After performing the sacred water-rites and purifying himself, the king entered his own city. Endowed with prosperity, this foremost of men governed his kingdom with wisdom and virtue. The people of the land, upon welcoming their king, were filled with joy. Freed from sorrow and distress, they flourished in prosperity and contentment under his rule. Thus, O Rāma, I have described to you the vast expanse and sacred story of the Gaṅgā. May all be well with you, for the twilight is fading and the night draws to its end. Fortunate and renowned is the one who causes this tale to be heard—among Brāhmaṇas, Kṣatriyas, and all others—for it is life-giving, fruitful, and truly leads to heaven. Such a person pleases both ancestors and gods; the narrative of the Gaṅgā’s descent bestows long life and brings auspiciousness. Whoever listens to this sacred story, O descendant of Kakutstha, finds all desires fulfilled—their sins are destroyed, and both their lifespan and fame increase. Thus concludes the forty-fourth section in the Bālakāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, the first great poem. Let the forty-fifth section now be heard in the Bālakāṇḍa of the illustrious Rāmāyaṇa. Having listened to Viśvāmitra’s words, Rāghava—together with Lakṣmaṇa—was filled with wonder. With respectful curiosity, Rāma 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 in but a moment while we pondered your wondrous tale. Saumitri and I spent the entire night reflecting on your auspicious story.” As dawn broke and the day became clear, Rāghava, destroyer of enemies, completed his morning rituals and addressed the ascetic Viśvāmitra: “The blessed night has passed, and your supreme story has been heard. Let us now cross the sacred river, the Gaṅgā, the best of streams, threefold in her flow.” At that very moment, a boat—easily crossed by sages of virtuous deeds—arrived swiftly, for it had learned of the venerable sage’s presence. Hearing Rāghava’s words, the great-souled Kauśika arranged for the entire assembly of sages to cross the river. Upon reaching the northern bank and duly honoring the sages, they settled on the riverbank and beheld the city of Viśālā. Then the eminent sage, accompanied by Rāghava, swiftly entered the delightful and splendid city of Viśālā—a city as resplendent as heaven itself. There, Rāma, wise and eager, with palms joined in reverence, questioned the great sage Viśvāmitra about the city: “O great sage, which royal lineage is established here in Viśālā? I am greatly curious—may good be yours—please tell me its story.” Hearing Rāma’s words, the foremost of sages began to recount the ancient history of Viśālā: “Listen, Rāma, to the tale of Indra as I have heard it, and learn what has transpired in this land, O descendant of Raghu. “Long ago, in the Kṛta age, there existed the mighty sons of Diti and the fortunate, powerful, and righteous sons of Aditi. These great souls deliberated together: ‘How might we become immortal, ageless, and free from disease?’ As they pondered, a thought arose among them: ‘By churning the ocean of milk, we shall obtain its essence.’ “Resolving to act, they used the serpent Vāsuki as the churning rope and the mighty Mandara mountain as the churning rod. With tremendous energy, they began to churn the ocean. After a thousand years of churning, the serpent—used as the rope—began to emit deadly poison from its heads, biting into the rocks with its fangs. A blazing, dreadful poison called Hālāhala arose, scorching the entire world—gods, asuras, and humans alike. “In their distress, the gods sought refuge with the great god Śaṅkara, Lord of Beasts, Rudra. They praised him and cried out, ‘Save us, save us!’ Thus addressed, the Lord of lords of gods appeared before them, and then Hari, bearing the conch and discus, also manifested. “Smiling, Hari spoke to Rudra, wielder of the trident: ‘What has arisen here while the gods were churning? That which is yours, O best of gods, and which has appeared before the gods—standing here at the forefront, accept this poison, O Lord.’ “Having spoken thus, the best of gods vanished. Seeing the gods’ fear and hearing the words of Hari, the Lord Hara took up the dreadful Hālāhala poison—equal in power to nectar—and, dismissing the gods, departed. “Then, all the gods and asuras resumed their churning, O delight of the Raghus. But the great mountain churning rod sank into the netherworld. The gods, together with the Gandharvas, praised Madhusūdana, saying, ‘You are the refuge of all beings, especially of the dwellers in heaven. Protect us, O mighty-armed one; you ought to lift the mountain.’ “Hearing their plea, Hṛṣīkeśa assumed the form of a tortoise. Hari lay in the ocean, placing the mountain upon his back, and Keśava, the soul of the worlds, grasped the mountain’s summit with his hand. Standing among the gods, the supreme person churned the ocean. Then, after another thousand years, a person composed of the science of life emerged. “This virtuous one appeared, holding a staff and a water-pot—first, Dhanvantari by name—as well as radiant apsarases.” Thus, the sacred story continued, as the journey of Rāma, Lakṣmaṇa, and the sages unfolded along the sacred banks of the Gaṅgā and into the ancient city of Viśālā.