Chapter 2: The Boy Who Loved a Tale

Big and tall for someone only just past thirteen years of age, Prince Prabhava was now a strapping lad on the earliest fringes of youthhood. Even then, he still had not lost his childhood keenness for a fine tale. One day …

"Father," Prabhava spoke. “I’ve heard someone say, that the Kambhoja were originally sprung from the same stock as the Parasika. Is that true?”

”It is the Parasika who were sprung from the Kambhoja,” replied Prakasha, “they were the progeny of some Kambhoja warriors who travelled west, to the land of the Madayu, and settled there. We are all from the same stock of people who called themselves Arya, which meant noble. As also were the other older tribes than the Parasika, such as the Shaka, the Kimira and the Madayu. Indeed, there are some wise men who believe that the Kimira and the Kambhoja ultimately began as one tribe, who later split into two.”

”How did that happen?”

”The name Kimira originally came from the Ashurian Gimiraa, which meant going back and forth, because the Kimira were a tribe of nomadic wanderers. The Yavana (Greeks) call them Kimmeroi. They originally inhabited the grassland regions around the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea, including the northern and central regions of the Caucasus.”

”And then?”

”Their numbers eventually became too many, whilst their food sources became too scarce for their expanded populace. A portion of them migrated to the west and southwest, reaching Anatolia and the White Continent, while another moved on east and southeast, reaching the Western Himalayas, where their original name Gimiraa gradually evolved in different areas into Kimira, Kumara, Kumuya or Kambhoja, the last of which in Sanskrit also happened to mean handsome king.”

”That’s really amazing. And you promised me yesterday that you’d tell me stories about the Kambhoja, and the battles they fought in times of old.”

"Go gather the firewood for your mother first, Bhava," his father responded. "You'll hear those tales in the afternoon."

The morning passed slowly. It seemed especially long for Prabhava, but he bore with it patiently. Lunch was steamed rice with roast tilapia, a sweet fleshed river fish, boiled yam for vegetable, and cashew shoot dipped into fermented fish sauce as appetiser. After lunch, father and son sat together under the verdant shade of a mango tree whose fruits were just about to ripen.

"There was once this ancient Kambhoja warrioress," Prakasha began, "who had stood up with admirable courage to Eskander (Alexander) of Makheduniya."

"Did she? Really?"

"Yes. Her name was Krippya (Cleophis), of the Ashvaka tribe of Massaga. She was the Queen Dowager. Her land had been invaded by Eskander and his army, and her son the new king had fallen in battle. He had been hit by a big boulder launched from an enemy ballista while directing battle operations."

"Poor soul. What happened next?"

With classic Kambhoja bravery, Krippya simply took over her son's role of supreme commander, then exhorted her Ashvaka forces to continue fighting tooth and nail against those of Eskander.

"The only way to fight when your back is up against the wall, right Father? That's what Grandfather told me. And then?"

The Makheduniyan king was even gravely wounded in the Battle of Massaga and only made a narrow escape. He had to hobble his way out of the battlefield with the greatest urgency that day.

"Great stuff. I knew she'd give him a good fight. She was an Ashvaka."

Krippya's army, by then including many other women of the tribe who had also lost husbands or sons, was only defeated and overpowered by the Makheduniyans, not in a fair fight but through fraud, treachery and breach of treaty. An act for which even Eskander's own court historians, including Kallisthenes of Olynthus, had severely castigated him.

"What lame excuse did Eskander come up with, then?"

Eskander claimed that he had no choice, for in order to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat against the fiercest fighters his men had ever faced, he had to break every sacred rule in the code of the true warrior.

"How disgusting. And then?"

By the same sly wile and guile, Eskander went on to win further battles against Ashvaka armies in Ora and Bazira, the remaining Ashvaka fighters then retreating to a high mountain fortress in Una Sar (Aornos). Eventually, however, Eskander met his match in cunning and trickery in the form of a young man by the name of Sashi Gupta, renegade son of a prince of the Nanda dynasty, rulers of the powerful kingdom of Magadha, by his beautiful Ashvaka concubine named Maurya.

On the run from his grandfather Dhana Nanda, the king of Magadha, after a perceived slight, Sashi Gupta found refuge in the willing embrace of Eskander's invading army. The youth managed to convince Eskander that he had the fighters who could help the Makheduniyan king win the Una Sar fortress with minimum casualties. At the same time, Sashi Gupta told his Ashvaka kinsmen, quite correctly, that Una Sar was a lost cause and persuaded them to abandon the fortress, after some token resistance to make things look real, to the Greek invaders.

