It is the middle of the night. Silence reigns all around. Except for the sentries in King Virendra Singh's camp, all are sunk in deep, restful sleep. Yet, the sleep of a few soldiers is of a peculiar kind—one can neither call them fully awake nor count them among the truly sleeping. These men, numbering no more than a thousand, lie clad in battle attire, their fine weapons strapped to their bodies. It is winter, yet none wears any garment that might truly ward off the cold, and so the chill, carried by the sharp wind, keeps them from falling into a deep slumber.

Fatehsingh is keeping watch over King Virendra Singh's tent. He himself sits on a stool before the entrance, while his subordinate soldiers patrol around the tent, naked swords in hand. Kanchansingh stands guard over Prince Indrajit Singh's tent, and Naharsingh, with his men, protects Anand Singh's tent.

When more than half the night had passed, a man approached the entrance of Prince Indrajit Singh's tent. He saluted Kanchansingh and stood silently by his side. This man was tall and strong, with a turban wound about his head and a black Kashmiri cloak draped over his shoulders.

Kanchansingh: Who are you, and why have you come?

Man: I am a resident of the fort of Rohtasgarh, and I have brought a message from Kishoriji.

Kanchansingh: What is the message?

Man: I have orders to speak only to the prince and to no one else.

Kanchansingh: The prince is asleep at this hour!

Man: If you deem my arrival important, then take me inside the tent, or awaken the prince and inform him.

Kanchansingh: (after some thought) Indeed, in such a case, I must wake the prince. Tell me, what is your name?

Man: I cannot tell you my name, but the prince knows me well. Take me inside with you. The moment he opens his eyes, he will recognize me, and you will not need to say a word!

Kanchansingh led the man into the tent. Kanchansingh walked ahead, the man followed behind. When they reached the center of the tent, the man drew a dagger from beneath his cloak and, taking advantage of Kanchansingh's unsuspecting state, struck him so forcefully from behind on the neck that with a single blow, the head was severed and fell far away, and from the poor man's lips...

Not a sound could escape. After this, he wiped his dagger, tucked it back into his belt, and came to stand beside the deeply slumbering Kunwar Indrajit Singh. He took out a small vial from his waistband and, with great care, held it to the prince's nose. The vial contained a powerful sleeping potion. Once the prince was unconscious, he untied a cloth from his waist, wrapped the prince in it, and went to the door, peering out from behind the curtain to see if the way ahead was clear.

At that moment, the guards, making their rounds, had passed to the rear of the tent. Finding the path ahead deserted, he lifted the bundle containing the prince, slipped out of the tent, and, keeping himself hidden, moved away from the camp. Some distance from the camp, a chariot stood ready, harnessed to two strong, dusky-colored horses. The coachman sat waiting. He unwrapped the bundle, laid the prince upon the chariot, climbed in himself, and ordered the coachman to drive.

The chariot had not gone far when the coachman realized that a rider was following them. Alarmed, he said to the man inside, "Someone is riding alongside the chariot."

The chariot was urged on faster, but the rider did not give up the chase. By dawn, the chariot had traveled far and reached a place where dense forest lined both sides of the road. Then the rider spurred his horse forward, drew level with the chariot, and called out, "Enough! Stop the chariot now!"

Coachman: "Who are you, that we should stop at your command?"

Rider: "I am your father! Beware—let the chariot go no further!"

The rider held a spear in his hand. When the coachman ignored his words, the rider, having no choice, hurled his spear. Struck, the coachman fell to the ground. The startled horses bolted, running even faster, and the wheel of the chariot passed over the coachman's body.

The rider threw his spear at one of the horses. One horse, wounded, collapsed; the other also came to a halt. The man sitting inside the chariot leapt out, drew his sword, and confronted the rider. In a flash, the rider struck him down as well and dismounted. This rider was masked.

Planting his spear in the ground, the rider tied his horse to it and, with great care, lifted Kunwar Indrajit Singh from the chariot. On either side of the road, the forest was thick. Carrying the prince, he entered the jungle and laid him beneath a sal tree, then returned to his horse. After reaching the same spot again, he sat beside the prince and began to try to revive him.

The cool morning breeze roused the prince, who sat up in alarm. The rider drew his sword and stood before him. The prince, regaining his composure, stood and said:

Prince: "Is it you who brought me here?"

Rider: No, it was someone else who was taking you away. I rescued you.

Kumar: (Looking around on all sides) If you saved me from the hands of an enemy, then why do you stand before me with a sword drawn?

Rider: I have heard much praise of your bravery and valor. I have a desire to fight.

Kumar: Even though I have no weapon, I am ready to fight. Strike if you wish.

Rider: The man who was carrying you away in the chariot—I have brought his shield and sword. (Gesturing with his hand) Look, they are right beside you. Pick them up and face me. I do not wish to fight you empty-handed.

Kunwar Indrajit Singh picked