On the northern mountain, O Rāma, a wave of fear swept through the gods. Sensing the intensity of Viśvāmitra’s growing power, all the gods, together with the hosts of sages, assembled and began to consult with one another. They resolved, “Let Kuśika’s son, Viśvāmitra, attain the title of great sage.” Accepting their wish, the Grandfather of all worlds, Brahmā, spoke sweet words to Viśvāmitra, who was radiant with the fire of his austerities: “Welcome, my child! Your intense penance has pleased me.” Brahmā then granted him greatness, saying, “I bestow upon you the foremost status among sages, O Kauśika.” Hearing these words, Viśvāmitra, hands respectfully joined and head bowed, addressed the Creator: “If you, Lord, declare that I have truly earned the incomparable title of Brahmarṣi by my own virtuous deeds, then I will know I have conquered the senses.” But Brahmā replied, “You have not yet conquered the senses, O tiger among sages. Strive further.” With these words, Brahmā departed for heaven, and the assembled gods returned to their realms. Left alone, the great sage Viśvāmitra was undeterred. With arms raised and unsupported, he began to practice even more severe austerities, subsisting only on air. In the burning heat, he stood amidst five blazing fires; in the pouring rains, he remained exposed beneath the open sky. During the biting cold of winter, he lay in water both day and night. For a thousand years, Viśvāmitra undertook these terrible penances, his resolve unshaken. Yet, as the sage’s power grew, so too did the gods’ anxiety. Distress gripped the heavens, and Indra, together with the Maruts, sought a way to hinder Kauśika. They summoned Rambhā, the beautiful apsaras, and entrusted her with a daunting task: “O Rambhā, this is a great work you must perform for the gods. Go and entice Kauśika, filling him with desire and delusion.” Hearing Indra’s command, the bashful Rambhā, with palms joined in supplication, replied, “O Lord of the gods, this Viśvāmitra is a terrible sage. Without doubt, he will unleash dreadful anger upon me. Therefore, I am afraid; grant me your protection.” Seeing her trembling, Indra reassured her gently: “Do not fear, Rambhā. All will be well. Carry out my command. In the springtime, among the blossoming trees, I will remain nearby with Kāma, and the cuckoo’s song will captivate his heart. You, adorned with all your beauty, must disturb the sage’s austerity.” Encouraged by Indra, Rambhā assumed a form of unsurpassed loveliness and began her task. The sweet voice of the cuckoo filled the air, and Viśvāmitra, his mind momentarily delighted, gazed upon her radiant form. But soon, suspicion arose within him. Sensing the work of Indra behind this enchanting scene, Viśvāmitra was seized by anger. He cursed Rambhā, declaring, “Because you tempt me, who seeks victory over desire and anger, you shall stand as a stone for ten thousand years. Only a brāhmaṇa of great splendor and ascetic power will deliver you when my anger has passed.” With the utterance of this powerful curse, Rambhā was instantly transformed into stone, and Kāma, seeing the sage’s wrath, departed. Yet, though he had repelled the temptation, Viśvāmitra found himself tormented by the anger that had surged within him and the loss of his ascetic power. His senses were not yet fully mastered, and peace eluded him. Disturbed by this setback, Viśvāmitra resolved anew: “I will not yield to anger, nor will I speak a single word. If need be, I shall not breathe for hundreds of years. I will dry up my very self, having conquered my senses. Until I attain the status of a true Brāhmaṇa through my austerities, I will neither breathe nor eat for countless years. While I practice these penances, my bodily form shall not perish.” Thus, for another thousand years, Viśvāmitra undertook an unparalleled vow, his austerities unmatched in all the world, O descendant of Raghu. When this period had passed, Viśvāmitra left the Himalayas and journeyed eastward. There, he commenced even more severe austerities, taking a vow of silence for a thousand years—a penance so difficult that none could compare. When the thousand years were complete, the great sage, now like a piece of wood, shaken by many obstacles, did not permit anger to enter his heart. Having fulfilled his vow, Viśvāmitra began, for the first time in ages, to eat the food he had prepared. At that moment, Indra, in the guise of a Brāhmaṇa, approached and asked for the food. Without hesitation, Viśvāmitra gave all he had to the Brāhmaṇa, keeping nothing for himself. He said not a word, maintaining his vow of silence, and again abstained from breath and sustenance. Thus, O Rāma, did the great Viśvāmitra persevere, his heart set on attaining the highest status through the relentless conquest of his senses and the perfection of his austerities.