Sashi Gupta's plan worked brilliantly, avoiding what would have been a big bloodbath and the sacrifice of many thousands of lives, both Greek and Kambhoja. Eskander made Sashi Gupta satrap of Una Sar, and left it for him to rule on Eskander's behalf. Sashi Gupta would later lead a composite army of nomadic highlanders, with Kambhoja warriors forming its core, to vanquish the kingdom of his Nanda grandfather and found a new ruling dynasty of Magadha, named after his mother, the Maurya Dynasty.

Sashi Gupta himself ascended the throne as Chandra Gupta Maurya. In later years, Chandra Gupta would wrest back the Kambhoja territories lost to Eskander from Seleukus, Eskander's successor in the Indus Valley region, and incorporate them into his Magadha kingdom.

“I’ve also heard it said that Eskander married a Kambhoja princess. Who was she, Father?”

Before marching onward to Massaga, Eskander had invaded and conquered two other Kambhoja kingdoms, Bakhtara (Bactria) dan Sugadha (Sogdiana). Vakhsuva Darva (Oxyartes), a Kambhoja general from Bakhtara who was retreating with his family from the advancing Makheduniyan army had deposited his wife and several daughters in a supposedly impregnable fort in Sugadha. That fort however fell to Eskander.

Unable to resist the forces of Eskander, Vakhsuva Darva had no choice but to accept a peace deal offered by Eskander, with the condition that Sugadha submitted to Eskander’s overlordship.

 

At a banquet to celebrate the victory of his army and the peace deal forged with the Kambhoja of Sugadha, Eskander was enthralled by the beauty of the Kambhoja dances, while his heart was captivated by one pretty young dancer in particular, whose moves Eskander thought were exquisitely elegant. Eskander just had to get to know her, and he requested a companion to enquire about her.

She turned out to be one of Vakhsuva Darva’s daughters, Rukhsana her name. Subsequent properly chaperoned meetings between the two paved the way for feelings of affection to bud and flower. Eskander eventually asked Vakhsuva Darva for Rukhsana’s hand in marriage and made her his queen.

Vakhsuva Darva was later appointed by Eskander to be the kshatrapa (provincial governor) of a province in southern Sugadha. A couple of months after Eskander’s death from sickness in Egypt, Rukhsana bore him a son, also named Eskander by Rukhsana after his Makheduniyan father.

"There was another heroic Kambhoja queen too, I believe," Prabhava nudged his father toward one more story.

"Yes, there was. Her name was Timmeya (Tomyris), also of the Ashvaka tribe. Her time was even more ancient, two centuries earlier than that of Kryppia."

"Did she fight a powerful invader too?", the son enquired, prompting the general to continue.

"Oh yes, she did. And she won."

"Tell me about the battle, Father."

 

After the death of her husband the king, Timmeya had ascended to the Kambhoja throne of Massaga kingdom. About a year later, Khouroush-e-Bozorg (Cyrus the Great) of Persia conquered Babilun (Babylon), then started looking eastward, toward the lands of the Kambhoja. Khouroush wanted to annex the highland kingdoms of the Kambhoja tribes, including Massaga, to Persia, citing common ancient ancestry, a familiar tactic among conquering kings.

Aware of Khouroush's expansionist machinations, Queen Timmeya sent a messenger to him, explicitly stating the wishes of the Kambhoja people to remain independent, advising Khouroush to rein in his grand ambitions and to be content with the lands already under the rule of Persia.

Khouroush could have been right about the common ancestry claim, the name Kambhujiya of the Kambhoja's ancient founding ancestor having cropped up rather frequently among the then ruling Hakhamanesh Dynasty of Persia. But when Khouroush tried to intimidate Queen Timmeya into marrying him, after her son had been captured and killed by Khouroush's forces on his orders, after several days of fighting, he pushed his luck too far.

Queen Timmeya jumped into the fray, leading her Kambhoja fighters from the front against the Persian army of Khouroush, in what would turn out to be his last battle.

After her rampaging Kambhoja army, buttressed by a meaner than usual Ashvaka cavalry, had finally routed Khouroush's invading Persian forces, Timmeya searched the entire battlefield for Khouroush's body, then chopped off Khouroush's head from his corpse, grabbed it by the hair, turned it upside down, and  screamed, "You were always thirsty for blood. Now you can have the fill of your own!"

She then went riding all around the battlefield, holding her trophy aloft for all to see, to the loud chants and cheers of her triumphant warriors.

"What brave srikandhi they were, Queen Kryppia and Queen Timmeya. Could we be, by any chance, related to either of them, Father?"

