Overview

History is basically a compendium of past events and experiences. But without learning it we would not truly know who we really are, what made the present the way it is for us, who our ancestors were and where we actually derive from. A novel of the Historical Fiction (HF) genre is then, besides providing a low cost mode of entertainment, also another means of introducing history to the lay reader, one done in a casual, informal and pleasurable way, avoiding the dullness and tedium often associated with an academic textbook.

 

Because history gives us the benefit of hindsight, among the virtues of knowing history, whether the dry plain form from a textbook or the glossy, prettied up version from a HF novel, is that we are able to analyse, at least to a certain extent, the sources and causes of both the strengths and successes, as well as the faults and failures, of cultures and societies preceding ours, especially those of our own ancestors. That could indeed sometimes provide us, therefore, with opportunities to make wiser and more informed judgements when we are called upon to make decisions of major significance in the present.

Any current discussion of the ancient history of the Peninsula would too often tend to be, unfortunately, by this author's opinion, overly dominated by the mainly 15th century Melaka Sultanate which fell in 1511, while marginalising other more ancient kingdoms which in their own time were at least equally as magnificent and equally as rich historically, that had prevailed many centuries earlier. That they were pre-Islamic kingdoms should not at all detract from their importance. They were still kingdoms of our ancestors, therefore an integral and undeniable part of our national heritage, small but proud kingdoms nevertheless each in their own right, that we should not simply put away into some convenient compartment. The ancient history of Java in Indonesia is not premised on Majapahit alone. Neither is that of Sumatra based on Palembang only. Likewise, that of the Peninsula should not revolve around Melaka exclusively.

The kingdoms of Langkasuka, Pan Pan and Chi Tu/Raktam Rttika, for example, were attested to in ancient Indian and Chinese chronicles, to a degree at least equal to that given to Melaka if not more. Indeed, this author believes that the Melaka Sultanate for some reasons is over-aggrandised and over-lionised, despite its brief lifespan, at the expense of other earlier kingdoms, thereby effectively relegating the latter to positions of secondary importance historically in the minds of many. This is an error as well as an imbalance which should be seriously addressed by the powers that be, perhaps beginning with a revamp and reconstruction of the history of the Peninsula. This would entail further and stronger research in the fields of both history and archaeology, the fruits of some of which have indeed fortunately come to the fore.

The latest archaeological discoveries by researchers from Universiti Sains Malaysia, for instance, have in fact unearthed further supporting scientific evidence pointing to an ancient civilisation, relatively advanced for its time, in the Sungai Batu area of Lembah Bujang in Kedah Negara (Kataha Nagara in Tamil chronicles). It housed a riverside port of regional importance, a temple of worship, an administrative building, as well as an iron smelter which attained furnace temperatures of 1,000 degrees Centigrade and produced ingots using ore extracted from Gunung Jerai.

The ingots were exported to as far as the Konkan kingdom of India, in the territory of today's Maharashtra state. These were dated all the way back to 50 BC. All in all an admirable achievement whichever way one looks at it. While some time later steel swords made in Kedah Negara were bought by Indian merchants and resold in places as far as Arabia, where the locals called them saif-ul-hind, meaning literally swords from India, because they assumed that either: (1) the blades were made by Indians in India; or (2) Kedah Negara was a part of India and that its natives were ethnic Indians. Both assumptions, of course, would have been way off the mark. That, however, would have been quite reasonable at a time when Indian cultural dominance prevailed over much of South East Asia.

Dharma Kusuma, Defender of Langkasuka is a trilogy of novels in the HF mould. The major protagonists are all personal inventions of the author. Although the story is set in the 11th century, the name of the fictitious leading protagonist, Shakranta, is inspired by the real, historically documented Raja Sakranta of the 13th century Ligor-based Malayur empire, successor kingdom of Negara Seri Dharmaraja (the Thai rendition of which has produced the name of the modern Thai city, Nakhon Si Thammarat, located on the site of the former ancient city Tambra Linga or Ligor), who had to retreat southward under pressure from newly ascending rival kingdom Sukothai.

