The capital city lies on the right bank of the Kṛṣṇā! Flowing toward the ocean, the Kṛṣṇā joins the sea at Haṃsaladīvi [Swan Island]. A yojana beyond that, on the left bank, lies a region of abundant fertility. Trees and shrubs grow in thick, intertwined clusters. This territory stretches for nearly a krośa and a half in every direction. Within it, wells and tanks are found in plenty. Rows of coconut palms shine brilliantly in various spots, lending an immense charm to the landscape. There are a few mango groves, but neem and tamarind trees are most numerous. Scattered throughout are wide, open spaces and verdant meadows of lush grass.
To the east of this region lie many small villages made of humble huts, though one or two tiled mansions can also be seen. The surrounding earth is incredibly fertile; jowar, ragi, and maize grow in profusion. For twelve krośas [approximately 24-30 miles] in any direction, the entire expanse belongs to the Sovereign Lord of the Āndhras. Royal officials oversee the cultivation of these fields. The fodder, the rice stalks, and all the produce of this emerald land are stored here. This is one of the King's Toṟṟupaṭlu [Pastoral Estates].
Thousands of cattle dwell there. Red cows, white cows, tawny cows, black-bodied cows with white faces, spotted cows, short-horned ones, and massive oxen—herds of every variety gather at this Torrupattu. Approximately one hundred cowherds (Gopālakas) tend to them. Clad in red turbans and white dhotis, carrying curved staffs, these men possess frames hardened by constant labor. Their bodies, tall and sinewy, are darkened by the perpetual touch of the sun's rays. They move with a singular devotion to the care of the cattle.
One morning, the sun rose. The region, illuminated by the spreading rays of the sun—shone on the floor decorated with Mruggulu[1]. A strange, divine light spread across the land; it created such a luminous splendor across that landscape that it seemed as though the heavens themselves had descended to earth. it seemed these were no earthly herds, and this was no earthly place, but Goloka[2]itself. The morning flowers, swaying gently in the playful ripples of the soft breeze, appeared like smiling infants showing their delicate, pearl-like teeth. In the lakes, bees were seen emerging from the heart of newly-blossomed lotuses, making the water-filled lands resemble the beautiful, uncovered bosom of a radiant, mature woman.
The tips of the grass blades, adorned with droplets of dew made golden by the crimson sun, gleamed like the blood-drops on the tip of a warrior's dagger after a strike. Young calves mimicked their natural sport, bending their necks, raising their tails, and jumping with all four feet together. Their mothers turned their muzzles toward them, watching with eyes that looked like freshly split, tender cotton pods—absorbed in a trance of maternal devotion.
The cowherds, with milk-pails in hand, moved busily to and fro. Holding ropes in their left hands and calling out "They! They!" they separated the calves from the mothers. The struggle was intense; the calves pulled so hard against their neck-ropes that it seemed their throats might tear. The men sat down, using their shoulders to push the calves toward the hitching posts. When a calf's jostling caused a bit of milk to spill from the pail, the cowherds would nudge the calf away with an elbow, set the pail aside, and try again to secure the rope. Meanwhile, the mother cows stood with eyes that suggested their life's sole purpose was to give milk, waiting with a deep, expectant stillness. The moment a calf nuzzled the udder for a drink or two, the cow's milk would flow freely. At that moment, the cow's hindquarters, standing beside the flowing nectar, looked like the cooling stone vessels found beside the wells of the city of the Gods, meant to quench the thirst of all. Gradually, the ruddy glow of dawn began to break into bright, white light.
About a krośa to the east of the Torrupattu, among the scattered huts, stood a building. To its right was a wide courtyard of eighty square yards. Coconut palms lined the perimeter, their fronds heavy with fruit. The ground was entirely sandy, compacted by the weight of many footsteps. In the early morning, two men were engaged in a sword-fight there. One was Niraṅkuśa. The other was an elderly cowherd named Gaṅgu.