"Indeed we are, Son. To both of them. You and I come from, believe it or not, the line of Queen Kryppia, and she, in turn, was descended from Queen Timmeya."

"Now, that's just magnificent. What about Prince Sudakh Shina, Father? I've heard that that he was among the finest warriors in the history of the Kambhoja people."

"We'll keep the story of Prince Sudakh Shina for another day."

"What about your side, Mother?" Prabhava then turned to his mother, who had just come to join them. "You promised me that one of these days you'd tell me about the ancient kings and princes of Karna Suvarna."

"You have to go riding with your father now, Bhava," Princess Anjali answered. "Then it's mukkti yuddha and swordfighting after that. Remember, Son. You have to grow up into a formidable warrior yourself first, like Prince Sudakh Shina, if you're to have any chance of finding the Sword of Kambhujiya, let alone winning it and keeping it. I shall tell you the story of Buddha Gupta Maha Navika tomorrow."

"He was a great adventurer, right Mother?"

"Yes. He was. And a sailor extraordinaire. That's why they called him Maha Navika. He was a talented merchant too."

"Where he did he go to, that was of special interest? And what was his greatest achievement, Mother?"

Prince Buddha Gupta sailed all the way to Suvarna Dvipa, the Golden Islands, finally landing in a place on a peninsula called the Golden Peninsula. He met and fell in love with a beautiful local girl, who happened to be a chieftain's daughter, then married her with her father's blessing. Buddha Gupta eventually founded a kingdom which he named Raktam Rttika ... Red Earth ... after the great maha vihara at Rajbadi Danga. It became a prosperous regional trading centre, and the Chinese travellers and adventurers who visited it then called it Chi Tu.

"Oooh. I can't wait to hear all of it, Mother."

"I shall also be telling you about Princess Charu Vathi, daughter of Ashoka and builder of the Charu Vathi Vihara in Kathmandu. And about Shashanka, a general of the Gupta army who eventually founded the kingdom of Gauda, in the land of Bhangala."

"Oh, Mother. Now I’ve decided not to go riding today."

"Tomorrow, Bhava. Now, go on. Your father is waiting."

Chapter 3: Seeds of Hate

970 AD, Bukit Panau (Spotted Hill), in the land named Amdan Negara (City of the Valiant).

Biduk Bota (Ogre’s Ship) surveyed the area around Mahligai Gemilang Sakti (Palace of Sacred Glory). The palace previously named Mahligai Dharma Kusuma (Dharma Kusuma Palace). For two centuries it had been occupied, in turn, by various self-appointed narapati (provincial chiefs) hailing from Palembang who claimed to be, whether truthfully or otherwise, related to the royal house of Palembang Sri Vijaya, the latest among whom being Biduk Bota himself.

The people’s uprising along the entire Kelantan River Valley around Bukit Panau had been crushed, swiftly and brutally. Several rebel leaders had been captured, bound and thrown into prison. There they languished in fear, awating their final punishment. Their homes had been burnt down to ashes, their property seized. A few more of them were still on the run, now hunted like wild animals by Biduk Bota’s henchmen.

In an isolated settlement, a couple of prasanga distance from Mahligai Gemilang Sakti, Biduk Bota’s men, armed to the teeth, barged into two houses located nearby each other. They came out again dragging a man and a woman from each house.

"Father!" a small boy, about five years of age, cried on the serambi (annexe) of his house. "Mother! Wait! Don’t leave me!"

"Bastards!" another child, about the same age as him but hardier and meaner looking, from the other house, screamed. "Don’t take my mother away! Mother! Where’re they taking you to? Father!"

The two men and their wives were bound in sturdy rope and brought to Mahligai Gemilang Sakti to receive their punishment. On Biduk Bota's orders, the women were first roughed up, then dragged into a room, one after the other, purportedly for special questioning by Biduk Bota alone.

"Hey you!" One of the men screamed. "Don't you dare hurt my wife! I'll kill you if you even touch ..." Before he finished speaking, Demak Sawo smashed his head with the pommel of his sword, sending the man sprawling to the ground. As the other man opened his mouth to speak, Kebo Laro swung his knee into his gut several times, then punched the man with all his strength in the chest, taking the wind out of him completely.

The two villagers were then beaten up and tortured to within an inch of their lives, then dragged and hurled into a killer crocodile’s cage amid screams of terror, to be savaged then feasted upon by Jaka Pelara, Biduk Bota’s voracious reptilian executioner. In short order, their wives were executed by keris in public. The ghastly punishments were necessary, Biduk Bota insisted, to serve as deterrence against future rebellions.

