The Recognition of Sakuntala

by Kālidāsa

KĀLIDĀSA (c. fourth to fifth century CE) was the greatest poet and playwright of the classical Indian tradition.

The play’s combination of poetry, action, plot, movement, sound, and gesture is designed to produce an ineffable experience of entrancement or aesthetic rapture in the audience. Its success in achieving this confirms its status as the supreme work of classical Indian literature.

Kālidāsa is widely acknowledged as the supreme poet and playwright of the classical Sanskrit tradition, and for many, he is simply the greatest writer India has produced.

He is likely to have belonged to the brahmin (priestly) class and, from the benedictions that open each of his plays, appears to have been a devotee of the great Hindu god Śiva, and probably of the Goddess as well;

but nothing is known of his life and career beyond what can be inferred from his poetry and plays.

The Recognition of Śakuntalā5

a work of poetic brilliance and complex structure which has provided a benchmark for all classical Indian literature.

Meanwhile Śakuntalā, in love, and neglecting her duty of hospitality,

inadvertently incurs the wrath of Durvāsas, a visiting ascetic. Without her knowledge he imposes a curse: she will remain unrecognized by the object of her passion until she can produce a token of recognition.

Gradually he comes to the realization that this is his son by Śakuntalā, a child called Sarvadamana (later known as Bharata) who, as foretold in Act 1, will grow up to be a world emperor.

The action has thus progressed from the love-permeated, natural world of Śakuntalā’s forest hermitage, through the duty-bound world of the royal court, to conclude in the celestial hermitage, where love and duty are unified in a complementary relationship.

Drop your deadly arrow’s aim—yours is an arm (11) To defend the oppressed, not do them harm.

Great Lord of the Lunar Dynasty,* (12) May you have a son With all your virtues, Destined to rule the world.*

Driver, all men should look modest and humble when they enter such a holy grove—

So still a place, yet now this vein throbs in my arm, (15) Presaging some woman’s charm.* In an ashram? Destiny Is fixed, and all doors open onto what must be.

She’s thinking—’Just as the jasmine has found a suitable tree, so may I too find a suitable husband.’

Truly, if my noble heart desires her, (20) That makes her fit to be a prince’s wife, For the wise man trusts his heart To lead him out of doubt.

But how can it have happened that, simply at the sight of this man, I am shaken with a passion so at odds with the religious life?

He’s the … natural father of our friend, but it was Father KAṆVA who fostered her when she was abandoned, so he’s her father too, you understand.

This upset the gods, who sent the nymph Menakā to test his self-restraint.

I see. The upshot is, this lady’s the daughter of the nymph.

Sir, she is not a free agent, especially in the matter of religious duty. But it is her guardian’s intention to give her in marriage to a suitable husband.

[He offers her his signet-ring. Reading the inscription on the seal, the girls stare at each other

She’s hard to win, my love— (1) But while I sense the same fire burns in her I’m happy to persist, For just a hint of mutual passion’s Bliss, This side of consummation.

Well, that’s a matter of opinion … But, in fact, thinking of Kaṇva’s daughter is enough to make even me sick of the chase.

I’ve not the heart to bend this bow and aim this shaft (3) At those very hinds with whom my dearest lived And somehow learned, by art or mutual graft, That limpid gaze.

Did the great Creator first draw her in a masterpiece, (9) And then touch life into his art? Or did he make her in his mind alone, Drawing on beauty’s every part? No—considering her singular perfection And her maker’s true omnipotence, I suppose her some quite unique creation In femininity’s treasure house.

A blossom yet unsmelt, (10) A tender shoot unpinched, A gem uncut, Untasted, fresh-fermented honey-wine, The fruit of proper actions

Still intact— A beauty without fault or flaw. But who among us here Is destined to enjoy her, Is still unclear.

Like an ascetic, he has chosen a special way of living (14) For the good of all; Protecting his subjects, he earns continuous merit Through self-control;

They say that, owing to the absence of the great and revered sage Kaṇva, evil spirits are disrupting their rituals, and so they ask that you should come with your driver and protect the ashram for the next few nights.

And so you are at one with your ancestors: (16) For all the descendants of Puru are initiates In that great sacrifice which protects The afflicted and alleviates Their pain.

have to weigh my duty to the ascetics against the request of a revered parent—and neither can be ignored. So what’s to be done?

Think of the gulf that divides a king like me (18) From a girl raised with fawns, Innocent in the ways of passion. Remember too, my friend, what’s said in jest Shouldn’t be taken in some other fashion.

know the strength of penance and I know (2) The lady’s subject to a different power, But like moisture in an upturned flower

My heart is trapped, and lacks the means to go.

I’ll love the God of Love (4) If all my mental anguish Stems from nothing but this lady And her almond eyes.

Friends, from the very moment I saw that royal sage who protects the hermitage—[

From that moment, I’ve been filled with longing for him … And that’s why I’m in this state.

I cannot say I know your mind, (14) But day and night the god of love Injects that pain through all my limbs, Which you prepared—ah sweet unkind—

I cannot say I know your mind.

Slender lady, you should know (15) That same love which tortures you Consumes me quite— The sun, that merely dulls the lotus’ glow, Engulfs the moon in azure light.

Well then, our dear friend has been reduced to this condition through her love for you. So, if you would save her life, you must take her under your protection. KING. We are of one mind, my dear—and everything you say does me honour.

Kings indeed have many wives, (18) But my succession Rests on two alone: The sea-engirdled earth,* And your dear friend.

Like thunderclouds in ochre light, (25) Carnivorous demons curl and swarm, And mass against the evening rite.

Yes—I’m on my way.