There were two beings, immense in strength and spirit, whose bodies were formidable and whose presence was so overwhelming that few could approach them. Masters of magical arts, they could appear or vanish at will, revealing themselves only when they so desired. These two, fierce and able to assume any form, were naturally twisted in mind, and their power grew when they found food suited to their ever-changing forms. Their hunger knew no bounds; gods, divine sages, Gandharvas, Kinnaras, Piśācas, humans, serpents, birds, and animals—all living creatures—were sought by these night-roaming beings as sustenance. Yet, by the boon of Indra, their power was checked: they were made easily slain and restrained in their predations. One yaksha, however, never wandered alone at night for long. Driven by hunger, he moved about, making loud noises to announce his presence. During his search, he encountered two fearsome piśāchas. Their eyes were tawny and round, their hair bristled, and their appearance was utterly terrifying. These man-eaters, strong and dreadful, delighted in blood, flesh, and fat, and were accompanied by two maidens. The maidens, virtuous in conduct and able to take any form, wandered with them in search of food. As fate would have it, they came upon a rakshasa, mighty and capable of changing form at will. Suddenly, their paths crossed, and all saw one another. Tension filled the air as the two fathers, seeking both to seize the stranger and to protect themselves, commanded the maidens, “Quickly, bring him here!” The maidens, undaunted, subdued the struggling rakshasa and brought him before their fathers, holding him firmly by both hands. They questioned him: “Who are you? Whose are you?” He revealed his story and deeds to them. Having heard his account, the two foremost rakshasas, pleased with his actions, gave him their sons, Aja and Shanda. The maidens, too, offered their own sons, forging a bond between them. Thus, through a piśācha marriage, Buddhavahana received Sudati, and Aja and Khanda were granted wealth at that time. Khanda introduced his daughter: “This is my daughter Alomika, called Brahmadhana, who lives on the wealth of brahma-beings.” The other said, “This is my daughter Jantudhana, beautiful in every limb; her sustenance is the wealth of creatures.” Thus did they declare their riches. Jantudhana, the maiden covered in hair, and Brahmadhana, who was earless and hairless, were so named for their unique features. Both bore daughters, and so these two piśācha maidens produced two couples. Listen now to the account of their offspring. Their sons were Heti, Praheti, Ugra, Paurusheya, Vadha, Visphurji, Vata, Apo, Vyaghra, and Sarpa—ten in all, born of the yatudhana rakshasas. These sons became attendants of the sun, wandering with him across the heavens. Heti’s son was Lankhu, who himself had two sons. Praheti’s sons were Malyavan and Sumali, and Praheti’s illustrious son was Puloma. Vadha’s son was Nikumbha, a fierce brahmarakshasa; Vata’s son was Viraga, and Apo’s son was Jambuka. The tiger’s son, Nirānanda, became a bringer of obstacles to living beings. All these were fierce rakshasas. With the yatudhanas described, attention turns to the Brahmadhanas. Their father was Yajña, their well-being was Dhuni, Brahmā was sinful, and Yajñahā was the slayer of sacrifice. Among them were Svākoṭaka, Kali, Sarpa, and the ten sons of Brahmadhana. Their sisters, the Brahmarākṣasīs, were exceedingly terrible. From this lineage came Raktakarṇā, Mahājihvā, Akṣayā, and Upahāriṇī—Brahmarākṣasas who walked the earth. Most of these made their abode in the Śleṣmātaka trees. Thus were the rakshasas described. Now, hear of the Yaksha. A Yaksha became enamored of the Apsaras named Kratusthalī, who was radiant in every way. Longing for her, he wandered in Nandana, pondering how he might win her. There, he saw Vaibhrāja, Surabhi, and Citraratha seated with the Apsarases, but he found no way to attain his desire. Distraught, he lamented, “All beings shrink away from me in fear. How could I ever hope to win this beautiful woman?” At last, inspiration struck. The Yaksha assumed the form of a noble Gandharva. In this guise, he entered the midst of the Apsarases and seized Kratusthalī. Mistaking him for Suruci, she accepted him in her heart. United before the assembly of Apsarases, she bore him a son, radiant and marked with excellence. The child spoke to his father, declaring, “I am a king.” His father reassured him, “Since you are born here, you need not fear.” It is said that a child resembles the mother in form and the father in vigor. With the birth of his son, the Yaksha joyfully returned to his own form. The mighty Yakshas and Rakshasas are known to resume their true nature when dying, sleeping, angry, frightened, or delighted. Smiling, the Guhyaka invited the Apsaras: “Come to my house, O lovely-hipped one, together with your son, O beautiful woman.” But when she saw him in his true form, the Apsarases, terrified and angry, fled in confusion. As they departed, the son followed his mother, comforting her with gentle words. He led her among the Gandharvas and Apsarases, and then, having fulfilled his task, he turned back.