Dushyanta could not help ask. ‘Yet how is it that a rishi of such severe vows happened to father a daughter, especially one as beautiful as yourself? And how is it that you live here with him in this remote wilderness far from civilization? After all,’ he added teasingly, ‘a flower so radiant in beauty should not conceal its lustre in the deep forest!’
She blushed shyly at these comments but replied sincerely, ‘My lord . . .’
‘Dushyanta,’ he said quickly. ‘I am lord only to those who serve me. You are by no means my servant nor could you ever be. Pray, address me simply as Dushyanta.’
She seemed to contemplate this for a moment. ‘I have been raised always to address people correctly, my lord. I cannot disobey my father’s order and simply address a king by his name. It would not be right.’
He smiled. So innocent and pure of heart, yet so extravagantly beautiful too. He had never known such a woman before. ‘Then I shall have to call you Rani.’
Her doe eyes flashed up, staring at him. ‘My lord? I do not comprehend your meaning.’
‘If you call me lord or king, I shall call you lady or queen. It is only right.’
She covered her mouth with her hand. ‘But that cannot be. I am but a rishi’s humble daughter, with no possessions or property to my name. I am no lady, far from a queen!’
‘You are possessed of regal bearing, rich in intelligence and wit, a jewelled smile, precious voice, an aspect fitting of the goddess of wealth herself, almighty Lakshmi . . .’ he let his words trail off, enjoying her startled expression. ‘Queen is barely sufficient. Perhaps I should call you Devi. For you are no less than a goddess in body and mind!’
Her hand shot out as if to cover his lips before he could say more, the innocent instinctive reaction of a child, but she stopped herself before her hand could touch his mouth, withdrew it, and lowered her eyes to the ground shyly. ‘Nay, my good Lord Dushyanta. You cannot call me, a simple brahmachari, a goddess! You might anger Sri herself!’
He laughed. ‘Then resolve this at once. Agree to call me Dushyanta and I shall call you Shakuntala.’
She glanced up at him. And he saw the fire of energy spark in her eyes. Not quite mischief but it showed that she had great force of will.
He smiled winningly. ‘It is the only way.’ He added softly: ‘Shakuntala.’
Swallowing nervously, she bobbed her head once, then said in barely a whisper, ‘Aye, Dushyanta . . . sire.’
He wagged a finger in warning. ‘Just Dushyanta, nothing more. Or I crown you Sri on earth incarnate!’
‘No!’ she cried, genuinely distressed. ‘Dushyanta. Please do not.’
At the sound of his name spoken by that nightingale voice in that passionate tone, his heart stirred powerfully. It was all he could do to keep himself from taking her in his embrace and demonstrating his passion for her right there and then. But Dushyanta knew that this was no palace chattel or serving maid. This was indeed a lady, even if she did not know it. He would treat her as such. ‘Thank you, Shakuntala.’ He resumed his seat calmly, with an effort. ‘Pray, continue. You were about to explain to me how your illustrious father Rishi Kanva came to sire a daughter and why you continue to live in this remote if beautiful forest with him like any shaven- head brahmacharya—though you are clearly not one.’
She nodded, taking his words at face value and seeming not to hear the irony in his phrasing—or the subtle innuendo. ‘I shall tell you, for it is no secret.’
||Three||
In times of yore, the great brahmarishi Vishwamitra began to practise great austerities. The tapas power he accumulated grew to a great store, enough to dislodge even mighty Lord Indra from his seat if he chose to rise against the devas. Purandara summoned the apsara Menaka, fabled for her beauty, and requested her to seduce Vishwamitra that he might cease his powerful penance. Menaka was afraid of Vishwamitra’s legendary temper. ‘Great Shakra, you know that when provoked he is capable of unleashing destruction even against one as powerful as thee. I dare not disturb him during his meditation. He once caused the death of the great Vashishta. On another occasion, he created the river Kaushiki from the force produced by his penance, and to this day, it rages so wilfully that few can cross its tempestuous waters. Later he renamed it Para. Do you recall that sacred river? On its banks lived Vishwamitra’s own wife, cared for by the righteous rajarshi Matanga who became a hunter to survive the great famine. After the famine ended and Vishwamitra returned home, he thanked Matanga for maintaining his wife by officiating at his ceremony, an event which you yourself attended, Lord Indra, and I saw you drinking soma there in Vishwamitra’s presence. Vishwamitra is a nakshatra, and he is possessed with the energy of an entire constellation of stars. He created the constellation Shravana through his own energy. If he brings down his foot on the earth hard, earthquakes ripple throughout the world. If he wishes, he can uproot the great Mount Meru and whirl it around like a mace. Every aspect of his features is as brilliant as the sun, and as deadly as Yama. How can a mere apsara such as I dare to interrupt his great tapasya? Speaking of Yama, the lord of death and dharma himself fears Vishwamitra. As do Soma, the maharishis, saddhyas, vishvadevas and valakhilyas.’
