As the night drew to a close, it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye for those present, so deeply were they absorbed in contemplating the wondrous story of Viśvāmitra. Rāma, along with Saumitri, spent the entire night reflecting upon the sage’s auspicious tale, so engrossed that time itself felt suspended. With the arrival of dawn, the sky clear and bright, Rāma—the destroyer of enemies—completed his morning devotions. He then addressed the ascetic Viśvāmitra respectfully, saying, “The blessed night has passed, and we have been graced by hearing the supreme story. Let us now cross the sacred Gaṅgā, the best of rivers, whose waters flow in three streams.” A boat, swift and easily navigated by sages of virtuous deeds, had already arrived upon learning of the venerable sage’s presence. Hearing Rāma’s words, the great-souled Viśvāmitra arranged for the entire assembly of sages to cross the river. Once they reached the northern bank, they honored the group of sages as was fitting. There, on the banks of the Gaṅgā, they beheld the splendid city of Viśālā. Together, the eminent sage and Rāma made their way swiftly to this delightful city, radiant and magnificent, shining like heaven itself. As they entered Viśālā, Rāma, wise and humble, folded his hands and questioned Viśvāmitra about the city’s origins. “O great sage,” he asked, “what royal lineage is established here in Viśālā? I am eager to hear of it—may all be well with you—for my curiosity is great.” Pleased by Rāma’s inquiry, the foremost among sages began to recount the ancient history of Viśālā. “Listen, Rāma,” Viśvāmitra said, “to the tale of Indra as I have heard it. Hear truly what transpired upon this land, O descendant of Raghu. “In the age of Kṛta, there were the mighty sons of Diti and the powerful, fortunate, and righteous sons of Aditi. These great souls deliberated together, wondering how they might become immortal, ageless, and free from disease. As they pondered, the thought arose: ‘By churning the ocean of milk, we shall obtain its essence.’ “Resolving to this task, they used the serpent Vāsuki as the churning rope and Mount Mandara as the churning rod. With tremendous energy, they began to churn the ocean. After a thousand years of effort, the strain on Vāsuki became unbearable; the serpent, used as the rope, began to emit deadly poison from its heads, biting into the rocks with its fangs. “From this churning arose a terrible, blazing poison called Hālāhala, which scorched the entire world—gods, asuras, and humans alike. In desperation, the gods sought refuge with the great god Śaṅkara, Lord of Beasts, Rudra. They praised him fervently, crying, ‘Save us, save us!’ “Moved by their pleas, the Lord of lords of gods appeared before them. At that moment, Hari—Viṣṇu, 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? This poison, O best of gods, belongs to you and has appeared before the gods. Stand at the forefront and accept it, O Lord.’ “Having spoken, Hari vanished. Seeing the gods’ fear and recalling Hari’s words, Hara, the Lord of gods, took up the dreadful Hālāhala poison, which was as potent as nectar, and, dismissing the gods, departed. “With the poison removed, the gods and asuras resumed their churning, O delight of the Raghus. However, the great mountain churning rod soon sank into the netherworld. The gods, along with the Gandharvas, then praised Madhusūdana—Viṣṇu—saying, ‘You are the refuge of all beings, especially of those who dwell in heaven. Protect us, O mighty-armed one; you must lift the mountain.’ “Hearing their plea, Hṛṣīkeśa assumed the form of a tortoise. Lying in the ocean, Hari placed 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 began to churn once more. After another thousand years, a radiant being emerged, composed of the science of life—Dhanvantari, holding a staff and water-pot. Alongside him, beautiful apsarases also arose from the waters. “From the churning, O best of men, came the essence that produced these excellent women—the apsarases. Sixty crores of these radiant beings appeared, and their attendants were beyond counting. Yet, neither gods nor demons claimed them, so they became common to all. “Next, Varuṇa’s daughter, Vāruṇī, of great fortune, emerged, seeking acceptance. The sons of Diti did not accept her, but the sons of Aditi, O hero, welcomed her, she who was blameless. Thus, those who rejected her—the Daityas—became asuras, while the sons of Aditi became suras, the gods, who rejoiced greatly at the acceptance of Vāruṇī. “From the churning also arose Uccaiḥśravā, the foremost of horses, and the Kaustubha gem, O best of men, as well as the supreme nectar itself. For the sake of this nectar, O Rāma, a great destruction of clans ensued. The sons of Aditi and the sons of Diti fought fiercely. All the asuras joined forces with the rākṣasas, and a terrible battle erupted, bewildering the three worlds. “When all seemed lost in the chaos, mighty Viṣṇu, assuming an enchanting form, swiftly seized the nectar.” Thus, Viśvāmitra recounted the ancient tale to Rāma, illuminating the origins of Viśālā and the great events that had unfolded in ages past.