As the tale unfolds, the people rejoiced upon receiving their king, O Rāghava. Freed from sorrow and distress, prosperity blossomed among them, and contentment filled their hearts. Thus, O Rāma, I have described to you the vast expanse of the sacred Gaṅgā; may you fare well, may good be yours, for the twilight hours are swiftly passing. Truly blessed is he who causes this story to be heard among Brāhmaṇas, Kṣatriyas, and all others—such a one is renowned, life-giving, fruitful, and destined for heaven. His ancestors are pleased, as are the gods themselves; the narrative of the descent of Gaṅgā bestows long life and auspiciousness. Whoever hears it, O descendant of Kakutstha, attains all their desires: all sins are destroyed, and both lifespan and fame increase. Thus concludes the forty-fourth sarga in the Bālakāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, the first poem. Let the forty-fifth sarga now be heard. Having listened to Viśvāmitra’s words, Rāghava—together with Lakṣmaṇa—was filled with great wonder and spoke to the sage: “O Brāhmaṇa, what you have told is most 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, as we pondered your entire story. That whole night, together with Saumitri, passed for me while reflecting on the auspicious tale of Viśvāmitra.” Then, at dawn, as the day became clear, Rāghava, the destroyer of enemies, completed his morning rites and addressed the ascetic Viśvāmitra: “The blessed night has passed, and the supreme story has been heard. Let us cross the sacred river—the best of streams—the threefold-flowing Gaṅgā.” Indeed, a boat, easily traversed by sages of virtuous deeds, arrived swiftly upon learning that the venerable one was present. Hearing these words of the great-souled Rāghava, Kauśika arranged for the crossing of the entire assembly of sages. Having reached the northern bank and duly honoring the group, they settled on the riverbank and beheld the city of Viśālā. Then the eminent sage, together with Rāghava, swiftly entered the delightful and splendid city of Viśālā, which shone like heaven. Rāma, highly wise, with joined palms, questioned Viśvāmitra about the excellent and vast city: “O great sage, which royal lineage is established here in Viśālā? I wish to hear—may good be yours—for I am greatly curious.” Hearing these words, Viśvāmitra, 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. “In the Kṛta age, O Rāma, there existed the mighty sons of Diti and the greatly fortunate, powerful, and righteous sons of Aditi. Then, O tiger among men, these great souls deliberated: ‘How might we become immortal, ageless, and free from disease?’ “As these wise ones pondered, the thought arose among them: ‘By churning the ocean of milk, we shall obtain the essence there.’ Having resolved to churn, they used Vāsuki as the rope and Mandara as the churning rod, and with great energy, they began the churning. “After a thousand years, the serpent used as the rope began to emit deadly poison from its heads, biting the rocks with its fangs. A blazing, fire-like, dreadful poison called Hālāhala arose; by it, the entire world—gods, asuras, and humans—was scorched. “The gods, seeking refuge, approached the great god Śaṅkara, Lord of Beasts, Rudra, and praised him, crying, ‘Save us, save us!’ Thus addressed by the gods, the Lord of lords of gods appeared; then Hari, bearing the conch and discus, manifested. “Smiling, Hari spoke to Rudra, the 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 the wielder of Śārṅga, the Lord of gods, Hara, took up the dreadful Hālāhala poison—equal to nectar—and, dismissing the gods, departed. “Then all the gods and asuras resumed churning, O delight of the Raghus, but the great mountain churning rod sank into the netherworld. The gods, along with the Gandharvas, praised Madhusūdana: ‘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 this, Hṛṣīkeśa assumed the form of a tortoise. “Thus 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. After a thousand years, a man composed of the science of life arose—the virtuous one, holding a staff and water-pot, named Dhanvantari, and radiant apsarases as well. “From the churning of the waters, O best of men, the essence produced those excellent women; thus, apsarases came into being.” So spoke the sage, recounting the wondrous events that shaped the land and its peoples, as Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa listened with awe and reverence.