The hospital's ICU ward.
Bansha lay on the hospital bed, still in a coma. He was hooked up to an IV drip, breathing through an oxygen mask, and had several wires attached to his body. The monitor beside him displayed his heartbeat, a faint rhythm that was far from stable or safe.
Just then, a commotion erupted in the hallway outside the ward. The people guarding the door turned to see a crowd of people surrounding an old man who was approaching slowly.
The old man wore a traditional Siamese cotton robe. Though the style was simple, a string of brightly colored beads hung around his neck, and he was fiddling with another string of beads in his hand.
"Mr. Mongkha!"
The crowd quickly parted, bowing their heads and lowering their eyes to let the old man pass through to the front of the ward.
