Preface: Rishi Durvasa, known for his irascible nature, was infamous for his ability to curse. As mythology suggests, Durvasa visited Kanav Rishi’s ashram, and Shakuntala was lost in her daydreams of Dushyant. Furious, Durvasa cursed Shakuntala, saying that the one she dreamed of would forget her when the time came. This is a modern retelling of that ancient story.
The ceiling fans at Kanav Café whirred lazily above, barely stirring the humid afternoon air. Durvasa sat at his usual corner table, nursing a black coffee, his eyes flicking between the window and his notebook. His mind, however, was far from the café, lost in the endless research spiral. He was close—tantalizingly close—to finding a cure for a rare form of Alzheimer’s that had haunted him for years. The disease crept like a thief, stealing memories and identities, stripping people of their past. But Durvasa, with his relentless mind, was determined to stop it. Or, perhaps, rewrite it.
His concentration broke as the bell above the café door jingled. Shakuntala entered with her usual burst of energy, her laughter rippling through the air like a melody he couldn’t tune out. Her hair was loosely tied back, and she had that radiant glow she always carried after a long morning spent on the phone with Dushyant. She spotted Durvasa and waved, her eyes sparkling as she made her way over with her familiar chatter.
“You won’t believe what Dushyant said to me today,” she began without preamble, sliding into the chair opposite him. “He was so sweet yesterday. We went to this little bookshop—you would have loved it! I think he picked out this book on mythology, something about the Greek goddess Athena. Anyway, we spent hours talking about life, the future, and even marriage.” She sighed dramatically, her eyes alight with memories she cherished.
Durvasa smiled tightly, lifting his cup to his lips. This was their routine—she would talk about Dushyant, and he would listen with half an ear while his thoughts wandered back to his lab. But today, something in him stirred differently. A quiet storm brewed beneath his calm exterior, a dark resolve taking root.
“I’m serious, Durvasa,” she continued, “he was just… perfect. We even talked about raising children. Can you imagine? Little Dushyants running around!” She laughed, unaware of the quiet rage flickering in Durvasa’s heart.
Durvasa nodded absentmindedly, feeling the weight of the vial in his pocket—the culmination of months of obsessive research. Shakuntala had no idea, but she had been the unwitting inspiration behind his latest breakthrough. He had spent sleepless nights pondering a question that twisted his heart with every thought of her: “What if you could preserve the memories that mattered most? What if you could forget the pain, the rejection, the unrequited love… but hold on to the joy, the warmth, the dreams?”
Her words faded into the background as Durvasa’s mind raced. He had found the answer in a drug, a memory-preserving solution that could forever etch certain moments into the mind. And Shakuntala, unknowingly, was about to receive his modern curse.
Shakuntala reached for her cup, but Durvasa stopped her. “Wait,” he said softly, almost too casually. “I think your almond croissant is here.” She stood up to fetch her order, and in that moment, a flood of bitterness surged through Durvasa’s veins. His mind flashed with images of her smile, laughter, and endless stories about Dushyant—stories that would never be about him. A decision darker than any curse uttered by the rishi of old formed in his mind.
When Shakuntala returned, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the small vial with a dropper. He added a few drops to her coffee with a casual smile. “I’ve been working on something new,” he said smoothly. “A little… enhancer. It’ll make your coffee better, I promise.”
She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really? Alright, Dr. Durvasa. Hit me with your magic.”
He smiled faintly as she took a sip. She grimaced at the bitterness but smiled at the aftertaste. “Tastes… different. Stronger.”
Durvasa watched her, a mixture of guilt and grim satisfaction tightening in his chest. He knew what he had done—he had taken a risk. For years, he had listened to Shakuntala speak passionately about Dushyant. For years, he had admired the depth of her love for another. Yet, there was something quietly tragic, even maddening, about her endless devotion. And why not him? Why did her heart always belong to someone else?
“Tell me more about him,” Durvasa urged gently, his voice almost distant.
She smiled, her eyes lighting up with that same familiar glow. “Oh, Durvasa, he’s just… perfect. The way he looks at me, the way he holds me… it’s like nothing else matters. I feel so safe with him.”
Her words drifted into the air, but Durvasa’s heart twisted with a sharp, bitter pain as he realized the full weight of what he had done. She would never forget Dushyant. No matter how much time passed, no matter what joys or sorrows life brought her, his face would be seared into her mind, unyielding, like a ghost that refused to fade. And yet, that memory would be her torment, because Dushyant would forget her—he was destined to.
Durvasa’s thoughts darkened, consumed by a venomous rage. Dushyant will forget you, he thought coldly. He comes from a family of wealth, of status, where love is just a fleeting fancy to be discarded when it becomes inconvenient. His world will swallow him whole—the expectations of his lineage, the pressure to marry into wealth, to preserve the image of the perfect life. While your father was a humble social worker, a priest at the local temple, a friend to all, and your mother a modest dancer—people whose union was barely tolerated even within their own modest circles—how could you ever believe that your love with one of the city’s wealthiest sons would ever be welcomed?
There was a cruel smile playing on his lips now, a reflection of the storm raging in his heart. For him, you are just a passing chapter, a secret thrill in the shadow of his real life. But for me… Durvasa’s hands clenched around his cup, his knuckles white. For me, Shakuntala, you were always the ‘one.’
A bitter laugh escaped him, laced with venom and sorrow. “I will live my life haunted by your thoughts,” he whispered, almost as if confessing to himself. “Every smile, every glance, every word you spoke of him… it will haunt me for a lifetime. I will carry it with me like a festering wound that will never heal.”
He looked at her, sitting across from him, still unaware of the dark magic that had been sealed into her mind. And then the cruelty in his voice sharpened. But now, with this elixir, this curse… his thoughts hissed. You will share that burden. You will live your life thinking about someone who can never be yours. As Dushyant moves on, builds a life, raises sons, finds a woman his world accepts… you will be left with the memory of him, forever etched into your soul. A love that is unreachable, untouchable, because he will never be yours.
The weight of his words—unspoken but burning in his mind—settled like a heavy shadow. In this modern world, the curse of love was no longer a matter of gods and sages, but a concoction of science, a poison masked as a gift. Durvasa knew what he had done was more than cruel. And in this final act of his devotion, he had sealed both of their fates: his, to a life of quiet torment, hers, to an eternal longing for a love that would never return.