One of the men somehow managed to whisper a weak request to two relatives, moments before he was dragged and thrown into the crocodile’s cage. "Utih, Uda. Take our sons … to Gunung Batu ... to the Lord of the Mountain."

The two youngsters slipped away immediately. They rushed back to their village, sought and found their two small kindred, then quickly smuggled them out, taking them through isolated jungle routes, toward the mountains far upstream. They avoided going anywhere near the Kelantan River for fear of encountering Biduk Bota's men.

Only when they reached Krai, near the place where the Galas River met the Lebir River, did they dare to consider and take up a friendly looking villager's offer of a ride on his fast dugout longboat up the Galas River to Jelawang. Even then, Utih and Uda never took their eyes off the boatman for long, always keeping a sharp watch in case the man was a spy or a traitor who might turn them in, while at the same time helping to row the boat. Then they walked again through thick jungle, from Jelawang town in the direction of Gunung Batu, until they reached their final destination, the abode of the Lord of the Mountain.

Thus the two children, Nibung and Pinang, were eventually taken in by the Lord of the Mountain into his home, and raised by him as his own, with all the love a father could ever give, even though he himself had lost his beloved wife ten years earlier.

§

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

For Kembang Seri Wangi, now ten years of age, the unexpected appearance of Pinang and Nibung in Gunung Batu (Stone Mountain) was like a fortuitous blessing, even if it had occurred in the most painful of circumstances. In a single day she had gained two little brothers, adding much needed life and cheer into her home. While awaiting a room of their own to be built for them, the two small boys shared her room with her.

Every night she would keep them company until they both fell asleep. Only then would she herself retire. While her father mostly preferred to sleep outside, in the guest lounge, rather than his own bedroom.

During the day, Nibung and Pinang would run around and play normally like the other kids in the neighbourhood. At first they were shy and reserved, preferring to keep to themselves. Eventually, however, their new friends won them over with their warm good-natured friendliness, making the two children forget momentarily the recent dark events in their life.

At night, however, when sleep came, all the terrible memories would come back to haunt them in their wild nightmares.

"Mother! Father!," Pinang sobbed aloud in his dream, waking up Kembang Seri Wangi who had just dozed off. "Don’t leave me!"

Kembang Seri Wangi wiped Pinang’s face, wet with sweat, with a piece of moist rag. The child woke up briefly from his sleep, shifted position a few times, and soon fell asleep again.

"Don’t take my mother away!" moments afterward, Nibung screamed. "You Bastards! I’ll kill you all one day!"

Kembang Seri Wangi did the same with Nibung as she had done with Pinang.

"Wangi," moments later Pinang had woken up again.

"Pinang," Kembang Seri Wangi turned back to Pinang, readjusting her new brother’s blanket, which had by then shifted all over the place. "You’re tired. Go back to sleep, dear brother. Tomorrow you’d want to go play with your new friends again."

"My mother and my father, when are they going to come here for me? It's been a long time since Uncle Utih and Uncle Uda brought me here. My old friends back home, and my relatives, I miss them all so much."

The child’s innocent lament stabbed Kembang Seri Wangi sharp and deep in her young heart. But she made a big effort to keep her poise. She had to be strong for him.

"Pinang, my brother," she spoke softly, in as soothing a tone as she could muster. "Your mother and your father, they have gone to a place far, far away from here, so that they shalll not be disturbed by those bad people again. Be patient. One day, when they’re ready, they shall come for you."

Thus young Kembang Seri Wangi tirelessly looked after and cared for the little boys, calming them down every time she sensed turmoil rising in them. Day by day, night by night, she learned to fulfil her newfound duties and responsibilities as an elder sister.

As Pinang drifted into slumber again, Kembang Seri Wangi got up and opened her windows a little. She looked up at the night sky, watching the moon appear, disappear behind the clouds, then appear again.

"O Purnama, Lord of the Moon," she pleaded. "Why are those evil conquerors of our land still lording it so cruelly over our people, still terrorising and mistreating them? Beating them up and torturing them, hurting their women, plundering and pillaging their land and property, wreaking carnage and destruction everywhere.  What are the sins of these two little brothers of mine, that they have lost everyone and everything dear to them at so young an age? What are the wrongs of their mothers and fathers, that they have all been abused, injured and slain so wantonly and violently?"

Without her realising it, tears welled up in her eyes and fell down her warm cheeks.

"Wangi," Adhi Vira stretched himself, sat up slowly, rubbed his eyes and peered toward his daughter’s bedroom.

