Viśvāmitra, seeing the injustice done to Triśaṅku, became overwhelmed with a burning anger and cried out, “Stop, stop!” In that moment, among the assembled sages, he shone with the majesty of a second Prajāpati, the lord of creation. Consumed by wrath, Viśvāmitra began to create anew: he formed the seven sages who dwell in the southern path, and established a fresh lineage of stars, his fury manifesting in these celestial creations. Turning his gaze to the southern direction, the illustrious sage, surrounded by other ascetics, set forth a new array of stars, his mind still clouded by anger. In his rage, he declared, “I will create another Indra, or else let the world be without an Indra!” And so, he began to fashion new deities as well. Alarmed by the sage’s power and ferocity, all the hosts of sages, gods, and asuras approached the great-souled Viśvāmitra with words of conciliation and respect. They pleaded, “O most fortunate one, this king is afflicted by the curse of his guru. O possessor of ascetic wealth, he does not deserve to ascend to heaven in his body.” Hearing the words of the gods, the eminent sage Kauśika addressed all the deities with a speech of great power: “A promise has been made for the bodily ascent of Triśaṅku, the king; I cannot bring myself to act falsely. Let heaven be eternal for Triśaṅku in his body, and let all these stars, which are mine, remain fixed. As long as the worlds endure, let these all remain; and whatever the gods have done, you ought to approve.” Thus addressed, all the gods replied to the eminent sage, “So be it; let all these remain, and may good fortune be yours.” In the sky, outside the path of Agni, those many stars blazed among the heavenly lights. And so, Triśaṅku, with his head downward, was to remain like an immortal, with these new stars attending him, following the best of kings. In this way, Viśvāmitra achieved his purpose and earned great fame, attaining the heavenly world. All the gods praised the righteous sage for his accomplishment. In the company of sages, mighty ones, and ascetics, the gods gave their assent, saying, “So be it.” Then, O best of men, all the great-souled gods and ascetics departed as they had come, at the conclusion of the sacrifice. Now, listen to the sixty-first sarga in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Bālakāṇḍa. Viśvāmitra, radiant with splendor, watched as the sages began to depart. He addressed all those forest-dwelling ascetics, “A great obstacle has arisen in the southern direction; let us go to another direction and perform our austerities there. In the vast western region, at Puṣkara, we will comfortably practice austerities; that forest is indeed pleasant for asceticism.” Having spoken thus, the great sage, full of immense energy, undertook fierce and unassailable austerities at Puṣkara, subsisting only on roots and fruits. At that very time, the great ruler of Ayodhya, renowned as Ambarīṣa, began preparations for a grand sacrifice. Yet, just as the ritual was about to commence, Indra seized the sacrificial animal. With the animal lost, the presiding priest spoke to the king, “O King, the animal brought for the sacrifice has been lost due to your negligence; O lord of men, faults destroy a king who does not protect. This is a great atonement, O best among men; quickly bring the animal before the ritual proceeds.” Hearing the words of his preceptor, the wise and illustrious king searched for the animal among thousands of cows. He traveled through various regions, towns, forests, and sacred hermitages. Accompanied by his son and wife, the descendant of Raghu came upon Ṛcīka, seated on the Bhṛgu mountain. The king, radiant and humble, bowed to the great sage, whose ascetic power was like a blazing fire, and sought his favor. After courteously inquiring about Ṛcīka’s well-being, Ambarīṣa spoke: “If you are willing, sell your son for a hundred thousand cows. O illustrious Bhārgava, for the sake of the sacrificial animal, I have fulfilled my duty; all regions have been searched, but I cannot find a suitable animal for the sacrifice. You should give me one son for a price.” Ṛcīka, mighty sage that he was, replied, “O best of men, I would never sell my eldest son.” Hearing these words, the mother of those great souls addressed Ambarīṣa, “The venerable Bhārgava has said the eldest son cannot be sold. Know, O lord, that my youngest, Śunaka, is also dear to me; therefore, I will not give you the youngest son, O king. For generally, O best of men, the eldest is beloved to fathers, and the youngest to mothers; thus I will protect the youngest.” When the sage and his wife had spoken, Śunaḥśepa himself, the middle son, addressed them, “Father says the eldest cannot be sold, mother says the youngest; I think the middle one can be sold, prince, so take me.” Then the king of mighty arms, at the end of these words, spoke to the Brahmin, “With crores of gold, heaps of jewels and gems—” and, delighted, Ambarīṣa took Śunaḥśepa in exchange for a hundred thousand cows. The royal sage, full of splendor and fame, quickly mounted Śunaḥśepa onto his chariot, and set out at once.