Gaṅgu was over one hundred and twenty-five years old. Twenty-five years ago, he had been a preeminent master of sword-craft, serving as a guru to many in the surrounding area. He had spent his entire life in these coastal regions and had never sought the patronage of the capital. Though his kinsmen and friends had tried for years to send him to the royal court, their efforts failed, and they eventually gave up. His name was unknown in the capital, but the entire coastline knew him. Some of his disciples in the royal army would occasionally mention his name, but to those who had never seen him, he remained a mere legend. The common soldiers knew of him, but the officers, the royal officials, and the sword-experts of the capital did not.
Niraṅkuśa had been the superintendent of this Torrupattu for four or five years. He had heard Gaṅgu's name often. He had sent word many times for Gaṅgu to come to him, but Gaṅgu—a free and independent man—never came. Gaṅgu owned his own plot of land and had four sons, all of whom were in distant lands: one in the service of the Kaliṅga king, one in Kāśmīra, one in the Cedi region, and the fourth an official in the court of the Suṃha king. His land yielded what it could, and he owned ten cows. His sons sent money whenever possible. Despite being one hundred and thirty years old, his physical vigor was undiminished, and he practiced his sword-exercises daily. His wife, about seventy, looked much older, her hair white and her skin wrinkled; she managed the household and the fields herself. Gaṅgu did nothing but practice sword-craft at dawn and dusk in his spacious yard. The banana plants and two Ponna [3]trees in his yard were his "enemies." He directed his entire skill at them. The trunks of the Ponna trees were riddled with puncture marks, and no one could say how many times his blade had pierced through the banana stalks. Being filled with water, those stalks could not bleed; the "wounds" simply closed up under the internal moisture.
Finally, after ten failed messages, Niraṅkuśa walked two krośas himself one morning to wake Gaṅgu. He coerced, pleaded, and entreated until he finally brought the old man back with him. Niraṅkuśa's motive was simple: "What new techniques does this man possess? If he has secrets unknown in the capital, I shall learn them!" He believed that if he mastered these, he would reign supreme over the experts of Dhānyakaṭakam[4].
Yet, Niraṅkuśa harbored a doubt. He believed no swordsman surpassed his own father, and if his father didn't know a secret, no one did. It seemed unlikely that a man in a remote coastal village could possess superior knowledge. But hope persisted, fueled by a rumor: it was said Gaṅgu had learned his art in many lands—Rāmaṭha[5], Gāndhāra[6], Lampāka[7], Bāhlika[8], and Trigarta[9]. He had supposedly served many masters across the north. The people of Rāmaṭha and Lampāka were known for their fierce, intense natures, and their traditions were said to be vastly different from the Āndhra style. Because of this hope, even though Gaṅgu was a mere cowherd and had ignored his summons, Niraṅkuśa—the royal official—humbled himself to bring the old man to the arena.
Therefore, describing his pastoral estate and depicting the sheer beauty of the region, Niraṅkuśa persuaded the old man by showing him the charm and vastness of the training ground, the surrounding coconut palms, the sweetness of the water in the local tanks, and the joyous life of a hundred families.
They fought for approximately two and a half to three gaḍiyas (hours). Initially, Gaṅgu remained motionless, not shifting an inch from where he stood. Niraṅkuśa felt a surge of anger, but he composed himself. He then began a fierce offensive, leaping at will and delivering intense thrusts from every possible angle. Gaṅgu was forced to move, yet the initial slowness did not entirely depart from him. Niraṅkuśa realized that unless he displayed his absolute mastery, the old man would not yield.
There were sixteen secret techniques that his father had never revealed to anyone else. In the early days, Niraṅkuśa believed his father had taught them only to him, but he later discovered his father had also taught them to Vijayasiṃha. It was clear that no one else in the kingdom knew them. Among these, four were such that an enemy could not possibly withstand them. If the opponent was familiar with them, they might parry; otherwise, they were defenseless. His father's command was that when employing these four against an enemy, one must declare: "I am using this now; parry it if you can." There was another peculiarity to these techniques: while all other moves could be performed as sport, these could not. In practice, the opponent would either successfully defend or, without a doubt, be severely wounded.
