With his heart scorched by sorrow and the sting of past defeat, the king sighed repeatedly, his mind troubled and resentful toward the great-souled one who had bested him. Departing toward the southern direction with his queen, he left behind the world he knew. Meanwhile, the illustrious sage Viśvāmitra, filled with determination, began to undertake the most severe austerities. Viśvāmitra sustained himself on fruits and roots alone, maintaining strict self-control and practicing supreme penance. In time, sons were born to him—Haviṣpanda, Madhuṣpanda, and Dṛḍhanetra, a mighty chariot-warrior—all devoted to truth and righteousness. When a thousand years of such asceticism had passed, Brahmā, the grandsire of the worlds, appeared before Viśvāmitra and addressed him with sweet words: “O son of Kuśika, through your great austerity, you have conquered the realms of royal sages. By this penance, we acknowledge you as a royal sage.” Having spoken thus, Brahmā, radiant and revered, departed with the assembly of gods, returning to his celestial abode. Viśvāmitra, upon hearing these words, felt a wave of modest disappointment. Overcome by sorrow and anger, he lamented, “Despite my immense austerity, they recognize me only as a royal sage! All the gods and sages—what fruit is there in this penance?” Thus resolved, the great ascetic, steadfast in righteousness, continued his practice of austerity. At this same time, Triśaṅku, renowned as the enhancer of the Ikṣvāku lineage and a master of his senses, conceived a bold thought: “I shall perform a sacrifice and, with my own body, attain the supreme realm of the gods.” Desiring to fulfill this resolve, he summoned the venerable sage Vasiṣṭha and revealed his intention. But Vasiṣṭha, great-souled and wise, replied, “It is impossible.” Rejected, Triśaṅku journeyed southward, seeking another way. Determined, the king approached the sons of Vasiṣṭha, who were engaged in deep austerity. There, Triśaṅku beheld a hundred radiant sons of the sage, steadfast in penance. Approaching them with humility, he greeted each one, standing before them with bowed head and joined palms. With reverence, he spoke: “I have come to you for refuge, O bestowers of shelter. Rejected by the great Vasiṣṭha, I seek your favor to perform a great sacrifice. I honor you all and beseech you, O steadfast Brahmins, to officiate for me so that I may reach the world of the gods with my body. Rejected by my guru, I see no other path but through you, the sons of my preceptor. Among the Ikṣvākus, the family priest is the highest path; after him, you are my divinity.” Now, O Rāma, listen to what transpired next. Having heard Triśaṅku’s plea, the hundred sons of Vasiṣṭha responded with anger: “You have been rejected by your truthful guru—how could you transgress and approach another branch? Among the Ikṣvākus, the family priest is indeed the highest guide, and the words of the truth-speaking one must not be defied. Our venerable father has declared your request impossible, yet you persist in seeking another way. Childish are your actions, O king. Return to your city, for our father is capable of performing sacrifices even for the three worlds. How could we ever insult him?” Hearing their words, Triśaṅku replied, “Rejected by the venerable one and by you, his sons, I shall seek another path. Farewell, O ascetics.” But the sons of Vasiṣṭha, enraged by his persistence, pronounced a dreadful curse: “You shall become a Caṇḍāla!” Having uttered this curse, they returned to their hermitages. When night had passed, Triśaṅku was transformed. He became a Caṇḍāla—his skin dark, his garments tattered and dark, his hair disheveled. He wore garlands of rags, was smeared with ashes, and adorned himself with iron ornaments. Seeing their king in such a form, all his ministers and the townspeople fled in fear, leaving him alone. Yet Triśaṅku, burning with inner fire day and night, pressed on with supreme self-control and approached the great ascetic Viśvāmitra. Upon seeing the king transformed in this dreadful way, Viśvāmitra was moved to deep compassion. The sage, supremely righteous and tender-hearted, spoke: “May it be well with you. For what purpose have you come, O mighty prince? O lord of Ayodhya, you have become a Caṇḍāla by the curse of the sage’s sons.