When Shakra pressed Menaka, entreating her to undertake this chore, she continued to argue thus. Finally, she agreed reluctantly on certain conditions. ‘If you would have me do this, then you must guarantee me your protection and use your own powers to make me seem innocent. I shall go before Vishwamitra. Let Marut the wind god strip me of my garments. Let Manmatha, lord of love, use his power to entice the brahmarishi. Create an environment that seduces him and makes him receptive to my charms. I shall act innocent. Let him be seduced by me rather than I seduce him wilfully.’
Indra saw the sense in Menaka’s suggestion. He enlisted the aid of Vayu and Kama, the lords of the Wind and Love. Menaka entered Vishwamitra’s ashram where the great sage sat absorbed in his meditative trance. Pretending to be innocent of his presence, she moved coquettishly around him, dancing and cavorting playfully. From the fruits and trees around, Kama drew fragrances and scents that evoked passion while Vayu swirled them into Vishwamitra’s senses, stroking the sage’s body with arousing caresses. His senses provoked, the brahmarishi opened his eyes for an instant, and his gaze alighted on Menaka. At exactly that instant, Marut sent a sudden gust of wind to snatch the filmy garment from the apsara’s body, leaving her unclothed and exposed in all her radiant beauty. Menaka gasped, then reached for her stolen garment, but even as she stretched out her hand for it, it was whipped further away from her by another puff from the same wind. She had to bend low and reach far to pick it up and as she did so she struck a pose that no man could look upon without feeling a great surge of passion. Given a perfect view of the naked apsara, flawless in body and grace, masterful in movements, filled with the strength and glow of youth, Vishwamitra was overcome with desire for her. Unable to stop himself, he proposed to her that they cohabit. Genuinely awed by the power and reputation of the great brahmarishi, Menaka agreed coyly. Without reclaiming her stolen garment, she came into his arms and he clasped her to himself as a starved man clasps food.
For an untold length of time the apsara and the brahmarishi indulged themselves in that solitary place, losing their wits completely to the act of procreation, until the days and weeks and months melded into each other and seemed to form but a single endless day. All the great tapas energy accumulated by the brahmarishi, which could have given him power enough to dislodge the king of gods had he so desired, was emitted in the act of coition and absorbed in the form of seed by Menaka. Of that act and energy was conceived a female child. When her womb grew heavy, Menaka went to the banks of the river Malini, in the Himalayas. There she stayed until her time came to give birth. Leaving the child on the banks of the Malini, Menaka returned to Indra’s assembly, her task accomplished.
Left alone on that desolate Himalayan plain, by the river, the baby’s presence attracted numerous predators. Growing bolder by th
e passing hour, they crept closer to the child, and would have surely consumed her in moments. But the shakuna, the birds who view all from their vantage point high in the sky, floating like kites suspended on invisible string, saw her plight and descended to protect her. They took it upon themselves to keep the predators at bay. Soon after, Rishi Kanva, who had gone up to the Himalayas to meditate, chanced upon her when he went down to the river for his ablutions. Seeing her alone there in that desolate place, he knew that she would not survive long if left unattended. He brought her home, and raised her as his own daughter. The shastras say there are three kinds of parents. One gives a body. The second protects. The third kind provides food. Therefore Kanva adopted the child he sought to protect and nourish as his own daughter. Because he found her surrounded by shakuna birds, he named her Shakuntala.