"Father!" Kembang Seri Wangi turned around, jolted out of her thoughts. "You startled me."

"I’m sorry, Daughter. You haven’t gone to sleep yet. It's very late."

"I had, Father. But I was woken up again by the cries and screams of Nibung and Pinang in their sleep."

"So was I."

"They both seemed disturbed by some bad dream of theirs."

"Don’t you worry about them too much, Dear. They’ll both gradually recover from their painful experiences. Time will heal their wounds. What’s most important is that we both take good care of them, always, and to the best of our ability."

"I hope so too, Father. They are unfortunate children. Still, I can feel, like they shall bring good fortune to our family. Even now, their mere presence seems to have cured the loneliness, which I’ve often felt in our home all this time."

Such was the character of Kembang Seri Wangi. She was barely ten years old, but her words often sounded better thought out than those of many other children much older than her. Perhaps, having long had to cope by herself in every awkward situation where another little girl would have gone running to her mother had somehow made Kembang Seri Wangi grow up that bit quicker than the rest.

"I’d be most happy if things turn out that way, Wangi," said her father. "Anyway, like someone said, behind every cloud there’s always a silver lining."

"You think so, Father? But what good can there be, in the abuse and killings, of the innocent people of Bukit Panau then?"

"I don't know the right answer to that, Daughter. What I can tell you is that, we can't, and we won't, let them go unpunished. There will be payback some time. That much I can promise."

"My mother came to see me in my dream!" suddenly Pinang appeared at the doorway, startling Kembang Seri Wangi again. "Now I know what happened. Teach me how to fight, Sir. I want to face those murderers one day. I want to make them pay for their deeds."

"Me too, Sir," Nibung sprang to stand alongside his cousin. "Those animals destroyed my family and my life. I want to kill them all."

"Teach me also, Father," Kembang Seri Wangi joined in with her two new brothers, her voice now sounding surprisingly steely with determination. "I want to fight with Nibung and Pinang. I want to liberate our land from those evil conquerors. I want to restore the pride and honour of our people."

"Bravo! Bravo!" replied Adhi Vira. "I'm happy and proud to have brave children like you all under my charge. When you're all ready, children, when you're old enough to learn the art of the warrior, I shall teach you everything."

"In the meantime," the prince continued after a pause, "you shall each live your life like children, and enjoy it like all children should do. When the time comes, when you're all big enough and strong enough, I shall be glad to have you all join me and my friends, in our fight for independence, against our arrogant enemies."

The children went quiet. They each had a bone to pick, an axe to grind. But a calm came over them and enveloped them in its cooling embrace. After a while, Kembang Seri Wangi led the boys back to their sleeping mats again.

Adhi Vira was a seasoned warrior. He understood the hunger for vengeance, that primordial human need to right a perceived wrong. He knew the immensity of its power too. For the sake of his ancestral kingdom, the fallen kingdom of Kelantan Amdan Negara, and her long downtrodden people, he strove to exploit that hunger to the full.

The early morning wind began whispering from the seven mountains nearby their highlands home. Kembang Seri Wangi closed her bedroom window. She readjusted, yet again, the blankets covering her new little brothers, Nibung and Pinang, so that their small bodies would be protected against the now increasingly cool mountain air.

Chapter 4: Sword of Kambhujiya

  

KOSALA KINGDOM: 1400 BC

Kambhujiya vs Kuvala Shava

In the dark winter night, King Kambhujiya stood still and alone, well away from the main body of his army, trying to peer as far as he could downstream by the light of his flickering torch. He could hardly make out anything much further than a couple of armspans ahead, the cool grey mist floating up from the Ghaghara filling much of the air. In his mind, however, he could clearly see the palace of King Kuvala Shava in Ayodhya, which lay on the left bank of the river, half a yojana away downstream.

He had deliberately chosen this time of the year to strike. He knew the Kosalans did not like the cold so much, but to the Kambhoja the Kosalan winter was more like their autumn, which worked to their advantage. The howl of the northern winds had been growing more and more strident since midnight, portending a sudden sharp cooling of the local weather. If that was to indeed occur, it would suit Kambhujiya's strategy perfectly.

Many among Kambhujiya's forces started to feel drowsy, but by sheer will they forced themselves to stay awake. Some of them started jogging around to warm up, while others stretched their muscles and joints and did some callisthenics. Yet some others talked in whispered tones to their horses, gently stroking their faces and rubbing their necks, to soothe their nerves and calm them down. At dawn Kambhujiya's army moved.