How could Niraṅkuśa use them against Gaṅgu? If the old man was unfamiliar with them, he would certainly be injured, which was not Niraṅkuśa's intent. These were strikes that required a peculiar movement and had to be executed with extreme velocity. In a friendly duel, at the moment the blade presses against the opponent's body, it was impossible to reduce the sword's momentum.
Niraṅkuśa said to Gaṅgu: "Let us stop for today. I did not come here with the vanity of showing off my sword-craft to you. You are a man of advanced age and great worldly experience. I have heard you studied in many lands. I wish to learn new things from you, not mock you with a display of my skills. You are like a seasoned whetstone; you hardly move your feet. You only moved a little because of my intensity. It is only natural that there is such speed in my youth and such stillness in your age. You came because a member of the royal family called and pleaded with you, but you haven't acted as though I should learn something from you. Moreover, I didn't ask you for this at the start. Tomorrow morning, just as I did today, I will come to your house. We shall walk together. If your heart softens, teach me the specialties you possess. After that, it shall be as you wish."
Gaṅgu laughed and asked: "My Lord! You haven't shown me your entire skill, have you?"
Niraṅkuśa was taken aback. "I possess certain secret strikes. In this kingdom, only my father knows them. He taught them only to me and to his favorite disciple, the King's second son, Vijayasiṃha. I cannot use them against you. If I do, you must either be able to withstand them or be wounded! That is why I didn't show them. Furthermore, in true combat with an actual enemy, depending on their style of aggression, the subtle, hidden nuances of one's training manifest as spontaneous inspiration. Those can never be remembered or planned by anyone. They cannot even be described as 'great' techniques, but when they flash forth as a response to an opponent's move, they radiate with intuitive genius. Ordinary people are stunned by them. Such things may exist within me, but from a technical standpoint, I have shown you the primary elements."
As he spoke these words, Gaṅgu began to untie the turban and the waistband he had secured for the duel, as if preparing to conclude. He said, "Let us return to the arena. I must understand the nature of those techniques. What are two or three small wounds? Let us assume they are deep wounds! What is the loss? Does it say that wounds occur only when fighting an enemy and never when practicing with friends? In the northwest direction of our Bhārata-deśam, there are many Mlecchalands. Do you know of them?"
Niraṅkuśa replied, "I know of some."
Gaṅgu continued: "There are ten or fifteen such countries. Above the land of the Persians[10], there is a sea called the Khāsā Sea. There is a land called Khāsā[11]. Between that land and the sea lies the Tuṣāra[12]country. Yet, the sea bears the name of Khāsā. Below this Khāsā land and above Mount Meru lie the Mahā-khāsa[13] and Mahā-nāsa[14] lands. Beyond that is Mahānā. These are all Mleccha[15]lands. These Mlecchas are a strange race; they possess no civilization, no temples, and no devotion. Here, our Brahmins[16] perform Yajnas and sacred rituals; they do not. The men are coarse, carrying anger on the tips of their noses, perpetually intoxicated by liquor. Whether they know of an afterlife, who can say? Such are they!
"Once, the King of Khāsā and his son were in combat. The father was teaching the son. The son had no fear of striking his father, nor did the father fear striking the son. In the heat of it, they grew angry—for they do not know how to restrain anger. While fighting, the father mocked the son. Mocking, in their sense, meant rebuking him for not remembering what was taught. That son immediately stabbed and killed his father. I tell you of their wickedness because even in a friendly duel, imbalances can occur. I am an old man. You are of royal blood. It is no sin if I am slightly wounded. Therefore, show me those techniques. I shall learn them."
With that, he descended into the arena once more.
Niraṅkuśa began to deliberate. While he had hoped the old man would reveal something new, it seemed Gaṅgu was now making moves to grasp his own deepest secrets. Would Gaṅgu reveal his own mysteries after learning these? Should he allow his secrets to be known or not? Of the six distinguished techniques he possessed, two were minor and four were superior. He decided to show three of them and, after observing Gaṅgu's condition, decide whether to reveal the rest. But to hesitate now would invite suspicion.