||Four||
Dushyanta was simultaneously thrilled and inspired by Shakuntala’s narration of the circumstances leading to her own birth. More than a little aroused by her frank account of the seduction of her biological forebear by the alluring nymph, he saw that she exhibited no coyness or signs of mischief. To her, it was merely a factual account which she had narrated as best as she knew. There was no attempt on her part to arouse or titillate. He could hardly blame her if the facts of the account themselves were provocative. Now he was even more enamoured of her. For it was clear to him that her beauty was matched by intelligence, wit and a noble spirit. Unable to stop himself, just as Vishwamitra was possessed of desire for her mother Menaka, Dushyanta clasped Shakuntala’s hands in his own. She reacted naturally, trying to pry herself free, but he held on. Looking into his eyes, she saw his passion and the force of his desire and was overwhelmed.
‘Shakuntala, I was right at first. You are no less than a princess or noble woman in your own right. The story of your birth confirms it. Your very aspect speaks of your high origins and breeding. I am overcome with longing for you. From the instant I first laid eyes on you, your hair wet from the river, your hips sinuous in your simple hermit’s garment, your eyes doe-like and bright in the shade of the jambu tree, your innocence, your sincerity, your intelligence, your beauty, all have charmed and overcome me. I cannot resist my senses a moment longer. Consent to marry me. I will shower you with gold necklaces and garments, ornaments and gems, treasures from a dozen faraway nations, wealth and furs, whatever your heart desires you shall possess. My entire kingdom shall be at your disposal, and I myself your servant. Marry me this instant.’
Shakuntala took a moment to recover from the shock and surprise of this passionate outburst. Trembling a little, she finally managed to say, ‘Raje, great king that you are, I cannot answer you myself. I beg of you. Wait until my father returns and ask him for my hand in marriage if you desire me.’
Dushyanta’s heart was filled with joy for her answer meant that she herself was not averse to the union. It was all he needed to know. ‘I cannot wait a moment longer, my love. Let me take you in the gandharva rite of marriage. It is one of the eight accepted forms of marriage and recognized by all civilized people. In this rite, you only need to consent and we can join together willingly as man and wife. It is a marriage of love.’
Shakuntala shook her head. ‘I do not know of this gandharva marriage. I am unaware of such matters. How can I agree independently? I ask you again, wait until my father returns. Ask him for my hand in marriage. If he consents, I shall not refuse you.’
But Dushyanta’s passion overflowed and he could not bear to wait. ‘Shakuntala, I would not mislead you. Let me explain to you the eight kinds of marriage that have the sanction of dharma. They are brahma, deva, arsha, prajapatya, asura, gandharva, rakshasa and paishacha. Manu, the first mortal creator and formulator of the natural laws by which all mortals abide peaceably, has set out in no unclear terms what each of these forms entails. The first four are sanctioned for brahmins, the first six for kshatriyas. Kings may resort to all eight forms freely. The asura form is only sanctioned for vaisyas and sudras. Of the last five of the eight forms, three are in keeping with dharma but the last two—rakshasa and paishacha— exceed the boundaries of natural law. Yet some indulge in their practice and therefore they are also known to us and recorded by Manu. The form of marriage I propose, the gandharva vivah, is eminently acceptable provided both participants are willing and feel genuine passion for one another. Tell me that you do not feel passion for me and I will stop persisting. But I know that the emotion I see in your eloquent eyes mirrors my own desire. I feel the pulse of your blood in the vein of your wrist. I feel your warm breath on my cool palm now. I see all the signs of passion and desire awakened in you, just as they are in me. Therefore, the gandharva form of marriage is most appropriate for us and in keeping with dharma. Tell me if I am wrong in any way.’
Shakuntala regained control of her breathing and admitted: ‘Great king of the Kurus, I do not deny the truth in what you say. I am satisfied also by your explanation of the forms of marriage and the righteousness of this form. It is true that I am willing and therefore nothing else prevents us from joining together in this mutual union.’
Dushyanta moved to take her in his arms, his face revealing his delight. ‘Then speak no more, my love. Let us be man and wife this instant.’
‘Wait,’ she said firmly. ‘I shall agree to be your wife, Dushyanta, on certain terms and conditions. Only if you agree to them will this union occur. Are you willing?’