While Shakranta's mother, Kembang Seri Wangi, is a nod of sorts to Puteri Arduja Wijaya Mala, better known as Cik Siti Wan Kembang, daughter of Raja Sang Tawal and granddaughter of Raja Sakranta, remembered in history as a warrior queen of ancient Kelantan kingdom who also kept kijang as pets in her royal garden. On the other hand, many of the most prominent supporting characters, including the kings of Palembang, Mataram, Kahuripan, Kediri, Gangga Negara, Tambra Linga, Kambuja Nagara, China, Goryeo, Singhala Dvipa, Chola Mandalam, Bhangala, Ghazna, Parsistan, Byzantium  etc., as also many high profile events, such as major battles and conquests, were inspired by real historical personages and events that, respectively, actually lived or occurred in the times that formed the setting of the story.

So many nations on this earth, some of whom have attained great heights of glory and splendour, have also at times suffered periods of occupation and oppression by foreign conquerors. It is thus only reasonable that any story with a theme of struggle against occupation would arouse that natural instinct for freedom and independence that is inherent in every human being.

Theories abound regarding the relationship between the Palembang-based Sri Vijaya empire or confederation and its close Javanese ally Sailendra, on one hand, and the Isthmusian and Peninsular kingdoms, on the other. So much so that scholars such as J. L. Moens, Majumdar, Quaritch Wales and Slamet Muljana were even inclined to believe that an early instalment of Sri Vijaya indeed arose in the Peninsula, in Kelantan specifically, before shifting to Palembang, ostensibly under threat from the ambitious, expansionist Khmer kingdom of Chenla.

This author, however, holds the view that a combined Sri Vijaya-Sailendra fleet - led by Dharmasethu of Palembang and Sang Rama Dhanan Jaya (a.k.a. Dharanindra a.k.a. Maharaja Vishnu) of Sailendra - invaded and subjugated Tambra Linga (Ligor), capital of Negara Sri Dharmaraja, in the Isthmus around 775 AD, as evidenced by the Ligor Inscription. From there they gradually swept southward, riding on their formidable military might, swallowing up prasanga by prasanga all the lands of Kadaram, i.e. Langkasuka and Gangga Negara, in the northern and north-eastern parts of the Peninsula. After all, Sri Vijaya itself was founded on imperialist militarism, its first establishment in Palembang made on the strength of a 20,000-man all-conquering army led by Dapunta Hyang Sri Jayanasa, as recorded in the Kedukan Bukit Inscription.

On one hand, this creation is a work of fiction intended mostly for the entertainment of the reader, with neither offence nor malice nor disrespect intended, whatsoever, to  any party or individual. At the same time, it is also something strongly inspired by history and meant as a sincere tribute to everyone who has been involved in the past, whether directly or otherwise, in any noble struggle to resist and fight any form of foreign colonisation of or hegemony over their homeland.

Dharma Kusuma, Defender of Langkasuka

3 exciting stories to be enjoyed in the Dharma Kusuma Trilogy:

Book 1: TURMOIL IN THE SOUTH EAST

Book 2: A DREAM DEVASTATED

Book 3: WARRIOR OF 7 KINGDOMS

A series dedicated especially to history enthusiasts and fans of historical fiction.

 

An exciting tale packed to the brim with challenge and struggle, turmoil and conflict, courage and valour, compassion and brutality, confrontation and cooperation, war and peace, friendship and loyalty, enmity and betrayal, happiness and pain, travel and adventure, and love most exquisite. Weaved into a backdrop of real events that happened and real kingdoms that existed in the Golden Peninsula, Suvarna Bhumi and Suvarna Dvipa, plus some regions beyond, in the 11th century, presented in the form of a trilogy of novels.



Indulge yourself in a trip into the ancient past.

Read how the last surviving heirs of the Dharma Kusuma Dynasty draw on ancient wisdom and philosophy and blend them with their own life experience, individual heroism and personal resilience to earn respect and maintain leadership, craft strategies and build alliances, win trust and inspire loyalty, as well as embrace friends and outwit foes, in their quest to win back their family's lost dynastic throne and restore their fallen kingdom.

Dharma Kusuma, Defender of Langkasuka. Where history and legend fuse together and come alive, bringing to you an absorbing tale of struggle, courage, valour and the great sacrifices of the sons and daughters of the lands in the north and east of the Golden Peninsula, who rose to fight, beat and oust not one, but two, immensely powerful foreign colonial powers from their beloved motherland in a time in the distant past.

