Khasha, the wife of Kaśyapa, gave birth to a son of extraordinary and fearsome appearance. This child emerged with hair covering his entire body, immense limbs, a prominent nose, a massive belly, a large head, and great ears. His hair stood up like blades of munja grass, and his mind was filled with restless desires. His lips were broad like an elephant’s, his thighs long, his jaw powerful as a horse’s, and his fangs protruded. His tongue was red, his eyes wild and matted, his mouth wide, and his nose long. He was a guhyaka—one of the hidden beings—with sharp ears and an exuberant, terrifying joy, and his mouth was enormous. Soon after, Khasha bore a second son, the younger brother. This child was even more peculiar: he had three heads, three legs, three arms, and dark, piercing eyes. His hair bristled upright, his beard was tawny, his jaw hard as stone. Though short in stature, his arms were strong, his body immense, and his strength formidable. His mouth was torn up to the ears, his brows drooped, his nose was broad, and his lips thick. He had eight fangs, two tongues, and ears shaped like conch shells. His eyes were tawny and bulging, his hair matted and tawny as well, his chest broad, his hips absent, his belly thin, his hands clawed, and his neck red—such was the youngest son of Khasha. No sooner were these two born than they grew to their full, imposing size. Their limbs matured instantly, and with bodies fit for enjoyment, they stood ready, surrounding their mother. Of the two, the elder was fierce and immediately seized Khasha, declaring, “Come, mother, I am tormented by hunger and wish to eat.” But the younger brother restrained him again and again, saying, “Let us protect our mother Khasha.” He embraced his brother and freed their mother from harm. At that very moment, their father Kaśyapa appeared. Seeing his sons of such monstrous and terrifying form, he said, “Leave this place.” But at the sight of their father, both sons, strong and swift, clung to their mother’s lap, wailing in their own mighty way. Then the sage Kaśyapa spoke to his wife: “You have spoken with us before; now tell us truly, as you did before, about this transgression. A son follows his maternal uncle, a daughter follows her father; as is the mother’s character, so is the character of the son. Just as water takes on the color of the earth, so too do all creatures reflect the virtues or faults of their mothers, and their reputations arise accordingly.” He continued, “Of all the mothers, Aditi is devoted to righteousness, strength, and character, and is filled with wisdom and virtue. Gandhaśīlā, Diti, and Pravārdhyayana are known for their particular natures; Gītaśīlā and Ariṣṭā, Māyāśīlā—who is remembered as Danu—and Vinatā, the goddess who delights in moving through the sky, all have their unique dispositions. Surabhi is adorned with austerity, Kadrū is marked by anger and unhappiness, and Danu’s offspring favor enmity. You, O blessed goddess, are considered by me to have an angry disposition.” Kaśyapa explained further, “Such natures arise from inherent qualities, from observing others, from actions, from effort, intellect, appearance, strength, patience, and the force of intention. By the influence of rajas, sattva, and tamas, beings take on various forms by nature, and sons inherit the qualities and tendencies of their maternal line.” Having thus spoken, the blessed sage summoned the incomparable Khaśāma, and with gentle words, made Soma fearless. Khasha then described the actions of her two sons—what each did, she explained separately, and the seer interpreted the meaning of their names. “Yakṣa is the root for ‘eating’ and ‘thinning’; since he said ‘yakṣa,’ he shall be called Yakṣa. Rakṣa is the root for ‘protecting’; since he said, ‘Protect my mother, Khasha,’ by that name, your son will be called Rākṣasa.” Seeing the arrangement of their destinies, the lord of creatures, Kaśyapa, provided them with food. Observing their hunger, he granted them a boon: “You two may touch food only at night, and entirely so. Living by eating and roaming at night, and sleeping during the day, you will be stronger at night and rest during the daylight. Protect your mother, and follow righteousness.” Having thus instructed his sons, Kaśyapa vanished from their sight. But as soon as their father departed, the two sons, fierce by nature, acted in opposition. They began to eat flesh and harm living beings. They were great in strength, spirit, and body, difficult to approach, skilled in magic, and visible only when they wished—often hidden from sight. Fierce and able to assume any form at will, their minds were naturally distorted, and they sought food suited to their forms. Gods, divine sages, Gandharvas, Kinnaras, Piśācas, humans, serpents, birds, and animals—all these became objects of desire for the two night-roamers, who sought them everywhere for food. But Indra, the lord of gods, granted them a boon, restraining their power and making them easily slain. The Yakṣa, however, never wandered alone at night for long; seeking food, he moved about making noise. On one such night, he encountered two piśācas—fearsome beings with tawny, bristling hair, round and terrifying eyes—who were man-eaters of great strength, feeding on blood, flesh, and fat. These two were accompanied by two maidens, wishing to please them. The maidens, able to take any form and virtuous in conduct, wandered with the piśācas in search of food. There, they saw a rakṣasa—mighty and able to change form at will. Suddenly, as their paths crossed, the two groups saw each other. Desiring to seize one another and protect themselves, the two piśāca fathers said to the maidens, “Quickly, bring him here!