Once, there was a being who had been lost in delusion, thinking herself to be nothing more than the mind, entangled in the body and its attachments. But through her own awareness, she stilled these illusions, and in that clarity, all distinctions faded—the seer and the seen, body and non-body, dissolved into silence. Established in this profound stillness, she heard a celestial voice carried by the wind, which, pleased with her renunciation of her former demonic nature, addressed her from the sky: “Go, Karkati, and awaken the deluded with knowledge, for it is the very nature of the great to rescue the ignorant from darkness. Yet, if someone, even after your instruction, does not attain understanding, know that such a one is destined for his own destruction, and it is proper for you to consume him.” Hearing these words, Karkati replied humbly, “I am favored by your grace.” Then, rising from the mountain peak, she slowly and purposefully descended. Swiftly she crossed the uplands and came to the edge of a valley, entering the settlement of the Kirata people at the foot of the mountain. There she beheld a land of abundance: food and livestock, crowds of people, wealth, crops, medicinal herbs, meats, endless roots, drinks, grains, deer, insects, birds, and so much more. It was a beautiful place, touched by the snowy mountain’s feet, resembling a moving, melting mountain of collyrium. When night fell, Karkati, the night-stalker, ventured forth along a path thick with deep, impenetrable darkness. That night in the Kirata settlement was so utterly dark that it seemed lumps of darkness could be grasped by hand. The sky was shrouded in thick clouds, the moon hidden, and the darkness resembled a mass of tamala forests, swirling as if smeared with lampblack. With the lightness of a creeper, Karkati moved slowly through the dark alleys of the village, taking the form of a young woman, slipping within the narrow courtyards of houses. In those courtyards, she was like a living mass of darkness, bending the lamps aside, yet appearing as the line of lamp-flames escaping through a keyhole. She danced like the companion of a crab, a wild female spirit, and stood in wooden silence like a drunken ghoul or goblin. She was the host of deep sleep and death, stealing away the dense fog; at the same time, she was the gentle stirring of the wind, the autumnal frost and dew. In the lakes, she was the rippling water disturbed by cranes, frogs, and little waves; in the inner chambers, she was the faces of women and men engaged in playful love. In the wilderness, she was the blazing fire with locks of flame; in the fields, she was the stones warmed and ripened by the sprinkling of water. In the sky, she was the unseen movement of the revolving stars; in the forests, she was the scattering of flowers and fruits by the wind. In the chasms, she was the echoing cry of the wind swallowed by the owl; on the outskirts of villages beset by thieves, she was the harsh wailing of the villagers. In the villages, the people were insentient; in the city, the citizens slept; in the forests, the winds wandered; in the nests, the birds were motionless. In caves, lions slept in groups; in thickets, the deer breathed quietly; in the sky, clouds drifted; in the wilderness, silence reigned. She was like the darkness at the center of a cloud of soot, resembling the hollow of a glass mountain; dense as a lump of mud, her form was blind and could be cut by a sword. Agitated by the wind of dissolution, she was restless like a mountain of soot, thick as the belly of a muddy mountain in the vast ocean of mire. She was rough as millions of embers, yet beautiful in the state of deep sleep—a fortress of ignorance and sleep, with the hue of a bee’s back. On that dreadful night, among the tribes of hunters, the king and his minister, at that very moment, departed from the city of sleeping citizens. The wise-hearted king, Vikrama, entered the perilous forest with heroic resolve. In the forest, Karkati saw the two—king and minister—wandering with steadfast courage, seeking the realm of the vetalas. She thought to herself, “Today I have found food to eat. These two are foolish, ignorant of the Self; their bodies are truly a burden to them. In this world and the next, the fool lives only for destruction and suffering. Such a one should be destroyed with effort, for there is no reason to preserve what is harmful. For the one who does not see his own Self, death is life; his rise comes through death, since it is the cause of the accumulation of evil. At the dawn of creation, the lotus-born one established the rule: the ignorant self is for violent consumption, not for one who knows the Self.” “Therefore, today these two must be eaten by me, for they have become food. Only the unfortunate neglect a flawless opportunity that has come. Yet, let it never be that these two are virtuous or noble, for the destruction of such men does not suit my nature. Therefore, I will examine these two: if they are endowed with virtue, I will not eat them; the virtuous should never be harmed.” “Those who desire true happiness, fame, and long life should honor the virtuous by giving them all that is desired. If I should perish along with my body, I will not enjoy what is endowed with virtue, for truly, the virtuous bring delight to the heart even more than life itself. One should protect a virtuous person even at the cost of one’s own life, for with the medicine of association with the virtuous, even death becomes a friend.” “Where even I, a demoness, protect one endowed with virtue, there others too would act kindly toward him, just as a pure reflection arises in the heart. Those endowed with noble virtues who dwell among embodied beings are like moons upon the earth, greatly cooling all by their presence. Death is the rejection of virtue; life is the shelter of the virtuous; the fruit—whether heaven, liberation, or otherwise—comes from taking refuge in the virtuous during life.” “Therefore, I shall now examine these two, with playful questioning: Are these two possessed of honor, knowledge, and poetry, O lotus-eyed ones?” Thus, Karkati, transformed by wisdom and guided by compassion, prepared to test the hearts and minds of the travelers, seeking to discern their true nature before deciding their fate.