The ascetic had spoken words of comfort and virtue, but the householder, weighed down by sorrow, replied with a heavy heart, “What you say, O ascetic, is indeed fitting for the virtuous. Yet, this suffering that has befallen us cannot be dispelled by any human means.” Still, he continued, “I will tell you the truth of the origin of this suffering, whether or not there is any remedy. Listen, good lady, as I reveal it as it truly is. Near this city, at a distance a cow might walk, there dwells a rakshasa named Vaka, in a cave by the Yamuna. In that cave lives this terrible, man-eating rakshasa, Baka by name, wicked of soul, the lowest among the rakshasas. He is the lord of this land and city, mighty in strength, sustained by human flesh, evil-minded, a devourer of men. “For thirteen years now, this powerful rakshasa—who can assume any form at will—has beset our city. Because of him, we fear neither foreign armies nor spirits; it is this cruel, wicked man-eater who preys upon us. The city, bereft of a protector, finds no savior. From his cave, he torments the people without respite. This evil-minded rakshasa seizes women, children, the old and the young; here, with rituals, offerings, and food, he is invoked and worshipped even by the foremost brahmins. Yet, whenever he desires, he slaughters them all. “In desperation, all the brahmins together made an agreement with him: ‘Do not kill out of desire; we will always provide for you.’ They promised, ‘As you wish, here is food with meat—rice mixed with meat and sesame flour, mixed with ghee and various seasonings—soups, sesame balls, puffed rice cakes, and liquor. Cooked and uncooked jars of drink, large pieces of meat from forest animals, buffalo, boar, and bear, as well as jars of ghee and curds, freshly prepared and mixed with sesame flour. From each family, one man, and two black bullocks, you shall receive, if you are not enraged, the portion set aside for the rakshasa. Stay here according to our agreement,’ they requested him. The rakshasa agreed, accepting their words. “In return, he protects us from foreign armies and dangers of the forest. He abides by this agreement, powerful as he is, and takes only the well-defined portion. Each time, they give him one man as his due, but that turn comes only after many years, and it is a fate hard for any man to bear. Those who sometimes try to escape—the rakshasa kills them, along with their wives and children, and devours them. “In the house of Vetrakīya, the king does not uphold justice. That dull-witted man cannot devise any means, even with effort, by which the people might have lasting safety. Surely, we are weak and dwell in the realm of a bad king, so this is the fate we deserve. To whom should brahmins speak, and for whom should they act? They will remain only as long as there are virtues, just as birds stay only where they wish. “One should first seek a king, then a wife, and then wealth; for without a king, how can there be wife or wealth? By gathering friends, one should rescue his kin and sons. By my own effort, I have acquired all three—king, wife, and wealth—yet, having come to this misfortune, we are greatly afflicted. “Now, this calamity, which destroys the family, has come upon us. I must give both food and a man as payment. But I have no wealth to buy a man anywhere, nor can I ever give a friend. I see no other way; therefore, for release from the rakshasa, I am plunged in a great and difficult ocean of sorrow. Today, together with these relatives, I will go to the rakshasa; then that wretch will consume us all together. “O blameless one, I have told you the root of this sorrow, as you asked.” Hearing this, the ascetic replied gently, “You should not be despondent or afraid in any way. A means has been found here for deliverance from the rakshasa. I do not approve that you yourself, with your son, should go there. You have one young son and one daughter devoted to austerity, nor do I approve that your wife or you should go. O Brahman, I have five sons; one of them will go, as an offering for your sake, to that sinful rakshasa.” But the householder protested firmly, “I will never do this, even for the sake of life—depriving a Brahmana guest of his own interests or life. This is not found among those of noble lineage, nor even among the unrighteous—that one would abandon himself or his own son for the sake of a Brahmana. To me, it seems that death of oneself is preferable; whether it is the slaying of a Brahmana or oneself, for me, self-sacrifice is better. “The slaying of a Brahmana is the highest sin; there is no expiation for it, even if done unintentionally, there is still demerit. But I do not desire to kill myself, O virtuous one; if the killing is done by others, there is no sin in me. If, with intention, I were to kill a Brahmana, I see no expiation for it—only cruelty and baseness. Abandoning one who has come to the house, or one who seeks refuge, or killing a supplicant—these are cruel acts, censured by the wise.” Thus, in the shadow of Vaka’s terror, the householder and the ascetic spoke, each upholding the sacred laws of hospitality, duty, and righteousness, even in the face of overwhelming sorrow.