As Viśvāmitra rested at the sacred Puṣkara, the renowned and illustrious Śunaḥśepa arrived, seeking solace. Weary and afflicted, his face drawn from thirst and exhaustion, Śunaḥśepa beheld his maternal uncle, Viśvāmitra, immersed in deep austerities among the sages. Overcome, the boy fell into the sage’s lap and spoke from his heart: “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. 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 earnest words, the great ascetic Viśvāmitra comforted Śunaḥśepa in many ways. Then, turning to his own sons, Viśvāmitra spoke: “For the sake of whom fathers desire sons, wishing for good, for the benefit of 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 his 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’s eyes reddened with anger. He spoke sternly: “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 upon his sons, Viśvāmitra turned to the distressed Śunaḥśepa, ensuring his protection and well-being. He instructed: “Bound with sacred cords, adorned with red garlands and unguents, approach the Viṣṇu-post and, with words, invoke the fire. And, O young sage, you should sing these two divine verses at the sacrifice of Ambarīṣa; then you will attain success.” Śunaḥśepa carefully learned the two verses and quickly approached Ambarīṣa, that lion among kings. He addressed him: “O lion among kings, great in wisdom, let us go quickly; O king of kings, end your vow and proclaim the completion of the rite.” Hearing this, the king, filled with joy, swiftly went to the sacrificial enclosure. With the approval of the officiating priests, the king marked the victim with a sacred sign and bound him to the post, clothed in red garments. Thus bound, Śunaḥśepa praised Indra and Indra’s younger brother with excellent words, as was proper. Indra, the thousand-eyed, pleased by the secret hymn of praise, granted long life to Śunaḥśepa. The king, best of men, completed the sacrifice and obtained abundant fruit by Indra’s grace. Viśvāmitra, righteous-souled and of great austerity, then performed further penance at Puṣkara for another hundred years. Now, hear the sixty-third chapter in the glorious Vālmīki Rāmāyaṇa, Bālakāṇḍa. When the thousand years were complete, all the gods approached the great sage, who had bathed after his vow, wishing to grant the fruit of his austerity. Brahmā, of immense brilliance, spoke: “You are a sage, blessed one, by your own virtuous deeds.” Having spoken thus, Brahmā returned to heaven, and Viśvāmitra, of great energy, undertook even greater austerity. After a long time, Menakā, foremost of apsarases, came to bathe at Puṣkara. The mighty and radiant son of Kuśika, Viśvāmitra, beheld Menakā’s incomparable beauty, like lightning in a cloud. Overcome by desire, the sage addressed her: “Welcome, O apsaras! Please stay here in my hermitage. Grant me your favor, blessed one, for I am bewildered by passion.” Menakā, thus spoken to, took up residence there. A great obstacle to his austerity befell Viśvāmitra while she dwelt there, for five years and five more. Those years passed pleasantly in the serene hermitage. Then, when that time had elapsed, Viśvāmitra became as if ashamed, absorbed in anxiety and sorrow. A thought arose in the sage, filled with indignation: “This is the work of all the gods, a great theft of my austerity; ten years have passed in the span of day and night. This obstacle has arisen for me, overwhelmed by desire and passion.” The eminent sage sighed, afflicted by remorse.