Once upon a time there lived on the banks of the Gautami River a
hermit named Kauçika. He was of royal blood and had made so much
progress with his saintly exercises of penitence that he was on the
point of being able to defy the laws of Nature, and the gods
themselves began to fear his power. To deprive him of it they sent
down a beautiful _apsara_ (celestial bayadères) to tempt him. He could
not resist her charms, and broke his vows. A daughter was born who
received the name of Sakuntala, and was given in charge of another
saint, named Kanva, who brought her up lovingly as if she had been his
own daughter. She has grown up to be a maiden of more than human
beauty, when one day she is seen by the king, who, while hunting, has
strayed within the sacred precincts while the saint is away on a holy
errand. He is at once fascinated by her beauty--a beauty, as he says
to himself, such as is seldom found in royal chambers--a wild vine
more lovely than any garden-plant--and she, too, confesses to her
companions that since she has seen him she is overcome by a feeling
which seems out of place in this abode of penitence.
The king cannot bear the idea of returning to his palace, but encamps
near the grove of the penitents. He fears that he may not be able to
win the girl's love, and she is tortured by the same doubt regarding
him. "Did Brahma first paint her and then infuse life into her, or did
he in his spirit fashion her out of a number of spirits?" he exclaims.
He wonders what excuse he can have for lingering in the grove. His
companion suggests gathering the tithe, but the king retorts: "What I
get for protecting her is to be esteemed higher than piles of jewels."
He now feels an aversion to hunting. "I would not be able to shoot
this arrow at the gazelles who have lived with her, and who taught the
beloved to gaze so innocently." He grows thin from loss of sleep.
Unable to keep his feelings locked up in his bosom, he reveals them to
his companion, the jester, but afterward, fearing he might tell his
wives about this love-affair, he says to him:
"Of course there is no truth in the notion that I
coveted this girl Sakuntala. Just think! how could we
suit one another, a girl who knows nothing of love and
has grown up perfectly wild with the young gazelles?
No, my friend, you must not take a joke seriously."
But all the time he grows thinner from longing--so thin that his
bracelet, whose jewels have lost all their lustre from his tears,
falls constantly from his arm and has to be replaced.
In the meantime Sakuntala, without lacking the reserve and timidity
proper to the girls of penitents, has done several things that
encouraged the king to hope. While she avoided looking straight at him
(as etiquette prescribed), there was a loving expression on her face,
and once, when about to go away with her companions, she pretended
that her foot had been cut by a blade of kusagrass--but it was merely
an excuse for turning her face. Thus, while her love is not frankly
discovered, it is not covered either. She doubts whether the king
loves her, and her agony throws her into a feverish state which her
companions try in vain to allay by fanning her with lotos leaves. The
king is convinced that the sun's heat alone could not have affected
her thus. He sees that she has grown emaciated and seems ill. "Her
cheeks," he says,
"have grown thin, her bosom has lost its firm tension,
her body has grown attenuated, her shoulders stoop, and
pale is her face. Tortured by love, the girl presents
an aspect as pitiable as it is lovable; she resembles
the vine Mâdhavi when it is blighted by the hot breath
of a leaf-desiccating wind."
He is watching her, unseen himself, as she reclines in an arbor with
her friends, who are fanning her. He hears her say: "Since the hour
when he came before my eyes ... the royal sage, ah, since that hour I
have become as you see me--from longing for him;" and he wonders, "how
could she fear to have any difficulty in winning her lover?" "The
little hairs on her cheek reveal her passion by becoming erect," he
adds as he sees her writing something with her nails on a lotos leaf.
She reads to her companions what she has written: "_Your_ heart I know
not; me love burns day and night, you cruel one, because I think of
you alone."[276] Encouraged by this confession, the king steps from
his place of concealment and exclaims: "Slender girl, the glowing heat
of love only burns you, but me it consumes, and incessant is the great
torture." Sakuntala tries to rise, but is too weak, and the king bids
her dispense with ceremony. While he expresses his happiness at having
found his love reciprocated, one of the companions mutters something
about "Kings having many loves," and Sakuntala herself exclaims: "Why
do you detain the royal sage? He is quite unhappy because he is
separated from his wives at court." But the king protests that though
he has many women at court, his heart belongs to no other but her.
Left alone with Sakuntala, he exclaims:
"Be not alarmed! For am not I, who brings you adoring
homage, at your side? Shall I fan you with the cooling
petals of these water-lilies? Or shall I place your
lotos feet on my lap and fondle them to my heart's
content, you round-hipped maiden?"
"God forbid that I should be so indiscreet with a man that commands
respect," replies Sakuntala. She tries to escape, and when the king
holds her, she says: "Son of Puru! Observe the laws of propriety and
custom! I am, indeed, inflamed by love, but I cannot dispose of
myself." The king urges her not to fear her foster father. Many girls,
he says, have freely given themselves to kings without incurring
parental disapproval; and he tries to kiss her. A voice warns them
that night approaches, and, hearing her friends returning, Sakuntala
urges the king to conceal himself in the bushes.
Sakuntala now belongs to the king; they are united according to one of
the eight forms of Hindoo marriage known as that of free choice. After
remaining with her a short time the king returns to his other wives at
court. Before leaving he puts a seal ring on her finger and tells her
how she can count the days till a messenger shall arrive to bring her
to his palace. But month after month passes and no messenger arrives.
"The king has acted abominably toward Sakuntala," says one of her
friends; "he has deceived an inexperienced girl who put faith in him.
He has not even written her a letter, and she will soon be a mother."
She feels convinced, however, that the king's neglect is due to the
action of a saint who had cursed Sakuntala because she had not waited
on him promptly. "Like a drunkard, her lover shall forget what has
happened," was his curse. Relenting somewhat, he added afterward that
the force of the curse could be broken by bringing to the king some
ornament that he might have left as a souvenir. Sakuntala has her
ring, and relying on that she departs with a retinue for the royal
abode. On the way, in crossing a river, she loses the ring, and when
she confronts the king he fails to remember her and dismisses her
ignominiously. A fisherman afterward finds the ring in the stomach of
a fish, and it gets into the hands of the king, who, at sight of it,
remembers Sakuntala and is heartbroken at his cruel conduct toward
her. But he cannot at once make amends, as he has chased her away, and
it is not till some years later, and with supernatural aid, that they
are reunited.