burn him. Concealing her expression and the agitation caused by her anger, she restrained the energy she had gained through her austerities. After reflecting for a moment, filled with grief and indignation, she looked at her husband and spoke words in accordance with propriety. “Though you know, O great king, why do you speak in this way? Without hesitation you say you do not know, just as an ordinary man would. Your heart knows both truth and falsehood. Alas, you disregard your own self, which is the witness, O blessed one. He who, being one thing, behaves as another—what sin has he not committed, like a thief who steals his own self? You think you are alone, but you do not know the ancient sage in your heart, who knows the deeds of sin; in his presence you commit wrong. “For righteousness alone is the cause of welfare for all the virtuous, always free from falsehood, and it does not bring sorrow. One thinks, having done evil, that no one knows me; but the gods know, as does the inner soul. The sun, the moon, the wind, and fire; the sky, the earth, the waters, the heart, and Yama; day and night, both twilights, and Dharma—all know the conduct of a man. Yama, son of Vivasvat, dispenses punishment for evil deeds; the witness to his actions, the knower of the field who dwells in the heart, is pleased with the righteous. But if this inner witness is not pleased with a wicked man, then Yama reproaches that evil-doer for his misdeeds. “He who disregards his own self and acts otherwise—such a man, for whom even his own self is not a cause, does not attain the blessings of the gods. Do not think of me as easily obtained, nor look down upon your devoted wife; though worthy of worship, you do not honor me, your wife, who stands before you. Why do you treat me like an ordinary woman in this assembly? Surely, I am not speaking these words in vain—why do you not listen to me? If you do not fulfill the words I, who am pleading with you, speak, O Dushyanta, then today your head will split into a hundred pieces. “When a husband unites with his wife and a child is born from her, that is truly her offspring—the ancient sages have declared this.