With unwavering dedication, the sages performed all the sacrificial rites exactly as prescribed by tradition and scripture. Many days and nights passed in this way, until at last the great ascetic Viśvāmitra himself undertook the solemn invocation, summoning the gods to receive their shares of the sacrifice. Yet, to everyone’s astonishment, not a single deity appeared to claim their portion. Seeing this, Viśvāmitra, whose austerities were renowned throughout the worlds, was seized by a fierce anger. Grasping the sacrificial ladle, his eyes blazing, he turned to King Triśaṅku and declared, “Witness now the power of my penance, O king. By the strength of my own austerity, I shall send you to heaven in your very body. Ascend, O king, in this mortal frame—a feat rarely achieved. Surely, my tapas has borne some fruit.” No sooner had Viśvāmitra spoken than Triśaṅku, still in his human body, began to rise towards the heavens before the eyes of all the assembled sages. But as he approached the celestial realm, Indra, king of the gods, and the divine hosts confronted him. “Triśaṅku, return to earth! You have not earned a place in heaven,” they thundered. “Cursed by your own spiritual teacher, you fool, fall headlong to earth!” At Indra’s command, Triśaṅku was hurled downwards, plummeting headfirst from the sky. Desperate, Triśaṅku cried out, “Save me!” calling upon Viśvāmitra, the sage of immense ascetic power. Hearing his plea, Viśvāmitra’s anger blazed hotter still. “Stop! Stop!” he commanded, and his presence among the sages shone like that of Prajāpati himself. Overwhelmed by wrath, Viśvāmitra began to create anew. He fashioned the seven great sages to dwell along the southern path and brought forth an entirely new lineage of stars. Turning southward, surrounded by other sages, he filled the southern sky with these new celestial bodies, his mind still clouded by anger. In his fury, he proclaimed, “If need be, I will create another Indra, or let the world be without an Indra altogether!” and he set about creating new deities as well. Alarmed by these powerful acts, all the sages, gods, and asuras gathered together. With utmost respect and conciliatory words, they approached the great Viśvāmitra. “O most fortunate one,” they pleaded, “this king is suffering under his guru’s curse. O possessor of immense ascetic power, he does not deserve to ascend to heaven in his mortal body.” Upon hearing their words, Viśvāmitra, the illustrious Kauśika, replied with great strength of spirit: “I have given my word that Triśaṅku would ascend bodily to heaven. I cannot go back on my promise.” He continued, “Let heaven be eternal for Triśaṅku in his body, and let these stars of mine remain fixed in the sky. As long as the worlds endure, let all these remain. And whatever the gods have done, let it be approved.” The gods replied, “So be it. Let all these remain as you have said, and may good fortune attend you.” So it was that, outside the path of Agni, those many stars blazed among the heavenly lights. Triśaṅku, with his head downward, was established in the sky like an immortal, and the stars followed him, the best of kings. Thus, Viśvāmitra achieved his purpose and gained lasting fame, his will accomplished in the heavenly world. The gods themselves praised his righteousness. In the assembly of sages, ascetics, and mighty beings, the gods said, “So be it.” Then, as the great sacrifice concluded, all the gods and ascetics departed as they had come. Now begins the sixty-first sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Bālakāṇḍa. Viśvāmitra, radiant with ascetic splendor, saw the assembled sages preparing to set forth. He addressed them with gravity, “A great obstacle has arisen in the southern direction. Let us journey elsewhere to continue our austerities.” He suggested, “In the vast western region, at Puṣkara, we shall practice our penances in comfort. That forest is truly pleasant for ascetic life.” Thus resolved, the great sage, brimming with energy, led the company to Puṣkara, where he undertook fierce and unassailable austerities, sustaining himself on roots and fruits alone. At that very time, Ambarīṣa, the illustrious ruler of Ayodhya, was preparing to perform a great sacrifice. Yet, as he readied himself, Indra seized the sacrificial animal. When the animal was found missing, the priest turned to the king and said, “O King, the animal for sacrifice has been lost due to your negligence. Remember, O lord of men, that faults destroy a king who does not protect what is his. This is a great transgression. Quickly, bring the sacrificial animal before the ritual proceeds further.” Hearing his preceptor’s words, the wise and illustrious king searched among thousands of cows, journeying through many lands, towns, forests, and sacred hermitages. Accompanied by his son and wife, the descendant of Raghu at last came upon the great sage Ṛcīka, seated on the Bhṛgu mountain. Bowing low and seeking the sage’s favor, the king, radiant as ever, inquired after Ṛcīka’s well-being. Then, with humility, he spoke: “O illustrious Bhārgava, if you are willing, sell me your son for a hundred thousand cows. For the sake of the sacrificial animal, I have performed my duty and searched every region, yet I have not found a suitable animal for the sacrifice.