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 "Who is the Sovereign, I pray?" asked Virendra after reflection. "Are not both the Mogals and the Pathans contesting for empire?"

"He who takes tribute is the Sovereign," said Abhiram Swami.

Virendra. "Akbar Shah?"

Abhiram Swami. "Of course."

At this, Virendra's countenance showed signs of displeasure; by and bye his eyes reddened. Seeing these signs, Abhiram Swami said,

"Virendra, suppress your anger. I tell you to follow the Emperor of Delhi—not Man Singha."

Virendra stretched out his right hand, and pointing to it with a finger of the left, said,

"By your blessings, Sire, this hand I will drown in Man Singha's gore."

"Be calm," said Abhiram Swami. "Don't mar your interest through passion. By all means punish Man Singha for the old wrong. But why should you be unfriendly with Akbar Shah?"

"If I were to side with the Emperor," said Virendra in a rage, "what general shall I have to fight under—whom shall I have to aid—whom shall I have to respect? Man Singha? No Sire,—Virendra Singha is incapable of so base an action so long as he lives."

Abhiram Swami was silent in dejection.

"Then," asked he after a while, "Then you think it preferable to join the Pathans?"

"Is it necessary for me to choose between the parties ?" enquired Virendra.

Abhiram. "Yes, it is."