Caution:
This draft novel is still a work in progress. The author writes in both English and Malay. His latest story ideas can suddenly occur to him in either language, sometimes while sipping teh oh ais laici, munching roti canai, nasi lemak or a McDonald's beefburger, browsing through some newspaper or magazine article, riding the LRT train, surfing through and chatting in an online forum, or sometimes even in a dream. About half of the chapters in this instalment of the Dharma Kusuma trilogy are still in Malay, while a few are still in their bare-bones stage of construction. Please bear with any inconvenience pending this novel's final completion, after which the author hopes it would eventually make it to the bookstores.

Malay Version:
For those who would like to read in Malay, the draft Malay version of book 3 of this Dharma Kusuma trilogy, tentatively titled Pahlawan 7 Kerajaan, is about 25% complete. It is available for you to browse through at:
http://pertiwipurba3.blogspot.com

Happy reading.

Tari Asyik
To get the aspiring reader in the mood, here's a video clip of Tari Asyik, a mesmerising traditional court dance originating from the north east of the Golden Peninsula, the Kelantan-Patani region, that has put many an unsuspecting spectator in thrall, with its graceful movements depicting animals and their environments, the rythmic rising and falling of waves, birds flying in the air, fishes swimming in the water, elephants marching in the forest etc.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oXDH4EMiRHY

Enjoy!

Story Outline

Dharma Kusuma: Defender of Langkasuka
TURMOIL IN THE SOUTH EAST

Book 1 of the Dharma Kusuma Trilogy

'Tis a tale of a brave people
How they had to take up arms
And resort to blade and battle
To liberate their beloved motherland
In a time far past, in a long gone world

Story Outline

The time is the 11th century. The place is the South East. The region which encompasses Suvarna Bhumi, the Golden Continent, and Suvarna Dvipa, the Golden Islands. An area riven by great turmoil, resulting from old tribal enmities mixed with new religious rivalries, contest for territory, prestige and power, and competition for influence and advantage amid increasingly lucrative land and sea trade routes.

In this conflict torn region lies the land named Amdan Negara. One of several kingdoms of an ancient federation named Langkasuka Adhi Negara, sometimes also called Langkasuka Maha Mandala, that had collapsed, their once sovereign raja demoted to vassal narapati, in the wake of the combined Srivijayan-Sailendran invasion and conquest of the northern parts of the Golden Peninsula, circa 775 AD.

In the midst of all this confusion, chaos and anarchy, three people between them, somehow, ends up shaping the destiny of the Langkasukan federation.

Shakranta, the last scion of the now near extinct Dharma Kusuma Dynasty, fighting to regain his family’s lost throne and to restore a fallen kingdom.

Isabelle, a young girl of Saxon-Norman parentage from Angli Land, a country ravaged by war in the Isles of Britannia, lost and stranded in a foreign land, struggling for her very sanity and survival.

Ozalan, child of an Oghuz Turk mercenary and a Bolgar woman, orphaned at six years old, staring at the bleakest of futures ahead of him.

 

Their paths meet in the many-splendoured city of Constantinople, in the glorious land of Byzantium. Strangers brought together by different strands of fate, the trio sail eastward to Shakranta’s homeland in the Golden Peninsula. Retracing the routes once travelled by Shakranta’s distant ancestors centuries earlier.

Shakranta’s grandfather, Adhi Vira, lights the first flames of rebellion to overthrow a band of foreigners who had seized the governorship of Amdan Negara, the collapsed kingdom of their ancient ancestors. Subsequently, his mother Kembang Seri Wangi ably continues the family heritage as the next narapati. But their lost dynastic throne is still beyond their grasp, their former ancestral land still vassal to a powerful foreign empire, while yet another one is rapidly emerging, now looming over the horizon. It is now left to Shakranta to help her fight for Amdan Negara's complete restoration.

 

Is there hope for Shakranta, the Dharma Kusuma Dynasty and the broken kingdom of Amdan Negara?

Prologue

960 AD, Gunung Batu (Stone Mountain), Upper Galas River Valley, in the land named Amdan Negara (City of the Valiant).

The sun peeked from over the treetops in the east, beaming out the first rays of brilliant golden orange to light up the morning world. In the west, the rolling curves of mountains, riding high over the clouds, alternately rising and falling, looked like the silhouette of a giant serpent peacefully meditating on the earth’s breast.

