Triśaṅku, famed as an illustrious scion of the Ikṣvāku dynasty, once conceived a bold and extraordinary desire: “I shall perform a great sacrifice. With my own body, I will attain the supreme realm of the gods.” With this thought, he summoned the venerable sage Vasiṣṭha and respectfully revealed his intention. However, the great-souled Vasiṣṭha told him plainly, “It is impossible.” Rejected by his guru, Triśaṅku’s heart was troubled, yet his resolve did not waver. He set out toward the south, seeking another way to fulfill his wish. There, he approached the sons of Vasiṣṭha—one hundred radiant ascetics, steadfast in their austerities. Triśaṅku, shining with his own inner light, greeted each of these great souls with humility, standing before them with his head bowed. With hands joined in reverence, he pleaded, “I have come to you for shelter, O bestowers of refuge. I have been turned away by the great Vasiṣṭha. Yet I yearn to perform a mighty sacrifice. I honor all of you, sons of my guru, and beseech you, O Brahmins steadfast in austerity, to grant me your permission and officiate for me with full concentration, so that I may ascend to the world of the gods with this very body. Rejected by Vasiṣṭha, I see no other path but through you. Among the Ikṣvākus, the family priest is the highest guide; after him, you all are my divinity.” Now, listen further, O Rāma, to the next part of this tale from the glorious Rāmāyaṇa. Hearing Triśaṅku’s words, which carried the sting of rejection and the heat of longing, the hundred sons of Vasiṣṭha addressed the king with anger: “You have been rejected, O wicked-minded one, by your truthful guru. How could you dare transgress and approach another branch? Among all the Ikṣvākus, the family priest is indeed the highest path; the words of the truth-speaking one cannot be set aside. The venerable Vasiṣṭha has declared your wish impossible—yet you seek to have us assemble the sacrifice? You are childish, O king. Return to your own city. The venerable one is capable of performing the sacrifice for even the three worlds. How could we possibly insult him by acting against his will?” Hearing their stern rebuke, Triśaṅku spoke once more, his voice heavy with sorrow: “I have been rejected by the venerable one, and now by you, his sons. I must seek another way. Farewell, O ascetics.” But these words, filled with despair and defiance, angered the sons of Vasiṣṭha further. In their wrath, they uttered a dreadful curse: “You shall become a Caṇḍāla!” Having pronounced this fate, the great ascetics returned to their hermitages. As night passed, the curse took effect. Triśaṅku was transformed—his skin darkened, his hair grew wild, and he donned garments of rags, smeared with ashes and adorned with iron ornaments. Seeing their king thus changed into a Caṇḍāla, his ministers and the people of the city fled in fear. Alone, yet possessed of supreme self-mastery, Triśaṅku wandered on, burning with anguish day and night. Eventually, he approached the sage Viśvāmitra, the great ascetic. Seeing the king in such a pitiable form, Viśvāmitra’s heart was moved with compassion. The sage, supremely righteous, addressed him gently: “May it be well with you. For what purpose have you come, O mighty prince? I see you have become a Caṇḍāla by the force of a curse.” With hands joined, Triśaṅku replied, his voice steady despite his suffering: “I have been rejected by my guru and by his sons. My desire has been thwarted, and I find only its opposite. O gentle one, grant that I may ascend to heaven with my body. Though I have performed a hundred sacrifices, I have not attained the fruit. I have never spoken falsehood, nor will I ever. Even in adversity, I have upheld the Kṣatriya’s duty; I have performed many sacrifices and protected my people with righteousness. The elders have been pleased by my conduct, yet they remain unsatisfied. O best of sages, I see now that fate is supreme, and human effort is powerless. Everything is overcome by fate; fate is the highest path. Yet I seek your favor, O blessed one—please act for me, whose actions are blocked by fate. I have no other refuge, no other shelter. With your own power, turn aside fate.” Now, listen further, for the next part of this tale from the glorious Rāmāyaṇa. Moved by compassion, the sage Viśvāmitra, son of Kuśika, spoke sweet words to the king, who had truly become a Caṇḍāla: “O Ikṣvāku, welcome, my child. I know you are truly righteous. I will grant you refuge. Do not fear, O foremost of kings.