At that very time, the renowned king of Ayodhya, Ambarīṣa, began making preparations to perform a great sacrifice. Yet, just as the rituals were about to commence, Indra, the king of the gods, seized the sacrificial animal. When the animal was found to be missing, the royal priest turned to King Ambarīṣa and spoke gravely: “O King, the animal you brought for the sacrifice has been lost due to your negligence. O lord of men, know that faults such as these destroy a king who does not protect what is entrusted to him.” The priest continued, “There is a great atonement for this, O best among men. Quickly, bring another animal before the ritual proceeds further.” Hearing these words, the wise and illustrious king at once set about searching for a suitable replacement. He looked among thousands of cows, seeking one that could serve as the sacrificial animal. His search carried him far and wide—across regions, towns, forests, and sacred hermitages. Accompanied by his son and wife, the descendant of Raghu journeyed on, until he came upon the sage Ṛcīka, seated in deep meditation atop the Bhṛgu mountain. Approaching the sage, the radiant king bowed low and, after winning the favor of that great ascetic, addressed him respectfully. Having inquired about Ṛcīka’s well-being, Ambarīṣa said, “If you are willing, sell me your son for a hundred thousand cows.” He explained his plight: “O illustrious Bhārgava, for the sake of the sacrificial animal, I have done all I could. I have searched every region but cannot find a suitable animal for the sacrifice. Please, give me one of your sons for a price.” To this, the mighty Ṛcīka replied, “O best of men, I would never sell my eldest son.” Hearing her husband’s words, the mother of those noble sons addressed Ambarīṣa: “The venerable Bhārgava has said the eldest son cannot be sold. Know, O lord, that my youngest, Śunaka, is equally dear to me, and 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 both parents had spoken, their middle son, Śunaḥśepa, addressed them himself: “Father says the eldest cannot be sold, mother says the youngest; I think the middle one can be sold, prince, so take me.” At these words, the mighty-armed king turned to the sage and offered crores of gold, heaps of jewels, and a hundred thousand cows in exchange for Śunaḥśepa. Delighted, the king accepted Śunaḥśepa and, radiant with joy, placed him onto his chariot and departed at once. Traveling with Śunaḥśepa, the illustrious king rested at midday in the sacred region of Puṣkara. There, Śunaḥśepa, weary and afflicted by thirst and exhaustion, came upon the sage Viśvāmitra—his own maternal uncle—engaged in austerities among other sages. With a heavy heart, Śunaḥśepa fell into Viśvāmitra’s lap and spoke: “I have no mother, no father, nor any relatives or kin. O gentle one, foremost of sages, you ought to protect me by righteousness. For you, best of men, are the refuge and creator of all.” He pleaded further, “Let the king accomplish his purpose; let me have long and unending life. Having performed supreme austerity, may I attain the heavenly world. Be my protector, for I am without protector. With a benevolent heart, like a father to his son, O righteous one, you ought to save me from sin.” Hearing these heartfelt words, the great ascetic Viśvāmitra comforted Śunaḥśepa in many ways. Then, turning to his own sons, he addressed them: “For the sake of whom fathers desire sons, wishing for good and for benefit in the next world—now is that time come. This boy, son of a sage, seeks refuge with me. My sons, do what is pleasing by giving him your very life. All of you, who have performed virtuous deeds and are devoted to righteousness, become the sacrificial victim for the king and satisfy the fire. Śunaḥśepa will have a protector, the sacrifice will proceed without hindrance, the gods will be gratified, and my word will be fulfilled.” But Viśvāmitra’s sons, beginning with Madhucchandā, replied with pride and tears, “How can you abandon your own sons and save another’s child, O lord? We see this as improper, like eating the flesh of a dog.” Hearing these words, Viśvāmitra, his eyes reddened with anger, rebuked them: “This has been spoken without fear, yet it is condemned even by righteousness. Having disregarded my words, it is harsh and hair-raising. All of you, like the descendants of Vasiṣṭha, will eat dog meat by birth; for a full thousand years you shall remain on earth.” Having pronounced this curse, the great sage turned his attention to the distressed Śunaḥśepa, assuring him of his protection and well-being. He instructed him to be bound with sacred cords, adorned with red garlands and unguents, to approach the Viṣṇu-post, and to invoke the fire with sacred words—thus preparing him for the fulfillment of the great sacrifice.