Prince Adhi Vira gazed at the distant horizon, his face clouded with gloom. For seven nights running, he had not slept a single wink. Blade and battle no more fazed the powerfully built warrior, but now the fight he had to fight ground and grated deep into his soul. Watching his beloved wife grow weaker moment by moment, struggling with constantly diminishing strength against the unrelenting pain wrought by the Lord of Death, until she had little energy left for even more struggle. While he himself had no means whatsoever within his power to help her.

“What fate awaits my lady, Kejora?” Adhi Vira watched his wife, lines of extreme worry etched deep in his face. As she lay on the mattress of kekabu jungle fruit cotton, her disturbed look, even as she slept, suggested that she had not had much peace. “I see, from her face, that she is in great suffering.”

“I am sorry, Lord Prince,” the middle aged midwife cum healer handed him a mug of water. “Lady Permata Sukma (Gem of the Soul) had lost way too much blood. Her body is extremely weak now. I have tried my utmost best to stop her bleeding. But her fever has still not yet subsided.”

“What about my daughter?”

“The young princess will be fine,” another female voice interjected, making Adhi Vira turn around.

“Teratai Putih (White Lotus)!” Adhi Vira looked surprised. “It's been a long time."

"Greetings, my Lord."

"Greetings to you, Teratai. We were talking about you just a while ago. You were prominent by your absence."

“I was held up on the way, Lord," the elderly seer continued, "what with these old ankles and knees also slowing me down."

"Poor soul. You should have let me know beforehand. I’d have sent a pedati to fetch you."

"Oh no, Lord. I can't. My legs and feet need the movement. Or they'll just go to rot even faster. Anyway, I am come to pay my respects, and to see the baby."

"Thank you, Teratai. We really appreciate that. It’s good to see you again.”

“And you too, Lord. Your daughter’s crying voice, it's so loud and strong. She sounds like one boisterous bundle of energy. My instinct tells me that she will be blessed with good health and peace all her life. It’s like, I can almost feel, that she carries the fortune of the Dharma Kusuma Dynasty in her.”

“And what else do you feel, Teratai?”

“She will one day be queen of Tanah Serendah Sekebun Bunga (Valley of Flower Gardens).”

“You mean, Kelantan Amdan Negara?”

“Oh well, Lord. Whether Kelantan Amdan Negara, or Tanah Serendah Sekebun Bunga, or Sambhu Gita or Imbang Jaya, or Sri Saujana Vijaya Mala, for me they all mean the same one kingdom, heir of Raktam Rttika or Chi Tu, the Red Earth Kingdom, our kingdom and that of our ancestors since the ancient past. Your daughter, according to my intuition, will be the first sovereign ruler of this land, since such a long, long time, from the Dharma Kusuma Dynasty.”

“Only you sound a bit too certain, Teratai,” Adhi Vira rolled a small piece of dried nipah (swamp palm) leaf around some shredded tembakau (tobacco), then lit it up, “making me a trifle anxious.”

“I can only peer ahead by the ways that I have been taught, Lord,” said Teratai, “insofar as the ability that I possess. Still, I have made more than a few predictions, and a fair number of them have come to pass. The throne of Amdan Negara will return to its rightful owners, the progeny of Nayaka, Bhaga Datta, Buddha Gupta, Rama Unibha and Wan Sri Mara.”

Adhi Vira's face brightened up a bit upon hearing Teratai’s soothing conviction, her reverent recital of the names of his family's ancient ancestors bringing a warm glow to his heart.

“She smells so pleasant,” Adhi Vira bowed low to inspect his seven day old newborn daughter even more closely. The child's eyes were still tightly shut, its tiny hands bunched tightly as Adhi Vira held one of them gently in his own.

“Yes, Husband,” Permata Sukma had to struggle hard to muster the strength she needed just to get up from her lying position. “She does, doesn’t she? Fragrant as glorious musk, she is. Allow me my last pleasure, the sweet privilege, of giving our daughter her name.”

“Of course, my love. Anything you wish is yours.”

“I name her … Kembang Seri Wangi (Blossom of Fragrant Grace).”

“A splendid name for a princess,” her husband laid his palm lovingly on her cheek. It felt like it was fast losing its warmth.

“Husband,” Permata Sukma had to make a massive effort as she tried to eke out a few more words.

“My beloved, please don’t exert yourself too hard,” Adhi Vira pleaded with his wife. “You must save your energy for your recovery. You’re too weak now. You need to rest.”

