The undisputed Vedic order records that when the disciples of Sage Kanva found the child Shakuntala in a frightened state, they assured her safety and raised her as their own. In this way, Sage Kanva became her father and guide, for she grew beneath his patronage and instruction. Thus, by every standard, Kanva was indeed her true father.
When King Dushyanta first beheld her, joy beyond measure filled his heart. Her fearlessness, her beauty, her noble lineage—all drew him irresistibly toward her. His mind wavered, as a tender creeper trembles when a bee alights upon its blossoms. Entranced by thoughts of union, he said: “O Shakuntala, your beauty, fair complexion, and flawless conduct deserve far more than these humble surroundings of bark garments, fruits, roots, and leaf-built huts. Come, be part of my life as my wife in dignity and honour. In my palace, you shall have comfort, prosperity, and the splendour of a queen, with power sanctioned by dharma.”
The king recalled that eight forms of marriage were sanctified in the Vedas—Brahma, Daiva, Arsa, Prajapati, Rakshasa, Asura, Gandharva, and Paiśāca. Of these, royal lineages had chiefly approved the unions between the Gandharva and Rakshasa. “Now, O lady,” he continued, “our hearts and minds are in harmony, our bodies united in desire—why delay? Let us be joined in the Gandharva manner.”
Shakuntala, with modest blush and downcast eyes, replied softly: “O king, my father Kanva shall soon return. With his consent you may rightly marry me.” But Dushyanta pressed further: “Lotus-eyed one, the essence of Gandharva marriage lies in self-decision, in the free accord of man and woman without external sanction. Faith, confidence, and mutual acceptance are its essence. Consent of others is no a requirement. Choose now, and let us be united.”
Impressed yet cautious, Shakuntala said: “O king famed in virtue, grant me this one boon—that the son born of our union shall be crown prince of your realm.” The king, by thought and word, promised to fulfil her wish, invoking the five elements as eternal witnesses. They garlanded one another in solemnity and thus became husband and wife in the Gandharva way.
When he departed, Dushyanta assured her: “You shall be received with honour in my palace. My ministers shall come to escort you in royal dignity.” Yet Shakuntala trembled inwardly, fearing her father’s displeasure at a marriage formed without his prior consent.
In time, Sage Kanva returned from gathering fruits and sacred offerings. Perceiving by his spiritual vision all that had transpired, he said gently: “My daughter, you have gained a worthy husband, and soon you shall bear a child who will rule a continent. I am pleased with your virtuous conduct. Ask a boon of me.” Shakuntala prayed only that her mind might remain bound to dharma, and that her son might be blessed with strength, health, wealth, and a long life. The sage granted her wish with an irreversible blessing, then performed holy rites for mother and unborn child.
By divine marvel, she bore the child for three years before giving birth to a radiant boy, whom Kanva named Bharata. The infant’s form shone with leonine strength and regal promise. As he grew, he astonished the hermitage by his might—taming lions and tigers, binding them to trees, overpowering elephants with bare hands. Thus, he was called Saravanan, “subduer of all.” Kanva, discerning his fitness for kingship, urged Shakuntala: “Beloved daughter, it is not proper for wife and son to remain in a father’s house. Go to your husband’s court with your child.”
Accompanied by sages and disciples chanting Vedic hymns, she entered Dushyanta’s court, filled with vassal kings, priests, and ministers. But the king, immersed in affairs of state, failed to greet her with the affection he once bore. Shakuntala’s heart sank. Did he not recognize her? Was he pretending? Had he forgotten? She resolved to remind him of their bond.
“O king,” she said, “you once came hunting to Kanva’s hermitage. There you wedded me in a Gandharva rite, promising that the son born of me should inherit your throne. Behold, this radiant child, like the tender sun, is your son and the jewel of your lineage. Name him crown prince.”
But the king feigned ignorance: “O woman, I know you not. Why speak such empty words? Depart to whence you came.”
Pale, tearful, yet steadfast, Shakuntala replied: “O king, how can you deny what only we two know? The vows we exchanged were witnessed by earth, sky, fire, water, and air—the eternal elements. Sun, moon, Yama, day, and night—all behold truth. A king’s honour rests in truth. Do not belittle yourself by falsehood. A wife is no burden, but the foundation of dharma, Artha, and karma, the sustainer of family, the jewel of her husband’s pride. To reject a chaste wife who has borne your child is to forsake peace in both worlds. A son is no less than the father himself, carrying forward the flame of lineage, like one lamp kindling another. Accept your son, O king, for he is your reflection.”
Still Dushyanta resisted: “Just because this boy bears noble features, you bring him here to claim royal dignity. This does not befit my court.”
Shakuntala, stricken by sorrow, wept silently. “First, I was abandoned by my parents, now denied by my husband. What fate pursues me for no fault of mine?”
As despair overtook her, a mighty voice resounded from the heavens: “This boy Bharata is the true son of Dushyanta and Shakuntala. She is chaste and her words are true. Accept them, O king.”
The assembly trembled in awe. Ministers, priests, and vassal lords bowed to Shakuntala and her son with reverence. And thus, before the court and under the sanction of heaven, the bond of truth prevailed, and the story of Bharata—the lion-born, the founder of India’s great lineage—was set upon the scroll of history.
