In a splendid and delightful city, a Yaksha lived with his devoted wife, Samānā, who faithfully shared in his vows. Together, the wise Yaksha and Samānā would sometimes assume the forms of deer, roaming at will through their forest home, reveling in dance and song amid the trees. Despite his deer form, the Yaksha retained his knowledge and awareness, but Ila, the king, was unaware that the cave he encountered was guarded by this very Yaksha. Within the Yaksha’s spacious, jewel-adorned house, King Ila sat, surrounded by his mighty army, having made himself at home there. The Yaksha, angered by this unrighteous intrusion, pondered his plight: with his wife by his side in deer form, he lamented, “I cannot defeat Ila, nor does he yield when asked. My house has been taken—what should I do?” Thus troubled, the Yaksha considered, “How could I slay this intoxicated king in battle?” Seeking a solution, the Yaksha king dispatched his own valiant, bow-armed Yakshas, commanding them, “Defeat King Ila, fierce as an enraged elephant, and drive him from my house as you would from any other place.” Obeying their lord, the Yakshas, their minds aflame with the excitement of battle, confronted Ila, calling out, “Come out from this cave dwelling! If you do not flee in defeat, where will you go?” Provoked by their words, King Ila’s anger flared, and he engaged them in battle. Overcoming Yakshas of many kinds, Ila remained victorious in the house for ten nights, while the lord of the Yakshas, taking the form of a deer, retreated to the forest with his wife. Having lost his home and attendants, the Yaksha entered the forest, filled with worry. He spoke to his beloved Yakshini, now in the form of a doe, “O beloved, this king is troubled, his mind lost in misfortune. How has he come to such calamity? Let us consider a remedy. All the kingdoms of earth’s rulers end in sorrow and ruin. O fair-browed one, let us go to the forest—become a charming doe. There, the king will surely follow, and a woman will arise. You must do this, gentle one, for it is not fitting for me. I am a man, and you, again, are a woman, a Yakshini. Why not go to the excellent forest of Uma? Even if you go, what fault is there? Tell me the truth of this.” He then recalled the sacred story: On the great mountain Himavat, Shiva, accompanied by Uma, once wandered at ease, attended by gods and followers. In private, Parvati had spoken to Shankara, “It is the nature of women that their pleasure must be guarded. By your command, let my dwelling be protected. Grant me, O lord of gods, the forest of Uma as my own, without you, Ganesha, Karttikeya, or Nandi. Whoever enters here, O lord, shall become a woman.” Thus, Shiva, the gracious moon-crested one, decreed that all who entered Uma’s forest would be transformed into women. The Yaksha concluded, “What shall I do, beloved? Afflicted by your love, I cannot enter Uma’s excellent forest.” Hearing her husband’s words, the Yakshini, skilled in assuming forms, transformed herself into a wide-eyed doe and appeared before Ila. The Yaksha, present at that time, saw Ila’s attention fixed on the doe, his mind absorbed in the thrill of the hunt. Alone and mounted on his horse, Ila eagerly pursued the doe, who led him on slowly, drawing the king deeper into the woods. The doe moved gradually toward the sacred forest of Uma, sometimes visible, sometimes vanishing from sight. With restless, fearful eyes, she lured Ila ever closer to Uma’s domain. At last, Ila arrived on horseback and entered the forest of Uma. The Yakshini, recognizing his arrival, abandoned her deer form and, by her power, assumed a divine appearance, standing radiant near an aśoka tree. She clung to a branch, her hand anointed with celestial fragrance, her slender form adorned with heavenly beauty—her purpose now fulfilled. Seeing the weary king, still mounted and gazing after the vanished doe, the Yakshini laughed gently. Remembering her husband’s instructions, she addressed Ila: “Delicate one, riding alone, where do you go? And, dressed as a man, whom do you pursue, O Ila?” Hearing these words, Ila’s anger was stirred. He rebuked the Yakshini and again questioned the whereabouts of the elusive doe. Yet the Yakshini only replied, “O Ila, why do you keep looking at me?” Ila, bow in hand, remained on horseback, his mind unsettled. In his anger, the conqueror of the three worlds displayed his weapon, but the Yakshini spoke again to the great-souled king: “Look behind you, then speak to me, for I am truthful and not false.” Turning, Ila beheld her high breasts between her arms, and confusion overtook him. “What is this that has happened to me?” he wondered, bewildered. “Do you know the truth of this? Tell me everything as it truly is. Who are you? Speak, O virtuous one.” The Yakshini replied, “In the best cave of Himavat dwells my husband, the illustrious lord of the Yakshas; I am his wife, a Yakshini. In whose cave you, O king, have taken comfort, whose Yaksha you slew in ignorance, without battle.