“Take care of … our daughter … to the best … of your ability. She will … give you … pride and happiness. She will be … a suitable heir … for the … Dharma Kusuma Dynasty. Good … bye … my … love.”

Adhi Vira just sat there, stunned out of his mind. His tongue paralysed, his body frozen. His eyes were wide open, but they were not seeing. Then he buried his face in his hands. The weather outside looked shining bright. But Adhi Vira’s heart felt bleaker than the bleakest night.

“Great Lord of All Worlds,” he spoke at last. “Why do you do this to me? Why? Why?? Why???” His scream reverberated through the countryside.

Moments passed, which felt like ages to Adhi Vira, while deathly quiet reigned in the room. Then he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I shall come and see the baby every day, my Lord, if my services are required,” Kejora offered. “My house is only a short distance from here. My daughters shall help me if necessary.”

“And so shall I, Lord,” Teratai added. “Your daughter will be my godchild.”

"But then, what am I going to do, when my daughter cries for her milk again?" Adhi Vira wondered aloud, his voice sounding hoarse.

"Not to worry, Lord," Kejora comforted him. "My third daughter, Chempaka Murni, is nursing her two month old child Kenanga Sari, my youngest granddaughter. She is strong and healthy. She can feed two babies without difficulty. Princess Kembang Seri Wangi will never ever go hungry, Lord. I'll see to that myself."

"Thank you, Kejora. I wouldn't know what I would do without you."

Adhi Vira lifted himself up slowly, aided by Kejora and Teratai. His body felt heavy as lead, his muscles sore, his bones fatigued. A familiar pain coursed up his left thigh, the lingering effects of a months old spear injury, courtesy of a skirmish with the marauding Palembangian forces of Biduk Bota (Ogre's Ship).

Adhi Vira's fighters had begun to regularly inflict heavy losses on the Sumatrans every time they came on one of their random raids up the mountainous interior. Ambushing them on the march, striking at them when and where they least expected it, destroying them with all kinds of booby traps. But Biduk Bota's supply of men and arms seemed inexhaustible, and he kept those raids coming.

"I'll alert the neighbours, Lord," Kejora put up her shawl over her head, getting ready to leave.

"I'll go with you, Kejora," Teratai added. "We're going to need as many hands as we can gather to organise a proper funeral for the Lady. You take your time, Lord. Keep the child company. Get yourself together. The people must not see you in this state."

Teratai was right, Adhi Vira reflected. He felt like he was in a thousand little pieces then. But he could not dissappoint the people of Gunung Batu (Stone Mountain). To them, come what may, he must always remain their invincible, indomitable, indestructible Lord of the Mountain. A scion of the Dharma Kusuma Dynasty could not be anything less. Even if it had been a dynasty in exile for two centuries.

“Thank you, Teratai,” Adhi Vira sighed. “Your wisdom is priceless to me.”

”And, Lord,” Teratai continued. “Do accept Lady Permata Sukma’s departure. Though she suffered much, at the moment she left us all her heart was at peace. Consider it a sacrifice, one of profound greatness, in order to bring Princess Kembang Seri Wangi safely into this world.”

”We’ll be back soon, Lord,” Kejora added before the two women walked down the wooden steps.

Adhi Vira straightened Permata Sukma’s now cold body on her mattress. Memories of their times together came flooding back, besieging him. Now in death, she looked serene and beautiful again. Like she always did. Perhaps it was because she had been completely freed from her pain. He held her face in his hands, and kissed her for the longest time. Then he draped a long piece of clean white cotton cloth over her.

The love of his life was gone now. Gone forever. But he had to soldier on. The family quest will continue.

§

Thus was how, in the same one week, his daughter’s birth brought a glorious ray of pleasure into Adhi Vira’s life, while his wife’s passing tore his heart apart. Now, the happiness of gaining a child was so cruelly mixed with the pain of losing the woman he loved. The feeling of good cheer brought about by the arrival of Kembang Seri Wangi was shared by neighbours, relatives, friends and followers of Adhi Vira. Likewise, the departure of Permata Sukma, who had become a shining light in their reclusive mountain stronghold, equally grieved them all.

Quite a number of them comprised migrants from the area around Bukit Panau, a morning’s boat ride downriver from Gunung Batu, who had been forced to leave their ancestral lands, after their homes, farms, rice fields and livestock were seized by Biduk Bota and his henchmen. Supposedly as punishment after a large scale rebellion by the villagers protesting a sudden hefty raise in taxes on farm produce and on travel and transport of goods by both land and river.

