The noble king Triśaṅku, longing to ascend to heaven in his mortal body, was held back by the curse of his guru. The gods, seeing his plight, spoke to the sage Kauśika—Viśvāmitra—revealing that the king, though fortunate, was unworthy of entering heaven bodily due to the curse. Hearing their words, Viśvāmitra, steadfast and powerful, addressed the gods with unwavering resolve. He declared, “A promise has been made for Triśaṅku’s bodily ascent; I cannot act falsely.” With his mighty speech, Viśvāmitra proclaimed that heaven should be eternal for Triśaṅku in his body, and that the stars belonging to him would remain fixed in the sky. He further decreed that these stars and Triśaṅku’s place would endure as long as the worlds themselves, and urged the gods to accept what had been done. The gods, hearing Viśvāmitra’s words, consented: “So be it; let all these remain, and may good fortune be yours.” Thus, in the sky outside the path of Agni, the many stars blazed brightly among the celestial lights. Triśaṅku, head downward, was established as an immortal, and the stars followed him, honoring the best of kings. Having achieved his purpose and fame, Viśvāmitra was lauded by all the gods for his righteousness and determination. When the sacrifice concluded, the gods, sages, and ascetics—mighty and great-souled—departed as they had come, leaving Viśvāmitra amidst his glory. Now begins the sixty-first sarga of the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, in the Bālakāṇḍa. Viśvāmitra, radiant and wise, saw the sages departing and addressed the forest-dwelling ascetics. He spoke, “A great obstacle has arisen in the southern direction; let us seek another region for our austerities.” He suggested the vast western region, Puṣkara, a forest pleasant for ascetic practice. Thus, the great sage, full of energy, led the ascetics to Puṣkara, where he undertook fierce and unassailable austerities, subsisting only on roots and fruits. At that very time, Ambarīṣa, the illustrious king of Ayodhya, prepared to perform a grand sacrifice. But Indra, king of the gods, seized the sacrificial animal. When the animal was lost, the priest admonished the king, saying that negligence had caused the loss and that faults destroy a king who fails to protect. He urged Ambarīṣa to quickly bring a replacement animal before the ritual could proceed. Heeding his preceptor’s words, Ambarīṣa searched among thousands of cows and through many regions, towns, forests, and hermitages. Accompanied by his son and wife, he came upon the sage Ṛcīka seated on Bhṛgu mountain. After bowing respectfully and winning the sage’s favor, Ambarīṣa inquired after his well-being and made a request: “If you are willing, sell your son for a hundred thousand cows. I have searched all regions and cannot find a suitable animal for the sacrifice.” Ṛcīka replied, “O best of men, I would never sell my eldest son.” Hearing this, the mother of those noble sons spoke, “Know, O king, that my youngest, Śunaka, is dear to me; I will not give you the youngest. Generally, the eldest is beloved to fathers, the youngest to mothers; thus I will protect the youngest.” Then, their middle son, Śunaḥśepa, addressed them, “Father says the eldest cannot be sold, mother says the youngest; I believe the middle one can be sold, so take me, prince.” Ambarīṣa, pleased, offered immense wealth—crores of gold, heaps of jewels and gems—in exchange. Thus, he took Śunaḥśepa for a hundred thousand cows and departed, mounting him onto his chariot. Now begins the sixty-second sarga. Having taken Śunaḥśepa, Ambarīṣa, the illustrious king, rested at Puṣkara at midday. There, Śunaḥśepa, weary and afflicted, came to the sacred Puṣkara and saw his maternal uncle, Viśvāmitra, engaged in austerities with the sages. Overcome by exhaustion and thirst, his face downcast, he fell into Viśvāmitra’s lap and spoke, his voice heavy with sorrow: “I have no mother, no father, nor any relatives or kin.” Thus unfolds the tale, where the journey of kings and sages intertwines with sacrifice, promise, and the enduring power of righteousness.