"Very well, master," said the king, accepting the order; he tied his horse to a tree and sat down. Then he said sweetly: taking you for a father, Lord, I dare to ask; know me as your son and servant, and tell me your name. The king did not know him, but he knew the king. The king was guileless; the other was cunning and full of deceit. He was an enemy, a kshatriya and a king besides, and wanted to gain his ends by trickery and force. His heart smouldered like a potter's kiln. Hearing the king's simple words, he recalled his enmity and rejoiced. Wrapping deceit in soft speech, he said cleverly: my name now is Bhikhari, without wealth or home.