Kuśāśva’s son was the great and powerful Somadatta, and from Somadatta was born the renowned Kākutstha. Kākutstha’s own son, a man of remarkable brilliance, now dwells in this very city—Sumati by name—famed throughout the land, unconquerable, and radiant in his virtues. It is by the enduring grace of Ikṣvāku that all the kings of Vaiśālī are known to be long-lived, noble, valiant, and deeply righteous. Here, in this city, Viśvāmitra and his companions resolved to rest for the night. “Tomorrow morning, O best of men,” said Viśvāmitra, “you should go and meet King Janaka.” When Sumati, splendid in his glory, heard of Viśvāmitra’s arrival, he hastened back to the city, his fame preceding him. He came forth with his teachers and relatives, palms joined in reverence, and after inquiring after Viśvāmitra’s well-being, he addressed the sage with deep respect: “Blessed am I, and truly favored, O sage, that you have entered my land. Having seen you, there is none more fortunate than I.” Now, listen to the next part of the glorious Rāmāyaṇa as composed by Vālmīki. After exchanging warm inquiries, when their conversation drew to a close, Sumati turned to the great sage and asked, “May you be blessed—who are these two youths who stand by your side? They are equal to the gods in valor, their gait like mighty elephants and lions, heroic as tigers and bulls. With eyes wide as lotus petals, bearing swords, quivers, and bows, they stand in the fullness of youth, beautiful as the Aśvins themselves. Arrived here by chance, like immortals descended to earth, how have they come on foot, for what purpose, and whose sons are they, O sage? They adorn this land as the moon and sun adorn the sky, alike in stature, bearing, and movement. For what reason have these best of men come upon this difficult path, bearing such excellent weapons? I long to hear the truth.” Hearing these words, Viśvāmitra recounted all that had transpired: their stay at Siddhāśrama, the slaying of the Rākṣasas, and all that had brought them here. King Sumati listened in astonishment to Viśvāmitra’s tale. He then received the two sons of Daśaratha as honored guests, paying them due respect and mighty hospitality. Having thus been welcomed by the noble-minded Sumati and shown the highest honors, the two Raghavas—Rāma and Lakṣmaṇa—spent the night there. The next morning, they set forth on their journey toward Mithilā. As they approached the auspicious city of Janaka, all the sages who accompanied them praised Mithilā, exclaiming, “Excellent, excellent!” and honored the city greatly. Near Mithilā, in a grove, Rāma beheld an ancient, deserted, yet charming hermitage. Curious, he turned to Viśvāmitra and asked, “O venerable one, this place resembles a hermitage, yet it is devoid of ascetics. Whose hermitage was this? I wish to know.” Viśvāmitra, skilled in speech, replied, “Indeed, Rāghava, I shall tell you truly whose hermitage this is, and why it stands deserted, cursed in anger by a great soul. This was once the hermitage of the illustrious Gautama, resplendent as the divine, revered even by the gods. Here, long ago, with his wife Ahalyā, Gautama practiced severe austerities for many thousands of years. “One day, knowing Gautama’s absence, Indra, the lord of Śacī, took on the guise of a sage and approached Ahalyā. He spoke, ‘Those who desire union, O slender-waisted one, wait for the proper season with composure; but I desire union with you now.’ Ahalyā, recognizing Indra in disguise, yet overcome by curiosity for the king of the gods and lacking sound judgment, consented to his wish. “When their union was complete, she said to Indra, ‘I am satisfied, O lord of gods; go quickly from here. By all means, protect both yourself and me from Gautama.’ Indra, laughing, replied, ‘O beautiful-hipped one, I am satisfied and shall depart as I came.’ Thus, after their union, he left the hut in haste, fearful of Gautama’s return. “But as Indra hurried away, he saw the great sage Gautama entering, radiant with the power of his austerities, difficult to approach even for gods and demons. Carrying sacred fuel and kuśa grass, Gautama shone like blazing fire. Indra’s face grew pale with fear upon seeing him. “Perceiving Indra in his own guise, the virtuous sage, though himself righteous, spoke in anger to the wicked one: ‘Assuming my form, you have committed this wrongful act, O wicked-minded one; therefore, you shall become fruitless.’ As Gautama uttered this curse, the testicles of the thousand-eyed Indra immediately fell to the ground. “Having thus cursed Indra, Gautama turned to his wife and pronounced: ‘For many thousands of years you shall dwell here, sustained only by air, fasting, scorched by penance, lying on ashes, unseen by all beings, you shall remain in this hermitage. When Rāma, the son of Daśaratha, comes to this dreadful forest, then you shall be purified. By receiving him as a guest, O misguided one, free from greed and delusion, you shall, with joy, regain your own form and come again to me.’” Thus did Viśvāmitra recount the tale of Gautama’s hermitage, its curse, and the hope of redemption to come.