Dushyanta said:  “I do not know the son born of you, Shakuntala.  Women are liars.  Who will believe what you say?  Are you not ashamed to say these incredible things, especially in my presence?  You wicked hermit-woman, go!”

Shakuntala said:  “O King, sacred is holy God, and sacred is a holy promise.  Do not break your promise, O King.  Let your love be sacred.  If you cling to a lie, and will not believe, alas!  I must go away; there is no union with a man like you.  For even without you, Dushyanta, my son shall rule this foursquare earth adorned with kingly mountains.”

When she had said so much to the king, Shakuntala started to go.  But a bodiless voice from heaven said to Dushyanta:  “Care for your son, Dushyanta.  Do not despise Shakuntala.  You are the boy’s father.  Shakuntala tells the truth.”

When he heard the utterance of the gods, the king joyfully said to his chaplain and his ministers:  “Hear the words of this heavenly messenger.  If I had received my son simply because of her words, he would be suspected by the world, he would not be pure.”

Then the king received his son gladly and joyfully.  He kissed his head and embraced him lovingly.  His wife also Dushyanta honoured, as justice required.  And the king soothed her, and said:  “This union which I had with you was hidden from the world.  Therefore I hesitated, O Queen, in order to save your reputation.  And as for the cruel words you said to me in an excess of passion, these I pardon you, my beautiful, great-eyed darling, because you love me.”

Then King Dushyanta gave the name Bharata to Shakuntala’s son, and had him anointed crown prince.

It is plain that this story contains the material for a good play; the very form of the epic tale is largely dramatic.  It is also plain, in a large way, of what nature are the principal changes which a dramatist must introduce in the original.  For while Shakuntala is charming in the epic story, the king is decidedly contemptible.  Somehow or other, his face must be saved.

To effect this, Kalidasa has changed the old story in three important respects.  In the first place, he introduces the curse of Durvasas, clouding the king’s memory, and saving him from moral responsibility in his rejection of Shakuntala.  That there may be an ultimate recovery of memory, the curse is so modified as to last only until the king shall see again the ring which he has given to his bride.  To the Hindu, curse and modification are matters of frequent occurrence; and Kalidasa has so delicately managed the matter as not to shock even a modern and Western reader with a feeling of strong improbability.  Even to us it seems a natural part of the divine cloud that envelops the drama, in no way obscuring human passion, but rather giving to human passion an unwonted largeness and universality.

In the second place, the poet makes Shakuntala undertake her journey to the palace before her son is born.  Obviously, the king’s character is thus made to appear in a better light, and a greater probability is given to the whole story.