A third of Kambhujiya's fighters, led by Kharvela, a senior commander, rode fast moving longboats, twenty five men to a boat, rowed by oarsmen of the River Tribe, a people with part-Kambhoja ancestry that had immigrated from the Tibetan plateau far upstream a century before. The remainder, led by Kambhujiya himself, went on horse.

§

Kambhujiya surveyed the scene playing out before him. He had expected a much tougher fight, and his army came well prepared. But the Kosalans seemed to have, in his eyes, crumbled and collapsed, eventually losing their legendary aura of invincible ferocity in battle in the face of a brutal relentless Kambhoja onslaught.

The river contingent had executed their task competently, their sharpshooting bowmen silently taking out the sleepy enemy sentries. Their skirmishers then followed up with spears and javelins. Finally their berserkers took on the outrushing Kosalan soldiers staggering out of their quarters in savage hand to hand combat. Complete chaos and disarray fell upon the Kosalan side. 

The Kambhoja warriors were now on the rampage, swarming the grounds of Kosala's royal palace like a massive pack of hungry wolves. Their elite Ashvaka cavalry began pouncing on and cutting down the last remnants of King Kuvala Shava's imperial guards still left standing. Bodies lay sprawling on the earth, here, there and everywhere, like trees smashed down by a tempest. The smell of death, foul, pungent and nauseating, hung in the air.

Several Kambhoja footmen started scouring the area for loot, at the same time finishing off severely injured fighters from either side.

"Kill me," a man groaned. "Please."

Kumara, a Kambhoja captain, turned around in the direction of the voice. It looked like a badly wounded Kosalan. The Kambhoja fighter walked over to the man, his warrior instincts nonetheless keeping himself alert for any trickery.

The Kosalan lay curled up in a small pool of blood, his face a gory mash of drying crimson, his right leg almost severed at the thigh, both his arms shattered beyond hope. Kumara looked into the man's forlorn pain filled eyes, held his head and shoulder like a brother, and said a brief prayer. Then he drove his dagger hard and deep up the man's heart, ending his agony immediately.

§

"Now I'll have that sword, at last." King Kambhujiya strode powerfully into the vast throne room of his sworn enemy amid the strident blare of horn trumpets from his victorious soldiers, his eyes blazing, his leading generals following closely on his heels. Chandraka and Shakuni, the tallest and biggest among them, flanked him one on each side. Kharvela, meanwhile, stood guard outside, grimly observing the final carnage from afar.

“No you won't!!!” screamed King Kuvala Shava. His army had been bested in its own territory by Kambhujiya's after three days of bloody fighting. “Daivi Khadga has always been a family heirloom of the Ikshvaku dynasty. The royal dynasty of my ancestors which has ruled Kosala for centuries.”

The king of Kosala sat stiffly on his throne. The giant fearsome sword hung proudly on the wall behind him. No man of ordinary strength would be able to wield that enormous blade with much deftness, Kambhujiya thought. He wondered if Kuvala Shava ever did.

Six burly Kosalan imperial guards stood three on each side of their king, looking fiercely protective. But they were now hopelessly outmanned and outarmed, their comrades either fled with the piercing Himalayan winds, lying down wailing and groaning in their last death throes, or perished altogether.

“Lies!!!” Kambhujiya roared back. “That’s all lies! What your people now call Daivi Khadga was the Sword of Chander Burman. It was first given, two hundred years ago, as a token of friendship by Tudhaliya, king of the Khetta people (the Hittites), the earliest masters of ironworking, to his friend and former overlord Sharma-Adad, king of Great Ashuria."

"Great Shiva, please," Kuvala Shava rolled his eyes in dismissive disdain. "Spare me this torment."

"Now ... if you would learn to pay some respect for the truth," Kambhujiya continued, brushing aside his quarry's cynicism. "Chander Burman, my ancestor, had led a select contingent of Himalayan guest warriors from the Kambhoja highlands to Great Ashuria to ..."

"That's at least two hundred yojana in distance!" Kuvala Shava glared. "Through mountains, thick jungle and barren desert. Was he mad? What on earth for? Pray tell me."

"To help Sharma-Adad counter the growing threat of the Madayu, a warlike, horse-riding nomadic people of the Zagros Mountains somewhat similar in lifestyle to the Kambhoja. Chander Burman's Kambhoja was a close ally to Great Ashuria."

"Is that all?"

"Sharma-Adad and Chander Burman became good friends, and Chander Burman eventually married Princess Nin-Harrissi, one of Sharma-Adad's daughters. Daivi Khadga was then given by Sharma-Adad to his new son-in-law Chander Burman as a special wedding present."