Chapter 1: The Hen with the Ducklings

960 AD, city of Rajbadi Danga, province of Karna Suvarna, kingdom of Gauda, in the land of Bhangala.

Prakasha received the various leftover foodstuff brought down by the family cook from the kitchen. His youngest son ran excitedly after the ducklings following a surati mother duck, trying his utmost best to grab hold of one. The ducklings scampered away all around from the boy in fright. The mother duck’s feathers bristled in a show of hostile resentment.

“Bhava, why are you disturbing those poor ducklings?” Prakasha squeezed and mixed the old cooked rice, vegetables, meats and gravies with milked-out grated coconut and some freshly grated sago to make feed for his chickens, ducks and geese. “If their mother suddenly turns on you, then you’ll know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of her wrath.”

“I only want to hold them, Father. I only want to play with them.”

"If you want to hold them, then you have to approach them gently, Son. Feed them, coax them, gain their trust, like I do. If you just keep rushing them and scaring them, they’re always going to run away from you. Here, look. When I call out to them, they come tamely to me without any fear. Look now, they even poke their beaks into my hand to find food."

“Why are those ducklings following a surati duck, Father? Why aren’t they following their own mother?”

“Because they think that she is their own mother. Because she was the one who brooded them until they hatched, then cared for them since they were small.”

“Why didn’t their own mother brood them herself?”

“Because she died before they hatched. A hungry cobra tried to steal her brooding eggs one night. When she fought the snake, she got sprayed with venom before the snake slithered away. So I had to continue brooding the eggs using a surati mother duck, until they hatched."

"What? That's weird!"

"Heck, you know my old friend Sarghuna, your Uncle Ghuna. He even had a hen continue to brood his duck’s eggs when the duck died from an infection. So the ducklings that hatched later are now following the hen around like their own mother.”

“Crikey! A hen mothering ducklings, that’s even weirder!” Prabhava shrieked in astonished disbelief.

"And she enjoys a good swim too," Prakasha continued casually.

"A swimming hen?" The boy then broke into a shrill laugh of kiddy mirth as he saw the unbelievable picture that formed in his head. "I want to see that! I have to! I must!" To his little mind, the world was often full of mystery and magic, making life constantly merry and wondrous.

"Well, it happens that I'm going to pay Sarghuna a visit tomorrow. I haven't seen him for some time. You can tag along with me then. If you promise me that you'll behave yourself."

"I promise, Father. I promise."

Just past seven years of age, Prabhava was always so ebullient and inquisitive. Seldom stationary for any prolonged period of time, he was a ball of energy in perpetual motion. Whether running around, playing, chattering away with someone, or pestering someone else to tell him yet another tale, from morn till dusk.

§

The day was bright and sunny. A warm, gentle breeze blew from the eastern plains. It had not rained for several days. The air felt dry.

The old man watered the beds of okra, long beans, tomatoes and brinjals with water which his sons had fetched from the well. The newly fruiting vegetables would be ready for harvesting in a couple of months or so.

He then looked to the other side. The rows of tapioca, sweet potato and sugar cane looked thick and luxuriant in their foliage. The tapioca and potato would give him plump succulent tubers. The sugar cane would hold plenty of sweet juice. A smile came over the man's wrinkled, weather beaten face. 

"Uncle Ghuna!" a little boy's excited shout from the direction of the gate to Sarghuna's farmstead jolted the man from his ponderings.

Sarghuna turned around, looking pleasantly surprised by the unexpected appearance of his distinguished visitors, a tall smart looking well dressed man and his equally well dressed young son.

"Greetings, young man!" the man greeted the little boy gingerly. "Still looking hale and hearty as usual, aren't you?

"Greetings to you, Uncle. Where's the hen with the ducklings? I want to see them!" the boy continued, brimming with eagerness.

"They're foraging around in the backyard of the house now, I think. Go have a look there, Son."

The boy scooted off at speed to find the object of his wonderment. 

"Your veggies are looking good, my friend," Prakasha surveyed the area. He was still sweating from the morning walk with his son from their home across the foothills. "Must be the soil around here."

“Yes, Lord Commander,” Sarghuna watched the ducks and geese picking out the snails, beetles, worms and borers on his plants. "They are, aren't they? You could be right. But I still sprinkle some manure on the beds, though."

