Ramayana

O Rāma, after the sacred descent of the Gaṅgā was accomplished through the efforts of King Bhagiratha, the grandsire Brahmā, lord of the gods, addressed him with words of blessing: “O destroyer of foes, through your devotion and perseverance, this great task of bringing Gaṅgā to earth has been fulfilled. By this act, you have attained the highest realm of righteousness. Now, O foremost among men, enter the holy waters as is proper. Purify yourself and gain the fruit of this merit. Perform the water-rites for your forefathers—may you fare well. I shall now return to my own realm; you, O king, may proceed as you wish.” Having thus spoken, Brahmā, the grandsire of all the worlds, departed as he had come, returning to his celestial abode, renowned among the gods. Bhagiratha, the royal sage, then performed the excellent water-rites for the Sagara ancestors, following all proper customs and order. Purified and his duties fulfilled, the king entered his own city, now blessed with prosperity, and ruled his kingdom as the best among men. The people rejoiced upon the return of their king, O Rāghava. Freed from sorrow and distress, they became prosperous and content, their hearts filled with happiness. Thus, Rāma, I have recounted to you the tale of the vast and sacred Gaṅgā. May good fortune be yours, for the time of twilight is passing. Blessed and renowned is the one who causes this story to be heard among Brāhmaṇas, Kṣatriyas, and all people. Such a person brings joy to his ancestors and pleases the gods; this narrative of Gaṅgā’s descent bestows long life and auspiciousness. Whoever hears this, O descendant of Kakutstha, attains all desires—their sins are destroyed, and both lifespan and fame increase. Thus ends the forty-fourth sarga in the Bālakāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, the first poem. Let the forty-fifth sarga be heard in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Bālakāṇḍa. Having listened to Viśvāmitra’s words, Rāghava, together with Lakṣmaṇa, was filled with wonder and addressed the sage: “O Brāhmaṇa, what you have told is truly marvelous—the sacred descent of Gaṅgā and even the filling of the ocean. O subduer of foes, the night has passed for us as if in a moment, so absorbed were we in your wondrous story. Saumitri and I spent the whole night reflecting on this auspicious tale of yours.” When dawn broke and the day was clear, Rāghava, destroyer of enemies, having completed his morning rites, spoke again to the great ascetic Viśvāmitra: “The blessed night has passed, and your supreme story has been heard. Let us now cross the sacred river, the best of streams, the threefold-flowing Gaṅgā.” Just then, a boat—swift and easily crossed by sages of virtuous deeds—arrived, having learned that the venerable sage was present. Hearing Rāma’s words, Viśvāmitra arranged for the entire assembly of sages to cross the river. Upon reaching the northern bank and duly honoring the group of sages, they settled on the bank of the Gaṅgā and gazed upon the splendid city of Viśālā. The eminent sage, together with Rāghava, then proceeded swiftly to the delightful and resplendent city of Viśālā, which shone like heaven itself. There, Rāma, wise and humble, with joined palms, questioned Viśvāmitra about the excellent and vast city: “O great sage, which royal lineage is established here in Viśālā? I am eager to hear, for my curiosity is great—may good come to you.” Hearing Rāma’s words, the foremost among sages began to recount the ancient history of Viśālā: “Listen, Rāma, to the tale of Indra as I have heard it. Hear truly what happened in this land, O descendant of Raghu. Long ago, in the Kṛta age, there existed the mighty sons of Diti, and the greatly fortunate, powerful, and righteous sons of Aditi. Then, O tiger among men, those great souls deliberated together, pondering: ‘How might we become immortal, ageless, and free from disease?’ As they reflected, the idea arose among them: ‘By churning the ocean of milk, we shall obtain its essence, the nectar of immortality.’ Resolving to this task, they used the great serpent Vāsuki as the churning rope and the mighty Mandara mountain as the churning rod. With great energy, they began to churn the ocean. After a thousand years, the serpent, strained by the churning, began to emit deadly poison from its many heads, biting the rocks with its fangs. A blazing, fire-like, dreadful poison called Hālāhala arose then, scorching the entire world—gods, asuras, and humans alike. In fear, the gods sought refuge and approached the great god Śaṅkara, Lord of Beasts, Rudra, praising him and crying out, ‘Save us, save us!’ Thus addressed by the gods, the Lord of lords appeared before them; then Hari, bearing the conch and discus, also manifested. Smiling, Hari spoke to Rudra, the wielder of the trident: ‘This which has arisen while the gods were churning—this is yours, O best of gods, and has appeared before the gods. Standing here at the forefront, accept this poison, O Lord.’ Having said this, Hari vanished from their midst. Seeing the gods’ fear and hearing the words of the wielder of Śārṅga, the Lord of gods, Hara, took up the dreadful Hālāhala poison—equal in power to nectar—and, dismissing the gods, departed. Then, with Hara’s intervention, all the gods and asuras resumed their churning, O delight of the Raghus.