“And then the couple lived happily ever after," Kuvala Shava scoffed. "Now it's just incredible. What a fantastic fairytale. You've made all that up.”

“No, I have not. Chander Burman took the sword and his beautiful Ashurian bride back to his Kambhoja homeland. Your ancestors invaded Chander Burman’s kingdom during his old age, killed him and his entire family, except his infant grandson whom a loyal maidservant risked her own life to smuggle out to safety, and took the gift sword."

"This is getting audacious now," Kuvala Shava hissed. "Simply amazing. And then what?"

"Some dreamy, opium smoking court purohita of Kosala later made up a tall tale about a flaming sword that came hurtling down to earth from the sky. The story gained pull, with the backing of their king, and became folk legend. But now it’s time for me, Kambhujiya, descendant of Chander Burman and Nin-Harrissi, to have the Sword of Chander Burman back.”

“What a big, pathetic, bloody load of crap!!” Kuvala Shava retorted. “If that shitty grandfather story of yours isn’t a fable, I don’t know what is."

“I know many big loads of crap, and the biggest among them is that one about a fiery sword descending from the sky!” Kambujiya riposted with a sneer."

"Over my dead body, you nomadic thief. No way will I ever let you lay your dirty barbarian hand on Daivi Khadga for as long as I live!”

“In the name of Great Diti, glorious Goddess of the Moon, your stupidity is as astounding as your bravery. But if you still insist on staking your life, besides your entire Kosala kingdom and the whole future of your Ikshvaku dynasty for a sword that rightly belongs to another kingdom, well, that’s fine with me!”

“With me too!” Kuvala Shava fired back.

“You still don't get it, do you?” Kambhujiya countered unyieldingly. “My Kambhoja army has thoroughly and decisively vanquished your whole Kosala army in your Kosala territory. By all the rules of war and peace I have now earned the right to your entire kingdom, let alone Daivi Khadga. You don't own anything now. Not even your life. Do you understand?"

Kuvala Shava stared at his foe as he took in the cold reality.

"But I’m a sensible man." Kambhujiya continued. "Better a durable peace than a fragile conquest for me. I shall take Daivi Khadga, my Kambhoja army will leave Kosala after we've agreed terms, and we’ll just let bygones be bygones. For now.”

Such were the sparks of rage that flew between two proud powerful kings of the Himalayas, each of them hereditary sovereign of his own ancestral maha janapada. The rage that, however, yielded eventually to a final peace deal that gave closure to a violent war between the Aryan Kambhoja and the kingdom of Kosala, seat of power of the age old Ikshvaku Dynasty. While Daivi Khadga, that Divine Sword of ancient fame, then became ... the Sword of Kambhujiya.

On Kambhujiya's insistence, the entire River Tribe followed him as he returned to Kambhoja. It was just the right thing to do. They could not have remained where they were after this latest event. The Kosalans would have exacted severe retribution on them for the part played by some of their kinsmen during the Kambhoja invasion of Ayodhya.

As an interim measure, Kambhujiya settled the River Tribe in a riverside village in the suburbs of Dvarka, the capital of Kambhoja kingdom. They would be allowed to resettle anywhere else in his land as soon as they felt ready.

KURU KSHETRA, THE PUNJAB VALLEY: 1200 BC

Sudakh Shina vs Arjuna

The ancient rivalry between the Aryan Kambhoja and the Ikshvaku dynasty of the kingdom of Kosala continued to simmer over the next two centuries after the battle between the armies of Kambhujiya and Kuvala Shava. Glowing incessantly like embers in half-burnt chaff. Now old wounds would flare up again.

The Kuru Kshetra War in the Punjab had pitted related but rival families the Pandava, sons of King Pandu, and the Kaurava, sons of King Kuru. Inadvertently, it had also brought the descendants of Kambhujiya and Kuvala Shava into direct battle against one another.

The Aryan Kambhoja were at first neutral in the inter-necine conflict. It had absolutely nothing to do with them and they were happy enough to stay on the sidelines. However, in the last days preceding the war proper, the Kaurava's nerves began to fray. King Duryodhana of Hastina Pura sent an emissary to approach Sudakh Shina Kambhoja Raja, chief prince and leader of the Aryan Kambhoja, to request for Kambhoja assistance.

No ordinary emissary that was, by the way. It was no less than Jayadratha himself, king of Sauvira (Sindh) and a brother in law of both Duryodhana and Sudakh Shina. For Jayadratha had also married a sister of Sudakh Shina and made her one of his queens, a move intended to secure Kambhoja alliance and friendship for Sauvira. Duryodhana was someone who always knew how to make the best of things.

