Having narrated the wondrous expanse and descent of the Gaṅgā, the sage Viśvāmitra turned to Rāma and said, "O Rāma, I have described to you the greatness of the Gaṅgā. May good fortune be yours, for the twilight is passing." He added, "Blessed indeed is one who causes this sacred narrative to be heard among Brāhmaṇas, Kṣatriyas, and others. Such a person is renowned, life-giving, fruitful, and destined for heaven. By hearing or reciting this tale of Gaṅgā’s descent, one pleases their ancestors and the gods alike, gains long life, and receives auspiciousness. Whoever listens to this story, O descendant of Kakutstha, attains all desires, is freed from sin, and their lifespan and fame increase." Thus concluded the forty-fourth sarga in the Bālakāṇḍa of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, the first of all poems. Now begins the forty-fifth sarga. Having heard Viśvāmitra’s words, Rāghava—Rāma—along with Lakṣmaṇa, was filled with great wonder. Rāma spoke to the sage: "O Brāhmaṇa, what you have told us is truly marvelous—the sacred descent of the Gaṅgā and the filling of the ocean itself. O subduer of foes, the night has passed for us as if in a moment, as we pondered your entire story. In fact, Saumitri and I spent the whole night reflecting on your auspicious tale." When dawn broke and the day became clear, Rāma, destroyer of enemies, completed his morning rites and addressed the ascetic Viśvāmitra: "The blessed night has passed, and we have heard your supreme story. Let us now cross the sacred river Gaṅgā, the best of streams, which flows in three branches." At that moment, a boat—well known to the virtuous sages—arrived quickly, having learned that the venerable sage was present. Hearing Rāma’s words, the great-souled Viśvāmitra arranged for the entire assembly of sages to cross the river. Reaching the northern bank, they honored the group of sages, settled on the riverbank, and beheld the splendid city of Viśālā. Then, the eminent sage, together with Rāma, swiftly entered Viśālā, a city delightful and radiant, shining like heaven itself. There, Rāma, wise and eager to learn, joined his palms and asked Viśvāmitra about the illustrious city: "O great sage, which royal lineage is established here in Viśālā? I wish to hear its story, for I am greatly curious." Hearing Rāma’s request, 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 ancient Kṛta age, the mighty sons of Diti and the greatly fortunate, powerful, and righteous sons of Aditi dwelled in the world. 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 do so, they used the serpent Vāsuki as the churning rope and the mountain Mandara as the churning rod, and with great 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 many heads, biting the rocks with its fangs. From this effort, a blazing, fire-like, 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, and praised him, crying, 'Save us, save us!' Thus addressed, the Lord of lords of gods appeared before them, and then Hari—Viṣṇu—bearing the conch and discus, manifested as well. Hari, smiling, spoke to Rudra, the wielder of the trident: 'What has arisen here while the gods were churning—this poison—is yours, O best of gods. Since it has appeared before the gods, standing here at the forefront, accept this poison, O Lord.' Having spoken thus, Hari, the best of gods, vanished. Seeing the gods’ fear and hearing the words of Viṣṇu, the Lord of gods, Hara, took up the dreadful Hālāhala poison, equal in potency to nectar, and, dismissing the gods, departed. Then the gods and asuras resumed churning the ocean, O delight of the Raghus, but the great mountain churning rod sank into the netherworld. The gods, along with the Gandharvas, praised Madhusūdana—Viṣṇu—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—Viṣṇu—assumed the form of a tortoise. He lay in the ocean, placing the mountain upon his back, while 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 being composed of the science of life arose. This virtuous one emerged, holding a staff and water-pot; he was first known as Dhanvantari. Along with him, radiant apsarases—celestial maidens—were also produced from the churning of the waters. From this essence, O best of men, arose these excellent women, the apsarases. Sixty crores of these radiant apsarases came into being, O Kākutstha, with countless attendants serving them.