Stepping into the arena, Niraṅkuśa said, "Gaṅgu! For this, you must not remain motionless as before. We must act as true adversaries and fight genuinely. Only then can I demonstrate them. It is true you are much older than I," and he drew his sword. Gaṅgu also drew his blade and stood ready.
The old man began to move across the field like a serpent coiling and sliding. His unique Caṅkramaṇam (circular movement) was so deceptive that Niraṅkuśa could not afford a single moment of inattention. Forget the "great techniques"—even during ordinary maneuvers, every small detail of sword-craft seemed magnified into a grand art by Gaṅgu's strange movement.
Niraṅkuśa realized something vital. This lightning-fast, distinctive circular gait seen in Gaṅgu was present to some degree in Vijayasiṃha, but it was absent in himself. That was Vijayasiṃha's advantage. Their technical proficiency was equal, but because of this extraordinary movement, Vijayasiṃha's skill appeared superior. It was this agility that made Vijayasiṃha seem more formidable. Because their core knowledge was equal, Vijayasiṃha could not truly defeat him, yet Niraṅkuśa had always felt he might lose.
He realized there were only two ways to conquer Vijayasiṃha. First, to become as agile in circular movement—but that was a physical trait, a nature of birth that could not be changed now. He had tried; he had fasted, lived only on cow's milk, and even abandoned worldly comforts. While his body gained lightness, the elusive mastery of the circular gait did not appear. The second way was to learn a new discipline that Vijayasiṃha did not know. Then, Vijayasiṃha's movement would be useless. Superiority belongs to the one who strikes with a technique the opponent has never seen. Therefore, he must learn the new secrets from Gaṅgu.
He fought fiercely with Gaṅgu for an hour. If it continued much longer, he would grow exhausted. Before that, the three techniques he intended to show had to suffice.
He began with one of the two "lesser" techniques, announcing its name. He leaped to the right. As he leaped, he thrust his sword. Gaṅgu parried with his shield. In that same instant, Niraṅkuśa leaped further to the right, and just where Gaṅgu was certain to swing his sword, Niraṅkuśa used his shield to parry while attempting to slash at Gaṅgu's left foot. He saw that Gaṅgu already knew this technique; the moment Niraṅkuśa moved right, Gaṅgu also shifted right, rendering the strike harmless. Though it was a clever move, it wasn't a "great" one. He tried a second similar move, but Gaṅgu was familiar with its leaps as well.
Then, Niraṅkuśa employed the third—one of the supreme secrets of Āndhra sword-craft. It had to be executed with immense speed. Using a violent circular charge, he struck the opponent's shield with his own. That collision was designed to make both shields fall to the ground! It was a unique strike. In the fall, the opponent's shield would land face-down (the "boss" side up), while the attacker's shield would land face-up (the "bowl" side up). The attacker then skillfully kicks or throws his shield atop the opponent's, leaps onto the elevated pile, and strikes at the opponent's left hand, which is still reeling from the loss of the shield. The opponent's right hand is still active, and their sword will come for the attacker. The mastery lies in leaping onto the shields, striking the left hand, and leaping back before the opponent's sword can land. The shields on the ground act as a physical barrier, forcing the opponent's counter-strike to hit the shields instead of the attacker. The entire brilliance of this move depends on the skill of striking the opponent's shield at a specific angle and velocity so that it falls exactly as intended.
Niraṅkuśa executed the strike against Gaṅgu's shield exactly as planned. Gaṅgu's shield fell to the ground. However, Gaṅgu's left arm did not seem paralyzed or stunned by the impact. Niraṅkuśa prepared to toss his own shield atop Gaṅgu's to create the elevated platform for his leap, but he paused. He saw that Gaṅgu was not incapacitated; the old man stood a short distance away, perfectly composed.