Sarghuna had known Prakasha from his days as a young recruit in the cavalry. Their friendship had endured since then, Prakasha often turning to the older man for advice.

"Let's go up to the house for a cup of tea and a proper chat, Lord. It gets too warm down here after some time."

"Thank you. I could use a drink."

"Rita!" Sarghuna called out aloud to his wife who was busy in the kitchen.

“Yes, Ghuna,” Amrita wiped a plate. "What is it?”

"Boil a kettle of of your best tea. We have special guests."

The woman gave out a lively whoop. "You can depend on me, Husband. I'll have their tastebuds dancing with joy."

The two men talked about the latest developments, the weather, their own respective farms, the local politics, and pretty much everything else.

”Oh, Uncle,” Prabhava appeared.

“What’s the matter, Bhava?” Sarghuna enquired. “You look kind of disappointed.”

”The mother hen wasn't swimming with her ducklings," the boy whined.

"Of course not, my boy," Sarghuna stroked Prabhava's tousled hair.

"She was just standing there, looking on, at the edge of the pond,” Prabhava continued voicing his dismay.

"Because she’s a hen," the elderly farmer explained. "So she’ll always act like a hen. While the ducklings she’s mothering will always behave like the ducklings that they are."

"Father," the boy turned to Prakasha. "You lied to me."

"I was just testing you, Son," Prakasha responded. "And I wanted to make sure you came along with me to visit Uncle Ghuna and Aunt Rita. They have not seen you for quite a while. They have missed you."

"The important thing, Bhava," Amrita interjected, "is that the mother hen considers the ducklings as her own babies, and loves them and protects them, and takes good care of them."

"And that the ducklings trust and love the mother hen like she's their own mother," added Sarghuna.

Prabhava was then invited by Vishala, one of Sarghuna’s sons, to go with him to the rice paddy swamp to look at the fishes.

”Shala,” Sarghuna turned toward his son. “Pick some kangkung and some shoots, get enough fish from the traps, then bring them all back soonest to your mother. Our guests shall be having lunch with us.”

”Done, Father,” Vishala then walked away with Prabhava.

"Oooh, this tea is divine," Prakasha leaned back on the rattan chair, enjoying the drink served to him. "Where did you get it from, Amrita?"

"Where else if not Darjeeling, in western Bhangala, on the eastern Himalayas?" the woman smiled. "The place created by a thunderbolt issuing from the mace of Indra."

"And whose winds come from the breath of Shanker Mahadeva," added Sarghuna.

"Well, that explains it then," said Prakasha, bringing another smile from Amrita. "So what does the future hold for this youngest son of mine then, Sarghuna?" Prakasha tinkered with his cup. "If I could have the benefit of your sage wisdom."

"Lord," the old seer crushed small bits of betel nut in his dusty, worn out betel nut crusher with his wiry hand. "It pleases me greatly to hear a high ranking Ashvaka soldier seek my humble counsel. I have indeed pondered often on the fate ordained for your son. As befits his proud name, Prince Prabhava will grow up into a brave and strong warrior. However, he will be imbued with the restless spirit of an adventurer. Taking after his father, I would believe. His life, therefore, will be driven by his wanderlust. His many journeys abroad will end in a distant place, far, far away from here."

“And where would that place be, if I may know?”

“Yonder, across the Bay of Bhangala, roughly in the direction of the rising sun from Singhala Dvipa (Singhala Island). In a blessed land, on a peninsula that leads from Suvarna Bhumi, the Golden Continent, to Suvarna Dvipa, the Golden Islands. There would be where he will eventually find the ultimate happiness and peace that he would then have been craving."

"He also always gets so excited every time he hears about Daivi Khadga. That so called Sword from the Sky. He says that he wants to go and look for it, when he grows up."

"Daivi Khadga? The Sword of Arjuna. Of course. That's every young warrior's dream."

"Only, to me and to the Kambhoja people, it will always be the Sword of Kambhujiya."

"Is that so? Now, I wonder why."

"Well, King Kambhujiya, ancestor of the Kambhoja people and king of the first united Kambhoja kingdom, won it fair and square in battle from King Kuvala Shava of Kosala. But Arjuna, descendant of Kuvala Shava, only obtained it after he had slain Prince Sudakh Shina, descendant of Kambhujiya, with his arrow in cold blood."

"Really? That’s bad."

