Once, in the ancient Kṛta age, O Rāma, there lived the mighty sons of Diti and the illustrious, powerful, and righteous sons of Aditi. These two lineages, renowned for their strength and virtue, gathered together and pondered a question that weighed upon their hearts: “How might we become immortal, ageless, and free from disease?” As these wise beings deliberated, an idea arose among them: by churning the ocean of milk, they could extract its most potent essence and perhaps achieve their lofty aim. United in resolve, they set about this tremendous task, using the serpent Vāsuki as their churning rope and the great mountain Mandara as the churning rod. With immense energy and determination, they began to churn the ocean. For a thousand years, the gods and asuras labored together. But as the churning continued, Vāsuki, the serpent used as the rope, became distressed; deadly poison began to pour from his many heads as he bit into the rocks with his fangs. From this, a dreadful, blazing poison called Hālāhala arose—so fierce and fiery that it threatened to consume the entire world, scorching gods, asuras, and humans alike. In their fear, the gods sought refuge and hurried to the great god Śaṅkara, Lord of Beasts, Rudra, and fell at his feet, crying out, “Save us! Save us!” Hearing their pleas, the Lord of lords appeared before them, and at that moment, Hari—Viṣṇu, bearing the conch and discus—also manifested. Hari, smiling gently, addressed Rudra, the trident-wielder: “What has arisen here while the gods were churning?” He continued, “O best of gods, what has appeared before the gods is indeed yours. Standing here at the forefront, accept this poison, O Lord.” After speaking thus, Hari, the best of gods, vanished from sight. Seeing the gods’ terror and recalling the words of Viṣṇu, Hara—the Lord of gods—gathered up the dreadful Hālāhala poison, which was as potent as nectar, and, after dismissing the gods, departed. With the poison removed, the gods and asuras resumed their churning, O Rāma, delight of the Raghus. Yet as they churned, the great mountain Mandara, serving as their churning rod, began to sink into the depths of the netherworld. Alarmed, the gods, together with the Gandharvas, turned to Madhusūdana—another name for Viṣṇu—praising him as the refuge of all beings and especially of those who dwell in heaven. They pleaded, “Protect us, O mighty-armed one! You must lift the mountain!” Hearing their prayer, Hṛṣīkeśa, Lord of the senses, assumed the form of a colossal tortoise. He lay in the ocean, supporting the mountain upon his vast back, while Keśava, the soul of the universe, steadied the mountain’s summit with his hand. Standing among the gods, the supreme person himself churned the ocean. After another thousand years of effort, a wondrous being emerged from the waters—a man composed of the science of life, bearing a staff and a water-pot. He was the virtuous Dhanvantari, the first physician. Along with him, radiant apsarases—celestial maidens of surpassing beauty—arose from the churning. Thus, from the essence of the ocean, these excellent women came into being, O Rāma, best of men. Sixty crores of these luminous apsarases appeared, and their attendants were beyond counting. Yet neither the gods nor the demons claimed them; because they remained unclaimed, they became common to all. Next, O delight of the Raghu lineage, Vāruṇī, the daughter of Varuṇa and endowed with great fortune, emerged from the ocean, seeking acceptance. The sons of Diti, O Rāma, did not accept her, but the sons of Aditi, recognizing her blamelessness, received her gladly. Thus, those who rejected Vāruṇī became known as asuras, and the sons of Aditi, who accepted her, became suras, or gods. The gods rejoiced greatly at this acceptance. Then arose Uccaiḥśravā, the foremost of horses, and the radiant Kaustubha gem, O best of men, as well as the supreme nectar itself—amṛta. For the sake of this nectar, a terrible conflict erupted: the sons of Aditi and the sons of Diti clashed, and there was a great destruction of clans. All the asuras joined forces with the rākṣasas, and a dreadful battle ensued, shaking the three worlds. When devastation threatened all, mighty Viṣṇu assumed an enchanting form and swiftly seized the nectar. Those who dared approach Viṣṇu, the imperishable supreme person, were struck down by his power in the midst of battle. In this fierce and terrible war between the Daityas and the Ādityas, the sons of Aditi prevailed and slew the sons of Diti. Now, O Rāma, listen further. When her sons were slain, Diti was overwhelmed with grief. In her sorrow, she approached her husband, the sage Kaśyapa, son of Mārīca, and said, “O revered one, I am bereft of sons, slain by your mighty children. I desire a son, gained through long austerity, who will be the slayer of Indra. Therefore, I shall undertake austerity; you should grant me conception so that I may have a son who will be the slayer of Indra, O lord.” Hearing her anguished words, the radiant sage Kaśyapa, filled with compassion, replied, “So be it; may auspiciousness be yours. Remain pure, O possessor of austerity. You will bear a son who will slay Indra in battle. If you remain pure for a full thousand years, you will bear from me a son who will destroy the three worlds.” Having spoken thus, the sage gently touched Diti with his hand, blessed her, and departed for his own austerities. Delighted, Diti journeyed to the sacred place called Kushaplava and began her severe penance. While she was engaged in her austerities, O best of men, Indra himself, endowed with supreme virtues, came and served her.