‘Of course. Did I not say that you may demand anything of me that you desire? Even without naming your conditions, I have agreed to them!’
‘Then, give me your word that even though there is no one else to witness our covenant, you will still honour it as a sacred and secret pact. Promise me only this one thing, Dushyanta. If I bear a child by you, and if it is a son, then give me your guarantee that our son will succeed you as king.’
Dushyanta stared at her, unable to believe his ears. ‘Is that all? My beloved, it would be the greatest joy of my life to make our son the heir to the Kuru throne! What more could I desire? You shall be cared for as a queen deserves, surrounded by all the wealth and comfort of the world. Our child, when he or she is born, shall want for nothing. All this is my dharma as a husband, it is your right to demand as the wife of a king!’
With those words, Dushyanta dispelled any shred of doubt that might have remained in Shakuntala’s mind. Unable to resist him any longer, overcome by her own emotions and her joy at such a fine mate, she succumbed to his embraces and returned his passion tenfold.
After they had dallied together in mutual delight for awhile, Dushyanta lay with Shakuntala. Had the choice been left to him, he might never have left her presence or that idyllic grove.
But in his absence, his men had received word from the capital that a political rebellion was brewing. It had taken a great deal of time and effort to seek him out, but finally the message reached his advisor and priest who were waiting at the outskirts of the grove, and they entered that sanctum to bring him the urgent missive. Dushyanta knew that he must return at once or risk endangering his entire kingdom and throne. He told Shakuntala to come with him but she could not leave without meeting her father and telling him all that had transpired. Unsure when Rishi Kanva would return, Dushyanta felt he had no choice but to leave alone for the present time. But he promised that he would send fresh forces to bring her to the capital at once.
‘My love, I shall dispatch a four-fold army, with infantry, cavalry, elephants and chariots, to fetch you in royal style. You shall enter the city of the Kurus like a queen. Then we shall live together the rest of our lives in perfect love.’
So saying, he climbed aboard his chariot and rode away. Shakuntala’s heart ached to see him leave and she felt bereft. The same heated passion that had brought her such joy and fervour only hours earlier now left her feeling cold and lonely. Before Dushyanta came, she had stayed alone here in this desolate grove in perfect happiness, never feeling the lack of anything or any person. But now that she had known the
joy of union and the love of a man, the same grove, the same solitary existence, all seemed empty and sad.
Somehow, she passed the time until her father returned. By the time he was back, she had begun to think of the many ways he might react to the news of her unexpected marriage and dalliance. Embarrassed, she would not come before him, and hid in the shadows of her hut. But not for nothing was Rishi Kanva a great sage. Through the power of his divine sight, he saw all that had occurred and understood everything. Then he sought out his daughter and said to her gently, ‘Bhagyavan, what you have done is nothing to be ashamed of. What the Kuru king said to you was indeed true. All was in accordance with dharma. Even without mantras recited, a gandharva marriage is acceptable between two willing persons. Indeed, among kshatriyas it is the preferred way! Your choice of husband is distinctive: Dushyanta is a good king and a good man, and does his best to live according to dharma. The son of this union will be an even greater king than his father, mighty in power and wealth and influence, and his sway will extend to the far corners of this earth.’
Shakuntala was overjoyed and overwhelmed with relief. As she washed her father’s feet with the arghya water and prepared his repast for him, she asked timidly, ‘Does that mean you will grant me your blessings, father?’
He smiled and put a hand on her head, blessing her. ‘Always, my fortunate one! Not only that, ask me for any boon you desire. Consider it my wedding gift to you both!’
Shakuntala’s mind had been filled with anxiety over the rebellion that Dushyanta’s men had spoken of when they came to fetch him. To her innocent mind, it had seemed like the end of his kingdom and the world itself. Her sleep had been filled with nightmares that her newly beloved husband and mate might be slain in battle even before he could send for her, and her entire future would be crushed before it even began. With these fears in her mind, she asked her father, ‘Grant that the kings of the Kuru race should always be true to their word and never be dislodged from their thrones, no matter how great the challenge.’
MAHABHARATA SERIES BOOK#1: The Forest of Stories (Mba) Page 25