Why, then, would you—so wise and discerning—not recognize a son such as this? Just as sandalwood born in the Malaya mountains is renowned for its exquisite coolness, so too is the embrace of a child even more delightful. No garment, no woman, no water can compare to the touch of a son; it surpasses all. The happiness that comes from embracing one’s own child is unmatched in this world—there is no dearer touch than that of a son. Let this beloved child embrace you. Among all creatures, the Brahmin is the best among bipeds, the cow among quadrupeds, and among the heavy ones, the murur is foremost. But among those who give the joy of touch, the son is supreme. This heroic boy, born after three full years, is an enemy-subduer. Today, at my bidding, this prince stands awaiting your call, O mighty king, ready to remove your sorrow. This descendant of Puru will one day perform a hundred horse sacrifices and accomplish other royal rites such as the Rājasūya, giving gifts without measure. Once, during my childbirth, a cow spoke to me from the sky: “Alas! Out of affection, I lifted my own calf onto my lap and went to another village.” People greet their sons by lovingly smelling their heads; even among the Vedas, the twice-born recite this collection of mantras. You surely know the birth rites for sons: from limb to limb you arise, from the heart you are born. You are indeed called “son,” the very self; may you live a hundred autumns. Fathers smell their sons’ heads with this sacred mantra. Your nourishment depends on me, and through you my lineage is everlasting; therefore, live, my son, and be happy for a hundred autumns. It is said: “Having become one, he became two.” This one was born from your own limbs—a person from a person, the highest of all. See your son as your second self, like the moon reflected in a clear lake; see yourself in him, just as you see the moon’s image in water. Just as the sacrificial fire is led forth from the household fire, so too was he led forth from you; though you are one, you have become two. While hunting, drawn by the chase, I was found, O King, as a maiden in my father’s hermitage. Among the Apsarases, Urvaśī, Pūrvacitti, Sahajanyā, Menakā, Viśvācī, and Ghṛtācī are the foremost, and among them, Menakā is named the best, born from Brahma himself. Descending from heaven to earth, Menakā gave birth to the child of Viśvāmitra. The illustrious sage Viśvāmitra, devoted to righteousness and like another Vaiśvānara, was born of the Brahmayoni Kuśa, his grandfather. Kuśa’s son was the powerful and righteous Kuśanābha; his son was Gādhi, from whom Viśvāmitra was born. Such was my father, O King, and Menakā, the renowned Apsaras, is my mother. She gave birth to me on the slopes of Himavat. Yet, after my birth, she abandoned me and departed, leaving me as one forsaken. Then, compassionate birds gathered and protected me. Shielded by their wings, I came to be known as Śakuntalā. In time, the great sage Kāśyapa saw me. The birds, seeing me approach for the water of the sacrificial fire, compassionately entrusted me—like a precious deposit—to the sage. The sacrificer Kaṇva, upon seeing me, was filled with joy and smiled. He took me, as one would take fire from kindling, and brought me to his own hermitage. There, O King, the great sage honored me and, out of compassion, raised me as his own daughter. I am the daughter of Viśvāmitra, O King, raised by the sage; you saw me as I entered my youth. In the hermitage, in a simple leaf-hut, you saw me alone, a maiden bereft of my father, alone by fate’s design. With gentle and truthful words, you wooed me for the sake of offspring. You dwelled in the hermitage, firmly devoted to righteousness, desire, and purpose. According to the Gandharva rite of marriage, you took my hand as is the custom. I know your lineage, your conduct, your truthfulness. Upholding my own dharma, I have now come to seek your protection. Therefore, having pledged yourself, you should not speak falsely. Having left aside my own duty and come to you, with you as my only protector, do not abandon me, O lord of men, for I am without fault. What wrong did I commit in some former time, O King, that I was abandoned by my relatives as a child, and now by you? Even if you turn me away, I will return to the hermitage; but this child, your own son, you must not forsake. But the king replied, “I do not recognize this boy as born from you and me, Shakuntala. Women speak untruths; who will believe your words? You shamelessly utter these unbelievable things in my presence, O wicked ascetic woman; go away. Where is that great sage, fierce in his austerities, and where is that apsara Menakā? And where are you, so pitiable, dressed as an ascetic woman? Your son is of great stature, and though young, he is exceedingly strong. How has he grown so tall, like the trunk of a sala tree, in so short a time? Your birth is most lowly; to me, you seem a wanton woman. You were born from Menakā by chance, out of lustful desire. Everything you say to me is concealed, O ascetic woman. All women in the world are fickle; all are devoted to desire.