Sudakh Shina found himself in a dilemma, big time. Agreeing to help the Kaurava would mean bringing the perennially simmering Kambhoja-Kosala enmity back to the boil. Ignoring the Kaurava's request would mean violating the age old Kambhoja code of honour, which obliged the helping of a friend in his hour of need.

Eventually, amidst the rising passions of an imminent war, Sudakh Shina acceded to the Kaurava's request. Sudakh Shina assembled a formidable composite army of Kambhoja, Shaka, Yavana, Tushara and Pahlava fighters, he himself leading them as Supreme Commander, to aid his friend King Duryodhana and the Kaurava tribe.

On the fourteenth day of what would be a fierce eighteen day war, a one on one duel without arms between Sudakh Shina and Arjuna turned into a pivotal moment for the war. Towards the end of their fight, Sudakh Shina sprang at his foe and tore into him like a crazed wolf, raining a relentless hail of fists, elbows, knees and feet from left, right and centre on a rapidly weakening Arjuna.

The penultimate strike was a crunching head butt which all but cracked Arjuna’s whole face. The final, finishing blow took the form of a devastating jumping spinning reverse roundhouse kick with the heel to the right side of Arjuna’s head. Arjuna swooned for a brief moment, then collapsed into a heap with not a single sound.

The Kambhoja warriors were by then baying for blood. Shouting their voices hoarse, they called on Sudakh Shina to decapitate Arjuna with the Daivi Khadga that Arjuna had been carrying around for years, and take both Arjuna’s head and the coveted sword back to Kambhoja kingdom as war trophies.

"He's defeated, Lord," one of them shouted.

"He's shamed, slay him!" another demanded.

"No!" Sudakh Shina flatly refused.

Striking a man when he was down was just not his style. It would have gone against everything he believed and held dear about honour, valour and the way of the kshatriya. He only took the sword.

Somehow, to everybody’s surprise, Arjuna recovered rather quickly. He rose slowly, catching his breath, then picked up his giant recurved longbow, the divine Gandhiva. Still he felt absolutely queasy about shooting someone from the back. For some brief moments, he just stood there. Hesitant. Tentative.

His head felt so funny, his mind disordered and disoriented. That massive pounding he had taken from Sudakh Shina had exacted a severe toll on him. And then, he seemed to hear a voice, speaking to him from somewhere, a voice audible only to him. 

“Arjuna,” the voice sounded gentle but firm. “I can hear the troubling thoughts taking residence in your mind. Do not let such trivial matters distract you from your mission. Your ultimate dharma is to fight, and to lead your people to victory. In whatever way, by whatever means, and whatever it takes.”

“But,” Arjuna started arguing with the voice. Or was it just himself? “This isn’t ... really ... the way of the warrior.”

“It might not be,” the voice continued, "in normal circumstances. But now, the destiny of an entire people, and that of their progeny, for the next thousand years, is on the line. In this kind of situation, the end takes precedence over the means. In that arrow, in that bow Gandhiva, lies the fate of the Pandava and all their future descendants. You will do what you have to do.”

Time was now of the essence. If the brave Sudakh Shina suddenly turned around and launched another attack, it would certainly be the end for Arjuna. With arms heavy from fatigue after a long, hard fight, and with an even heavier heart, Arjuna nocked his arrow, then drew the string of his bow.

As Sudakh Shina was slowly walking back to his Kambhoja battalion, the famed Daivi Khadga now slung on his broad muscular back, Arjuna loosed a massive arrow from Gandhiva. The arrow that does not miss. It hit Sudakh Shina smack bang in the middle of the back of his neck, shattered his neck bones to pieces and came out again punching its way right through his laryngeal prominence.

The entire Kambhoja battalion watched aghast. Sudakh Shina fought in vain for air while powerful jets of thick crimson liquid spurted out of his neck in every direction. He turned around to face Arjuna, glared at him for a few moments, broke the arrow in his neck into two halves and threw the pieces at his adversary.

Still struggling hard for air, he managed to say, hoarsely, “We ... shall ... meet ... again,” before finally tumbling forward, hitting the ground heavily with his huge chest. Loud gasps of shock, disbelief and dismay among the Kambhoja warriors followed.

Stricken and distraught with grief and disappointment, the Kambhoja's morale was crushed. With typical Kambhoja valour, Sudakh Shina's younger brother Prapaksha took over the mantle of leadership. Prapaksha fell two days later, to a now revitalised Arjuna. The Kambhoja soon packed up their stuff and left for home. Without the Kambhoja, the war was essentially over. The Pandava had won.