There, in the solitude of the mountain wilderness, the demoness found respite. After satisfying her hunger and sleeping deeply for two days, she awoke refreshed and clear-minded, once more immersing herself in profound meditation. For many years—sometimes five, sometimes three—she would remain in this state of deep absorption. When she finally emerged from her meditation, she would go to the king’s assembly, where the ruler would honor her presence. After spending some time in the king’s company, engaging in conversations founded on mutual trust, she would take those condemned to punishment and return to her own dwelling. Even now, that demoness—liberated while still alive—remains in that very forest, on the same mountain, her mind now free from all absorbed contemplation. When the king eventually attained peace, renouncing all worldly desires, she continued to enjoy her meals for a long time, sustained by the friendship of the land’s ruler. In the region of the Kirātas, she established the highest friendship with all the local kings, forming bonds with each of them. This accomplished yogini, though a demoness, became the guardian of the land. She protected the people from great calamities, fears of spirits, and diseases. For many years she did not abandon her meditation. Yet, when she did appear, she would consume the sacrificial victims that had been properly gathered. Even today, the king offers those who are to be sacrificed as a sign of friendship with her—indeed, who would not show such resolve? When she sits in deep meditation among the tribes of hunters, remaining withdrawn for long periods, the people’s faults are pacified. This goddess, known as Kandarā and also called Maṅgaletarā, was established with great honor in a deep cave within the city. From that time onward, every king who rules there personally installs the goddess Kandarā. Any lesser king who neglects this duty is destroyed by his own subjects through countless calamities. Those who worship her attain their desired results; those who, by their own disposition, neglect her worship, inevitably meet with misfortune. Though worshipped with the customary rites reserved for the condemned, she remains in her image, bestowing the fruits that dwell in the hearts of her devotees. Long honored as the goddess and protector of the forest-dwellers, endowed with supreme knowledge, she brings auspiciousness to all the worlds. She devours all great multitudes destined for destruction, and thus she is victorious here. All this, O listener, is the blameless tale of the demoness Karkati, told just as it happened, in its proper sequence. But now, you inquire: how did this black demoness, spoken of in the caves of the Himalayas, come to be called Karkati? Among the many lineages of demons, there are black, white, green, and radiant ones. There was a demon named Karkata, resembling a crab in form; from him she was born—black in color, called Karkati, and bearing the form of a crab. Because you remembered Karkati’s question, I have recounted this tale, weaving it into the context of spiritual instruction and the exposition of the nature of consciousness. Thus, from a single cause, both the completed and the uncompleted are clearly manifest. This world, without beginning or end, arises from the supreme cause, step by step. Just as waves, though appearing and disappearing in water, remain nothing other than water, so too do all these diverse creations, though seemingly present, truly abide in the Supreme. Just as fire, though unseen in wood, still serves its purpose—removing cold for monkeys and others—so too does Brahman, ever serene and unchanging, bring forth this manifold world, appearing to act without ever losing its essential tranquility. Even before it has arisen, this creation has already come forth in this manner—like the awareness of a wooden statue of a woman, which is awakened in the wood itself. Just as from a seed, though not different from it, a fruit appears as if distinct, so too from consciousness, though not other than it, the object of consciousness seems to arise as something else. Because reality is ultimately indivisible, there is truly no separation between seed and fruit, or between consciousness and its object, just as there is none between water and its waves. Except through lack of inquiry, no division between these two can be established; whatever distinction seems to appear vanishes upon investigation. This delusion has arisen as it has, O descendant of Raghu; let it depart in the same way. When you awaken, you will understand—simply abandon it. When the knot of delusion is severed by hearing these words, you will know for yourself the reality behind the distinctions of knowledge, word, and meaning. Both prosperity and misfortune arise from the mind, and so does their absence; by merely hearing these words, peace will certainly come. Everything arises from Brahman, and everything is indeed Brahman; awakened by this teaching, you will know this fully, O blameless one. Therefore, O Brahman, the phrase ‘this is’ expresses distinction; but why, O lord of gods, do you say that all is undivided? For the sake of instruction in the scriptures, a word arises either from sound or from meaning, marked by the exclusion of opposites and by the characteristics of enumeration. This difference is seen only in practical dealings, not in reality—like a goblin imagined for a child’s amusement. Even duality and unity do not exist in the state where things abide as they truly are; in such a state, how could there be disturbance of thought? The relationship of cause and effect is defined by its own characteristics, just as the cause and the possessor of the cause, and likewise the sequence of parts. The confusion of transformation, distinction and non-distinction, as well as the modifications of states, knowledge and ignorance, pleasure and pain, all arise in this way. Thus, beginning with these, false imagination arises, produced by the activity of fanciful thought. For the sake of understanding by the ignorant, such distinctions are spoken of, but in reality, there is no division in the substance.