For six hundred years, O King, after awakening from deep absorption in samadhi, the thought of eating arose within me, and today, I find myself desiring food. There is a living Sālabhañjikā, who, having ascended to the mountain peak, sits in unwavering meditation, enjoying happiness for as long as she wishes. I have mastered the practice of holding the nectar of life, sustaining this body as I will, and, in due course, I shall abandon it—this is my firm resolve. But before I relinquish this body, O King, I must not harm any living being. Therefore, listen attentively to my words. There is a mountain named Himavat, pure as moonlight, radiant at the heart of the northern region, stretching from the eastern to the western oceans. There I dwell, fierce and resolute, in a house built from golden-peaked mountains, steadfast as an iron pillar, known as the rakshasi Karkaṭī. By austerities, I once entreated Brahma, seeking the power to destroy people. Thus, I became as subtle as the deadly disease viṣūcikā. Granted this boon, I afflicted people for many years, tormenting their lives as viṣūcikā. Yet Brahma set a restriction upon me: “You shall not harm the virtuous.” For this reason, I am bound to the great mantra and remain restrained by its power. Now, let this mantra be taken up; through it, all heart-pain in the world will be pacified. What more need be said of my causing confusion? Indeed, I have ceased from violence; those whose hearts I once harmed now bear impaired channels from my actions. The people whose blood and flesh I injured and left behind have, through those damaged channels, produced others who are similarly afflicted. O King, this viṣūcikā-mantra is now complete for you; for the virtuous, nothing here is insurmountable. Therefore, to relieve the suffering of those with impaired channels, quickly take up the mantra spoken by the brāhmaṇas. Come with me to the river, O King; let us go there. With your calm and restrained hearts, I, devoted to virtue, offer you this gift. So it was that, during that night, the demoness, her minister, and the king, having grown close in friendship, went together to the riverbank. By both direct and subtle means, the two men, recognizing the demoness’s goodwill, remained composed and at peace, dwelling there until the experience was complete. Instructed by her in the knowledge of Brahman, they received from her, out of affection, the mantra against cholera, a mantra that brings success when recited. Having thus formed a bond of friendship, the two men prepared to depart and dismissed the night-wandering demoness. As they were about to leave, the king addressed her: “You are our teacher, O great goddess, and a contented friend as well. O lotus-faced beauty, we earnestly invite you to our home. Please do not refuse our request, for the friendship of good people grows simply by meeting. Assume a charming and delightful form, adorned with modest fortune, and come to our house, noble one; there, stay as you please. “You are able to give food to one who has assumed the form of a naive woman; but how do you satisfy me, who has taken the form of a demoness? Only flesh is food for my satisfaction, not the fare of ordinary people. This nature, established from the beginning, persists until the end of creation. Adorned with golden garlands, remain in my house for a few days in the form of a woman, O blameless one, as long as I desire. “Then, gathering hundreds of thousands of wicked thieves condemned to death from the districts, I shall give them to you as excellent food. Abandoning your lovely form and assuming the body of a demon, you may take those hundreds of condemned men whom you have received. Take them to the peak of the Himalayas and there eat as you please, for solitary eating is pleasant to those who are great eaters. Abandoning sleep and slumber, become absorbed in meditation again; and when you emerge from meditation, you may return at another time. You will bring other condemned men, for violence is not righteous; yet, by your own duty, even violence is equal to great compassion. You will certainly meet me again, when your meditation comes to rest; for even among those who are false, a friendship once established does not fade.” Karkaṭī replied, “What you have said is appropriate, O king; I shall do so, my friend. Who would not welcome the words of one who acts from friendship?” Having spoken thus, the rakshasi, adorned and charming, stood there, wearing necklaces, armlets, bracelets, girdles, and garlands. She said, “O king, let us go,” and together with the king and his minister, set out. The two men proceeded ahead, and she followed them through the night. Upon reaching the royal residence, they spent that night together, honored, conversing in a single delightful chamber. At dawn, the rakshasi remained in the inner quarters, mingling with the women of the palace, while the king and his minister attended to their own affairs. Within six days, the king gathered together from other royal cities and from his own circle of vassals the accumulated prisoners. He gave her three thousand condemned men; at night, she became that fierce, dark rakshasi. She seized those thousands of condemned ones within the circle of her arms, like clusters of streaming rain caught by a cloud in a hollow. Taking leave of the king, she went to the very summit of the Himalayas, as a poor woman who has found gold returns to her home, though her body was fierce.