That midnight, the city of Navadwip, under the ruthless oppression of the victorious and intoxicated Yavana army, became as restless as a storm-tossed, wave-lashed sea. The royal road was soon covered with countless cavalrymen, countless infantry, countless swordsmen, archers, and spearmen, all assembled in grand array. The citizens of the capital, now defenseless and terrified, hurried into their homes; bolting their doors, they began to chant the names of their chosen deities in fear.

Whenever the Yavanas came upon some hapless, shelterless soul on the royal road, they impaled them on spears and then set about attacking the houses with locked doors. In some places, they broke down the doors; elsewhere, they scaled the walls; in others, they entered by deceit, luring the frightened householder with false promises of sparing his life. Once inside, they would systematically plunder all the household’s possessions, and then, as a matter of course, behead every man, woman, elder, maiden, and child. Only for young women was there a different fate.

The homes of the householders began to flood with blood. The royal road became muddy with gore. The Yavana army itself became stained with crimson. The weight of the plundered goods burdened the backs of horses and the shoulders of men alike.

The severed heads of Brahmins, impaled upon spears, presented a ghastly spectacle. The sacred threads of the Brahmins dangled from the necks of horses. The Shalagrama stones from the royal throne rolled across the floor, struck by the feet of the Yavanas.

The night sky filled with dreadful sounds: the thunder of horses’ hooves, the tumult of soldiers, the trumpeting of elephants, the shouts of Yavana victory, and above all, the cries of the afflicted. The wailing of mothers, the sobbing of children, the pitiful pleas of the old, the heart-rending shrieks of young women.

The valiant man whom Madhavacharya had so carefully brought to Navadwip to subdue the Yavanas... He had come, but where is he now? In this dreadful cataclysm of the Yavanas, Hemchandra is not preparing for battle. What could he accomplish by facing it alone? Hemchandra was then lying upon his bed in the sleeping chamber of his own house. The tumult of the city's assault reached his ears. He asked Digvijay, "What is that noise?" Digvijay replied, "The Yavana army has attacked the city." Hemchandra was astonished. Until now, he had heard nothing of the usurpation of the royal palace by Banga Tiarak and the king's flight. Digvijay recounted the details to him. Hemchandra asked, "What are the citizens doing?" Di: Those who can are fleeing; those who cannot are losing their lives. He: And the Gauriya soldiers? Di: For whom should they fight? The king has fled. Therefore, each is seeking his own way. He: Prepare my horse and armor. Digvijay was surprised and asked, "Where will you go?" He: To the city. Di: Alone? Hemchandra frowned. Seeing his frown, Digvijay, frightened, went to prepare the horse and armor. Hemchandra then, adorned in priceless battle attire, mounted the splendid steed, and, with a dreadful spear in hand, plunged into that boundless sea of Yavana soldiers like a drop of water sent forth by a mountain stream. Hemchandra saw that the Yavana army was not fighting, only plundering. No one had confronted them in battle, and thus, their minds were not set on war. Those whom they were abducting... He was killing them during the abduction itself, without a fight. Therefore, the Yavanas did not make any concerted effort to destroy Hemchandra. Any Yavana who was attacked by him and attempted to fight alone was immediately slain.

Hemchandra grew irritated. He had come with the desire for battle, but the Yavanas had already triumphed; abandoning the collection of spoils, they did not engage in open combat with him. He thought to himself, “Who can strip a forest of its leaves by plucking them one by one? What use is there in killing Yavanas one at a time? The Yavanas are not fighting—what joy is there in merely slaying them? It is better to devote my mind to aiding the afflicted householders.”

Hemchandra set about doing just that, but he could not achieve much success. If two Yavanas engaged him in battle, others would, in the meantime, plunder the householders and depart. Nevertheless, Hemchandra did what he could to help the sufferers.

As he passed by the roadside, Hemchandra heard cries of distress coming from within a cottage. Judging by the anguished cries of a person attacked by the Yavanas, Hemchandra entered the house. He saw that there were no Yavanas inside. Yet, the marks of Yavana brutality were everywhere. Almost nothing remained of the household goods; what little there was lay broken and ruined. And on the ground, a Brahmin, grievously wounded, writhed in agony.

He had received such severe injuries that death was imminent. Mistaking Hemchandra for a Yavana, the Brahmin began to cry out, “Come—strike me—let me die quickly—kill me—take my head and give it to that demoness—ah—my life is leaving me—water! Water! Who will give me water?”

Hemchandra said, “Is there water in your house?”

The Brahmin, in a voice full of anguish, replied, “I do not know—I think not—water! Water! The demoness!—it is for that demoness that I lose my life!”

Hemchandra searched the cottage and found a pitcher of water. Lacking a vessel, he poured water into a leaf-cup and gave it to the Brahmin. He said, “No!—No! I will not drink the water! I will not drink the water of a Yavana.”

Hemchandra replied, “I am not a Yavana, I am a Hindu. You may drink the water from my hand. Do you not understand what I am saying?”

The Brahmin drank the water. Hemchandra asked, “What else can I do for you?”

The Brahmin said, “What more can you do? What more? I am dying! Dying! What can you do for one who is dying?”

Hemchandra asked, “Do you have anyone? Shall I bring them to you?”

The Brahmin replied,