The king spoke with sincerity, “I have renounced violence; the harm I once caused to the hearts of others has left their very channels impaired. Those whose blood and flesh I injured and then abandoned—because of this, their own impaired channels have given rise to others who now suffer in the same way.” He continued, “O King, the mantra against viṣūcikā is now complete for you. For those who possess virtue, nothing here is insurmountable. Therefore, to relieve the pain of those with afflicted channels, O King, quickly accept the mantra spoken by the brāhmaṇas.” With gentle urgency, he invited, “Come, let us go to the river. With calm and restrained minds, I, devoted to virtue, offer this to you.” And so, during that night, the demoness, her minister, and the king, having forged a bond of mutual friendship, journeyed together to the riverbank. There, both by direct and indirect means, the two men, trusting in the demoness’s newfound friendship, remained composed and at peace, dwelling there until their purpose was fulfilled. In that tranquil place, the demoness imparted to them the knowledge of Brahman, and, moved by affection, she bestowed upon them the mantra against cholera—a mantra that brings success when recited with faith. Having thus deepened their friendship, the two men dismissed the night-wandering demoness. As they were about to depart, the king addressed her with warmth and respect. “You are our teacher, O great goddess, and a contented friend as well. O lotus-faced beauty, we invite you earnestly 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, O noble one. There, stay as you please.” The demoness replied, “You are able to provide food to one who appears as a naive woman; but how will you satisfy me, who has taken the form of a rakshasi? Only flesh is food for my satisfaction, not the fare of ordinary people. This nature, established from the beginning, endures until the end of creation.” The king responded, “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 will give them to you as excellent food.” And so it was: the demoness, abandoning her lovely form and assuming her fierce rakshasi body, took those hundreds of condemned men whom the king had collected. “Take them to the peak of the Himalayas and there eat as you please,” the king said, “for solitary eating is pleasant to those who are great eaters. Abandon sleep and slumber, become absorbed in meditation again; and when your meditation ceases, return once more 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; even among those who are false, a friendship once established does not fade.” The demoness 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 in this way, the rakshasi, adorned and charming, appeared before them, wearing necklaces, armlets, bracelets, girdles, and garlands. She said, “O king, let us go,” and set forth with the king and his minister; the two men walked ahead, and she followed them through the night. When they reached the royal residence, they spent that night together, honored and 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 turned 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, the demoness assumed her fierce, dark rakshasi form and seized those thousands within the circle of her arms, like clusters of streaming rain caught by a cloud in a hollow. Taking leave of the king, she journeyed to the very summit of the Himalayas, as a poor woman who has found gold returns home, though her body was fierce. There, after satisfying her hunger and sleeping comfortably for two days, she awoke refreshed, her mind clear, and she became absorbed again in deep meditation. After five years, or sometimes three, she would emerge from her meditative state and return to the king’s assembly, where she was honored. There, after spending some time in conversations filled with trust, she would take the condemned men and return to her own abode. Even now, that demoness—liberated while living—remains in that forest upon the mountain, her mind free from all absorbed contemplation. When the king attained peace, having abandoned all desires, she continued to enjoy her meals for a long time, maintaining her friendship with the ruler of that land. In that region of the Kirātas, with all the local kings, she formed the highest friendship with each of them. There, that yogically accomplished demoness wards off all great calamities, fears from spirits and the like, and diseases. For many years she did not abandon meditation; coming there, she devours the sacrificial victims that have been well gathered. Even today, those who are to be sacrificed are given there by the king for that purpose, as a mark of friendship—for who indeed would not be resolute in such duty? While she sits absorbed in meditation among the tribes of hunters, not coming forth for a long time, the people’s faults are pacified.