‘In the mind, honoured sir,’ Prithusen replied in a subdued voice.

‘Then, Arya, victory lies not in subduing the body of the enemy, but his mind. You should, therefore, conquer Acharya Rudradhir in the same way as the Buddha conquered the mind of Deva Dutta, as Dharma Ghosh conquered the mind of the Emperor Ashoka, as the Buddhist Naga Sen conquered the mind of the Emperor Milinda.’ Having said all this, the monk sat silent, looking at Prithusen with his smiling eyes.

Prithusen sat quietly, with his head bowed. Cheebuk continued, ‘Arya, how many enemies does a man have? And who are they? Where are they to be found? Man does not know all of them. He cannot know all of them, either. How many of them can be killed with weapons? There was a day when the people of Sagal hailed you whenever they saw you going round on horseback. Today the same people, seeing you in your present condition, will not utter a word of cheer. Is it because they have become your enemies? In what way have you harmed them? At the time of the victory over Darva, you killed many soldiers of Kendras. Were they your enemies? You had never set eyes on them, nor had they ever set eyes on you. The cause of the enmity lay only in the mind, in the belief that they were your enemies. Enmity is a thing of the mind.

‘Arya, the man who accepts defeat at the hands of the enemy and the man who goes to kill that enemy, are both hounded by fear of that enemy. Acharya Rudradhir is out to kill you, because he is afraid of you, because he trembles at the thought of you. Arya, the person who is afraid and admits that he is panic-stricken is not brave. The brave and courageous man is only he who is not afraid of anyone, who has no terror of anyone. Arya, you too are afraid of the person who is afraid of you. The powerful are afraid unconsciously, while the weak know that they are afraid. There is bound to be fear, if there is cause for fear. The only fearless man is he who is free from the cause of fear. If a person is afraid of your power, then his fear is the hidden seed from which your fear will spring. And this seed of fear can sprout at any time, when it finds a favourable soil and climate. Arya, such being the case, power is the cause not of fearlessness but of fear, of fear in others and in yourself. Such power cannot lead to happiness. Arya, the man who accumulates the means and causes of unhappiness, and hopes to draw happiness from them, is suffering from a grave illusion. Such a desire for happiness leads, like the dream of a pauper, only to misery.’

Every day, after returning from his round of the city to gather alms and visit the sick, Cheebuk would go to Prithusen and talk to him. Hardly a fortnight elapsed before Prithusen gave up the idea of going out of the monastery to plunge back into strife and struggle. He would put questions to the monk about non-attachment and perpetual happiness, and would later meditate over the monk’s replies. From his face and appearance the look of perplexity and pain vanished. In its stead, there shone the calm of a well-ordered mind. The discourses of the monk no longer vexed and disturbed his mind. He would, on the contrary, listen eagerly to them, with joined hands.