Menaka’s Daughter

The frightened deer disappeared into the thick darkness of the woods. King Dushyant gave a small sigh of exasperation as he realised that he would have to get down from the chariot and follow his prey on foot. But the King of Hastinapur was a determined young man; a nimble-footed deer certainly would not be able to defeat him. Tall and imposingly built, he was lithe enough to rush quickly through the thick glades, so as to not lose sight of the frisky deer. He heard, rather than saw, some movement behind a thick, thorny bush a little ahead, and swiftly drew his arrow and shot at the rustling sound. The deer gave a small whimper and crumpled down.

Before he could reach his fallen prey, the king saw a slight figure rush towards the moaning animal. It was a girl. He quickened his steps, drawn by a curious pull. She was a beautiful girl, her face hidden by a thick swathe of her ebony mane. She heard his footsteps and turned to look at him. Dushyant held his breath, finding it difficult to exhale. She was exquisite, her fair skin almost translucent, her dark and thick hair, tied in a loose bun, the way hermits do but some tresses had come loose, framing her oval face. Her large, deep eyes were luminous and were filled with rising distress. For the first time in his short, young life, the king felt a qualm of guilt; not for hurting the deer, but for hurting this lovely girl instead.

‘What pleasure did you get by hurting this innocent deer?’ she enquired, her eyes gleaming with annoyance. ‘Is this proof of your great valour, o famous

king?’ she taunted.

Dushyant was rendered speechless by the maiden’s beauty, but he noticed her proud nose and decided chin.

‘You are a king, aren’t you?’ she spoke with controlled anger, making no attempt to smile or be gracious to his regal presence. She was vaguely dismissive of his royal stature and showed it.

‘Yes, I am Dushyant, the king of Hastinapur, ’ he breathed in a hoarse whisper, ‘and I am sorry that I have hurt your pet. ’

‘It’s not my pet, ’ she corrected him tartly. ‘But yes, all the animals in these woods are looked after with great love and kindness. We do not hurt those who live amongst us. ’

Her curtness surprisingly made him bristle. He wanted to salvage the situation, and not just his pride. He tried to apologize again.

‘In my exuberance I have hurt this innocent animal, ’ he started. ‘Fortunately, it’s not a fatal arrow, and can rectify the damage. I’ll take it upon myself to nurse it back to health. Pray, fair maiden, where can I take this injured animal for further care?’

The girl looked at him suspiciously, not impressed by his request. ‘He’s bleeding horribly. I hope for all your changed, most kind intentions that he won’t die, ’ she grimaced, openly critical. ‘But yes, right now, you can carry him to my home. My father’s ashram is close by. ’

Taking the bleeding deer gently in his arms, the chastened king followed the girl, quietly. The woods soon cleared into a green expanse of a neat hermitage, studded by a cluster of thatched huts of various sizes. Roaming within them were animals of all types ranging from the wild bear to the gentle doe, each unmindful of the other. Fear ceased to exist here; and peace prevailed in the gentle rustling leaves of the thick trees, swarms of the kakar birds gliding over the banks of the River Malini and the shimmering waters where Dushyant could glimpse down to the riverbed from where he stood. He did some quick thinking. This idyllic corner within the woods was obviously the home of the revered Rishi Kanva, who resided in this forest. He had heard about it, but the famed ascetic-scholar of law and philosophy was nowhere in sight.

‘Where is Rishi Kanva?’ he asked.

‘He is gone away for a few days for some work in the city, ’ the girl replied. ‘Did you venture so deep into this forest to seek his blessings, o king?’

‘No, I had come to hunt, ’ he admitted sheepishly, reddening at the pointed look of stern disapproval the girl threw at him, ‘and since I am here, I would not miss the opportunity to meet the great man, ’ he added reverentially. ‘But pray, maiden, who are you?’

‘I am his daughter, ’ she replied shortly, looking slightly mollified at the contrite tone in the king’s request.

