‘Then, recognize the enemy right here,’ Cheebuk said, the constant smile playing on his lips.

‘What do you mean, honoured sir?’ Prithusen said, looking at the monk with wide open eyes, full of curiosity.

‘Arya, the enemy takes birth in your thoughts.’

‘Honoured sir, at this time, I am not in a fit condition of mind to follow metaphysical disputations. I am talking about the struggle to preserve life,’ Prithusen said anxiously, after some thought. ‘Pray, permit me to leave the monastery.’

The expression on the monk’s face remained unchanged. ‘Arya, it is precisely about the preservation of life that I have been talking to you. You were given shelter in the monastery to prevent bloodshed, since you were in danger, and not to enable you to wait for an opportunity for shedding blood.’

Speechless, Prithusen looked at the smile playing on the monk’s lips. He recalled how, in his wounded condition, when he was struggling between life and death, this monk, with his infinite compassion, had brought him back to life. At that time, too, the same smile used to play on his lips. ‘Arya, with every resource in my power, I shall try to save your life,’ the monk had assured him at that time.

Prithusen remained silent. The monk called a bhikshu and asked him to bring some fruit. Prithusen had no desire to eat, but he could not disregard the monk’s command, and, therefore, partook of some fruit.

During the daytime, the monk went out to different parts of the city, administering medicines to the sick. He told Prithusen of the prevailing situation. There had not been much bloodshed, but the entire administration had undergone a radical change. Prithusen’s friends and comrades were in no position to help him. It would be a grave risk for both Prithusen and his friends, if Prithusen tried to meet them. Rudradhir’s spies were combing every lane, every path and every suburb in search of Prithusen. Their guess was that Prithusen had got wind of the conspiracy and after escaping from Mallika’s palace, he had left that area of the city. They suspected that he had gone in disguise to those areas which he had conquered from the ruler of Darva, and it was in that direction that the spies were hunting for him.

Prithusen did not draw much consolation from what the monk told him. ‘Honoured sir, am I to spend the rest of my life in humiliation and fear, hiding in this secret place like a crippled animal that has somehow escaped the hands of the hunter?’ he said, in a voice of utter despair.

‘Fear and despondency do not befit a brave person, Arya,’ the monk replied.

‘How can I sit idle in such a situation, honoured sir, simply because there is apprehension of bloodshed and violence? What other way is open to me except of fighting the enemy?’ Prithusen asked impatiently.

‘Arya, bloodshed is not an effective means of defeating the enemy. The enemy, of course, can be put to death with a weapon. You can subjugate the enemy for some time, but you cannot conquer him. He who has been killed, who has ceased to exist, cannot be conquered. A man prefers subjugation to death only in the spirit of cowardice or retaliation. As soon as the power of the conquering enemy is weakened, the defeated enemy once again tries to take revenge. Arya, such subjugation is not victory either. Sufficient blood has been shed in the world, but its result has never been victory over the enemy. A victory of this kind serves only as a seed from which grows the new plant of rancour and revenge. Arya, nobody is ever afraid of the dead body of an enemy. Tell me, wherein does enmity lie, in the body or in the mind?’