O Bhārata, listen to the tale of sorrow and fate that unfolded among the great sages and kings. Viśvāmitra, wise and cunning, concealed himself, and both he and the king departed, each seeking what pleased them. Yet, the eminent king, Mitrasaha, having been cursed by Śakti, sought refuge with the sage, yearning to appease him and lift the curse. Viśvāmitra, knowing the king’s intent, commanded a demon to attack him, O best of the Kurus. At that very moment, by the power of Śakti’s curse and Viśvāmitra’s command, a demon named Kiṅkara entered and seized the king. When Viśvāmitra saw that the king had fallen under the demon’s sway, he withdrew from that place. Despite being greatly afflicted by the demon within, the wise king Mitrasaha protected himself by his own strength and endured his suffering. As the king wandered into the forest, a certain Brahmin, troubled by hunger, approached him and requested meat for food. Mitrasaha, the royal sage, replied, “Remain here, O Brahmin, for a moment, waiting. Once I return, I will give you the food you desire.” With this promise, the king departed, and the Brahmin waited patiently. After wandering as he pleased, the king returned to his inner chambers, his mind uplifted. Though he heard the Brahmin’s words, upon entering his chambers, he forgot his promise. Rising at midnight, he suddenly recalled his pledge and quickly summoned the cook. He said, “Let us go to that part of the forest—a Brahmin awaits me there, desiring food. Please provide him with food, in equal measure, as he requests.” The cook, unable to find any meat anywhere, reported his distress to the king. But Mitrasaha, possessed by the demon and now free from anxiety, repeatedly commanded, “Feed him with human flesh.” The cook, fearless, obeyed and went to the place of execution, bringing human flesh. He prepared the food according to the proper rites and served it swiftly to the hungry Brahmin. The Brahmin, seeing the food with his perfected vision, recognized its nature. His eyes blazed with anger as he declared, “This is unfit to be eaten. Because that lowest of kings gives me food that is unfit to eat—attached as he is to human flesh, as was foretold by Śakti before—he will roam this earth, a terror to all beings.” Twice the curse was pronounced against the king, making it powerful. Seized by the strength of the demon, the king lost consciousness. Overpowered, Mitrasaha saw Śakti and spoke, as though after a long time, “Because you have pronounced this improper curse upon me, I shall begin to devour men, starting with you.” He then deprived Śakti of his life and devoured him like a tiger its chosen prey. Seeing Śakti dead, Viśvāmitra again and again directed the demon against the sons of Vasiṣṭha. The enraged, lion-like being devoured those remaining sons of the great-souled Vasiṣṭha, just as a lion devours small animals. When Vasiṣṭha learned that his sons had been slain by Viśvāmitra, he bore that grief like the great mountain bears the earth. The sage resolved to destroy himself, yet, wise among the wise, he did not consider destroying Kauśika (Viśvāmitra). In his anguish, Vasiṣṭha cast himself down from the summit of Meru, but upon the mountain’s rock, he landed as lightly as a heap of cotton. Not dying from the fall, the blessed one entered a blazing fire in the great forest. Yet, though the fire blazed brightly, it did not burn him; the fire became cool. Overwhelmed by grief, the sage looked toward the ocean, tied a heavy stone to his neck, and plunged into its waters. But the force of the ocean’s waves cast him onto the shore. Though his vow was firm, he did not die, and so, distressed, he returned again to his hermitage. Vasiṣṭha spoke: Seeing his hermitage empty of his sons, the sage, tormented by deep sorrow, left the hermitage once more. He came upon a river, full with fresh rainwater of the monsoon, carrying away many kinds of trees and plants from its banks. Overwhelmed by sorrow, he thought again, “I will drown myself in these waters.” The great sage, deeply distressed, tightly bound himself with cords and plunged into the river. But the river broke those cords, set the sage upon dry land, and flowed on, thus earning the name Vipāśā, “the river that freed.” Freed from the cords, the great sage rose up from the water and named the river Vipāśā, honoring its compassion. Thus, O Pārtha, did the sage Vasiṣṭha endure immense sorrow and trials, yet each time nature itself protected him, refusing to let him perish, and so he returned, bearing his grief with patience and wisdom.