A steadfast ascetic woman stood firm, her steps unwavering and her heart pure. The winds, restless and powerful, sought to disturb her, filling the air with the sounds issuing from their mouths. They rushed toward her, filling her mouth and declaring, “We will be born, we will exist, and soon we will be swallowed by her—these pollen grains of flowers.” Yet, though the dust and pollen driven by the winds seemed to enter her mouth, she did not swallow them. Her resolve was strong; her inner strength prevented even the lightest things from prevailing over her. The winds watched in astonishment. Even when covered with mud and inundated by great waters, she remained unmoved. The winds, more amazed than at uprooting Mount Meru itself, saw that she would not take in even the pollen that reached her lips. She endured the tumult of strong winds, flashes of lightning, the tossing of clouds, and the roar of thunderclouds, yet her resolve remained unshaken. For a thousand years, she stood steadfast, absorbed in deep meditation, unmoved as a stone slab. As time passed and her outward movements ceased, she turned her contemplation inward, seeking her own true nature and consciousness. The light of knowledge arose within her, illuminating all that is high and low. She became supremely pure, like a needle of consciousness, purified by her austerity. Her intellect awakened to what is to be known, and as her misdeeds were exhausted by the intensity of her penance, the needle pointed to her own essence. For thousands of years, she performed severe austerity, facing the seven great worlds and generating intense heat. The fierceness of her austerity set the mountain Himavat ablaze, as if it were the fire at the end of an age, and the world itself seemed to burn. Indra, witnessing the world overwhelmed by this ascetic heat, approached the sage Narada and asked whose penance was causing such upheaval. Narada replied, “For seven thousand years, Sūcī, the long-enduring ascetic, has been known to me. Because of her, this world is ablaze. Serpents hiss, mountains split, celestial beings fall, clouds and oceans depart; the directions and the sun become parched and sullied—O Indra, behold how austerity, through illusion, brings destruction.” Having heard the entire account of Karkati and the bitter events that followed, Indra’s curiosity was rekindled. He questioned Narada once again: “O sage, by means of austerity, Karkati attained the state of the needle-demon. Who were the beings she consumed in the womb of the Himalayas?” Narada explained: The vital needle, transformed into a demoness, entered the tender body of a parrot, her own support being an iron needle, black in color. Abandoning that form, she took refuge in the chariot of air and space, entering bodies through the path of the vital wind. Within all the channels, tendons, nerves, fat, and blood, she concealed herself like a bird hiding in crevices, her limbs impure. Wherever the wind did not move in a particular channel, she entered there, establishing sharp pain like the fierce root of a banyan tree. Through those bodies and their senses, and through many others, she consumed human flesh and other suitable foods. When asleep, she stirred slightly, her garland askew, appearing as a young maiden with tender cheeks pressed against her lover’s chest. She wandered, free from sorrow, like a bird along forest paths, amidst clouds of flowers rising from wish-fulfilling trees, doubled in splendor. She drank the fragrant nectar of pollen from mandara blossoms in the celestial mountain forests, hidden among swarms of bees. She chewed on corpses’ limbs, like an aged vulture proud of its strength, or like a sword-staff in battle, devouring the bodies of heroes with speed. In all the channels and sheaths of the body, like the wind’s trace in every direction, she rose and fell, like a crow along the pathways of the sky. Within the cosmic Self, the breaths vibrate in the sky, carried by the wind’s current; in the same way, she vibrated in every bodily dwelling. She wandered in the bodies of all living beings, distorted by the power of consciousness, like a housewife illuminating her own home with the light of a lamp. She moved within the blood like the power of fluid in water; in the oceans, like the motion of whirlpools; in the belly, she writhed and turned. Just as the fragrance of camphor lies dormant within pure substances, or nectar is hidden within the wind’s power, so too is the innate scent tasted within by the one who possesses it. The inner forest of trees, bushes, and herbs is enjoyed by the wind residing in the heart; yet, when consumed, they become powerless, and when struck, they are merely observed. A desire arose: “May I become a needle made of living consciousness.” Thus, the mental needle was formed—conscious, pure, and sharp. With that invisible, exceedingly swift, wind-like needle whose abode is air, movement is made in all directions, yet it remains concealed. Drinking, eating, playing, laughing, giving, taking, dancing, singing, and staying awake—all these are performed by countless embodied beings. By the invisible embodied one, whose body is mind and wind, all acts are accomplished in the form of space; there is nothing that is not done by it. By this intoxicated, powerless one, delighting in sweet tastes, wandering is done, taking support of the play of children, like a female elephant in heat. In rivers that are impure, diminished, or agitated by waves, this intoxicated one, whose speed brings about faintness, becomes like a crocodile. Unable to restrain the fat and flesh within the heart, she suffers for a long time, like one whose mind is weakened by abundance of wealth and old age. Within her heart, elephants, camels, deer, horses, lions, and others dance, just as a dancer moves her limbs for a long time on the stage.