‘My name is Shakuntala, ’ she added graciously, with a slight smile. ‘Welcome to our ashram, though we do not welcome hunters here!’

Dushyant’s embarrassment at her reprimand quickly gave way to disbelief and before he could stop himself, uttered an exclamation of swift surprise. ‘His daughter?’ he repeated. ‘But Rishi Kanva is unmarried, revered for his single- minded pursuit to seek knowledge, and so … ’ he finished lamely, suddenly aware how rude and tactless he sounded.

The girl did not seem to mind his apparent thoughtlessness; she looked distinctly amused at his discomfiture, her smile gradually widening. ‘Your information serves you correctly, sir. My father is unmarried, and he is a brahmachari. I am known to be his adopted daughter, ’ she explained.

The young king looked flushed. He was desperate to know more about this girl, but he found himself suddenly afraid that he would sound obtuse. The young, powerful king, famous for winning the bloodiest of battles, found himself battling with a surge of newly discovered emotions.

‘Known to be?’ he iterated, polite but uncertain.

‘Yes, as almost everyone here knows I am not his daughter, ’ she said with a wry smile. Her bright eyes suddenly dulled, clouding with an unread emotion. He couldn’t fathom the reason, but he wanted to wipe the momentary grief darkening the girl’s large, luminous eyes.

‘I am the daughter of the most beauteous apsara, Menaka, and the greatest and the most powerful of rishis, Vishwamitra. ’

‘Rishi Vishwamitra?’ repeated the young king, awestruck. ‘The mortal king, who defied the devas as well as the rishis to attain supreme knowledge?’

The girl gave an imperceptible nod. ‘He was known then as King Kaushik though, the mightiest king in the empire. But he gave up all for his great quest and ambition to become a Brahmarishi, the only mortal rishi to do so. He will become one eventually, courtesy my mother, ’ she said, her tone laced with pride, admiration and something else Dushyant could not decipher—anger, resentment?

‘Today he is famously known as Rishi Vishwamitra, ’ she stated in courteous explanation.

King Dushyant stood speechless, too shocked to respond. This girl, dressed in simple bark clothes was the daughter of Vishwamitra, the venerable rishi who was feared and respected the world over; and Menaka, the most beautiful, bewitching being on Earth and Heaven, the celestial courtesan whom none could resist. She has her mother’s entrancing looks, Dushyant thought, his eyes slyly

raking over her shapely figure. He felt desire stirring deep within him. He knew then why he had been so besotted by her; he had fallen hopelessly in love at first sight, not with just her fresh face but her curt tone, her face lovely in defiance and the proud nose and the decided chin.

Shakuntala gave him a hard look. ‘I am the daughter of famous parents. So famous that they were ashamed to claim me as their own, ’ she said flatly. ‘I am their abandoned daughter, whom Rishi Kanva was kind enough to adopt and raise as his own. I owe him my life. I am named Shakuntala, meaning one who was brought up by the birds, the shakuns, ’ she said, waving to the flock of birds perched on the verandah. ‘They looked after me since I was a baby. My mother used to leave me under the shelter of their wings. ’

‘Yet, she left you … ’ he said softly. ‘But why was she so heartless?’ cried the king passionately, wanting to draw the girl close in his arms, protecting her from further hurt. Her wilful spirit mingled with a certain fragile innocence was inexplicably moving, and he wondered what must have made her parents forsake such a lovely girl.

She gave a brittle laugh. ‘They had their reasons, ’ she shrugged, her voice stilted. ‘My mother was an apsara—she could not take me back with her to Amravati. My father had vowed to become the highest seer of all, the Brahmarishi, and a baby would have been a hurdle in his way … ’ her voice trailed uncertainly, the hurt evident in the subdued tone. ‘Their love was supposed to be the most torrid, the most madly intense romance that shocked all. The devas despaired and plotted but yet they loved each other insanely, oblivious to the world, lost in their own … ’

The girl’s eyes filled with emotion, fastened in painful appeal on the young king.

‘But their story is more than a tale of love and loss … ! ’