"You can say that again,” Prakasha’s face now turned grim. “Sudakh Shina had given Arjuna a sound thrashing in an individual duel without arms, in the battle of Kuru Kshetra, which was described in the Mahabhrata. But Arjuna later loosed his arrow at Sudakh Shina from the back, from his divine bow Gandhiva, after Sudakh Shina had well and truly bested him in a face to face, man to man fight. You know, Sudakh Shina even seriously wounded Sri Krishna in that battle."

"You sound so sure about that story, my friend."

"Of course. I'm a Kambhoja. The blood of King Kambhujiya flows in me."

Talk of the ancient Kambhoja never failed to fire Prakasha up with fierce pride. They had always been known throughout the Himalayas as a valiant, heroic people.

"Now we're arguing over some mythical sword of more than twenty centuries ago," Sarghuna smiled.

"And we don't know if it even exists, much less where it lies," Prakasha smiled back. "It's all ancient legend now."

"So tell me, Lord. According to the Kambhoja version of the legend, where did Daivi Khadga come from originally?"

"If we go by the story first passed down to me by my grandfather, the sword was originally a gift to Sharma-Adad, a king of Great Ashuria, from Tudhaliya, king of the Hittites, whose kingdom was centred in the city of Hattusa. The Hittites were neighbours, allies and trading partners of Ashuria. The Hittites were legendary iron workers, their mastery of the metal unmatched anywhere else in the world. The sword was then among the most prominent items of a friendship treaty forged between former foes turned friends."

“Not bad. Not bad at all. Continue.”

“Some time afterward, Sharma-Adad in turn gave the sword to Prince Chander Burman, an ancestor of King Kambhujiya, when Sharma-Adad gave his consent to the marriage of his daughter, Princess Nin-Harrissi, to Chander Burman, to further strengthen the good political relationship between them. A relationship that had budded when Chander Burman answered Sharma-Adad’s request for special military assistance, by bringing a large contingent of Kambhoja mercenaries, comprising elite Ashvaka cavalry, to serve with the Ashurian army.

"Amazing. So Daivi Khadga did not come from the heavens then? What a shame." Sarghuna sighed with exaggerated dissappointment.

"Well, if it's any comfort, that lump of iron from which it was forged did come from the sky. It was a big block of star rock (meteorite). That's what gives the best steel for a sword, or so they say."

"No wonder it was so powerful."

"As is still commonly held among many Kambhoja, the legend of the Sword of Kambhujiya, or Daivi Khadga if you like, as a magic sword, may have arisen as an allegory to the first development stage of iron weaponry, which was then beginning to take the place of bronze weaponry and taking the world of warriors and warfare by storm."

"Now I understand," Sarghuna nodded. "Oh well. Let's just put it this way, Lord. If the quest for Daivi Khadga makes Prince Prabhava go out to the world, drives his ambition, and helps make a man out of him, it can only be good for him. By that time, whether Daivi Khadga really exists or not then would be a moot point."

"If that is his destiny, then so be it," said Prakasha. "For it was also destiny that once brought me here all the way from Badakshan, my Kambhoja homeland in the Western Himalayas. That was how my life as a cavalryman in the Bhangala army began."

"Do you still miss Badakshan, Lord?"

"I'll never cease to do, Sarghuna. Its magnificent scenery, its urvara bhumi, its elegant horses, its sturdy ponies, its excellently fragrant musk, its beautiful precious and semi-precious stones. Most of all, I miss the family I left behind, especially my mother and father. And my brothers and my sisters. If only I could experience all those things again. Maybe some day."

The royal court of the ruling Pala Dynasty of Bhangala and its army, especially the cavalry, was dominated by men of aristocratic Ashvaka ancestry. The Ashvaka, their name meaning horseman in Sanskrit, was an elite Kambhoja clan of accomplished riders who could shoot an arrow accurately in any direction from the back of a horse in full gallop, who came from the Pamir and Badakshan regions, far in the west, on the opposite end of the Himalayas from Bhangala.

Prakasha could have exploited his illustrious lineage and the good connections that came with it to speed up his career advancement, but then, like a good soldier, he had opted to work his way by merit up the ranks. In the end, he had still impressed his superiors, as well as Maharaja Mahipala I, enough to eventually rise to Maha Senapati (Chief Commander) of the Cavalry. It was a most coveted position, because the cavalry formed the cream of the Pala army.