Stepping back and abandoning the stance on the shields, Niraṅkuśa laughed and said, "This is the essence of the technique. My shield must land like a platter, and with skill, I cast it face-up over yours. From this height, I am meant to strike thus. This is the structural form of the maneuver."
A look of keen enlightenment dawned on Gaṅgu's face. He remarked, "Striking a shield in such a way as to force it down is a skill I have not encountered in any other land. It is excellent. When you prepared to strike, you stood at this specific distance. You approached from this angle. At that moment, my shield was held at this exact proportion and height."
Gaṅgu began describing the precise geometric measurements of the move. Niraṅkuśa was struck with wonder. Did Gaṅgu already know this? Or had he deciphered its entire mechanics in a mere half-second? He reasoned that if Gaṅgu had known it, he would have gripped the shield differently to prevent the fall. Since he hadn't shifted his grip, he clearly hadn't known it.
Niraṅkuśa laughed and said, "You are truly peerless in this art. No matter how many techniques exist, there is one caution that can nullify them all: keeping one's body perpetually out of reach of the blade. Regardless of how the sword turns, there is always a governing rule to its motion. You possess all the vital traits—keeping distance, never being dazed, never tiring, and never becoming over-excited. In a balanced duel, no one can conquer you.
"The special techniques I possess are of little use to you," he continued. "To you, sword-craft is a pastime or an art to teach students, not a means to vanquish enemies. But if you teach me four or five of the new techniques you learned in foreign lands—methods unknown in this country—I shall become your disciple in a way. I aspire to be a commander in the royal army. The King appointed me over this Torrupattu because he and my father were classmates; he wished for me to live in comfort. But I have no desire to stay here. If you teach me those new moves, I shall demonstrate them before the King and secure a position as a General."
Gaṅgu stood silent. By then, about an hour and a half of the morning had passed, and the sun was beginning to shimmer with heat. They wore no armor, only tunics, which were now drenched with sweat. The heat in the center of the arena was growing intense. Were it not for the sturdy footwear bound to their feet, they would have felt the burning sting of the sand.
Gaṅgu finally spoke, "The day has advanced significantly. I must walk two krośas back. I will teach you two or three new techniques that do not exist in this land, but the method of learning them is different."
Gaṅgu walked toward the shade of the coconut grove at the northern edge of the arena near Niraṅkuśa's house and began untying his turban and waistband. Niraṅkuśa grew anxious; if Gaṅgu left now, who knew when he would reveal those secrets? It was indeed late. He wondered if the old man would accept an invitation to stay as a guest or if he would take offense at being pressured. Niraṅkuśa also began removing his combat gear.
After a while, as Gaṅgu prepared to depart, Niraṅkuśa said, "I shall escort you to your home and return."
Gaṅgu refused. "You are of royal lineage, a man of the court. I am a commoner. It is not right for you to show me such honor."
"It is not honor shown to your person, but to your mastery," Niraṅkuśa insisted.
Gaṅgu then said, "Sir! Are you afraid I will not tell you the secrets of my art? Truly, I will tell you. In truth, I have no desire to speak of them, yet I feel I must. Earlier, I spoke of the Mlecchas. I have no love for them. It is true I traveled to lands like Rāmaṭha, lived among them, and acted as they did to learn certain things. Those are Mleccha lands. There, Lord Śrī Rāmacandra is not God. There is no varna system. The consciousness of the Supreme is thin. In our lands, the Divine is reflected in every little thing; no one does anything without a thought of the Supreme. Even if an individual lacks that feeling, the traditions and customs are so saturated with it that every life in India is permeated by the Divine.
"I am a cowherd," he added, "and it may surprise you to hear me speak thus. But my time in foreign lands, contrasted with the purity of my homeland, has bred a certain revulsion for their ways. We are cowherds, sir—the Lord Śrī Kṛṣṇa himself was born into our clan! I was but a child during the MahāBhārata War; otherwise, I would have gone to see the Lord myself."
"In our land, there is no connection between true knowledge and vile, malicious mantras. Individuals may worship Śiva, Keśava, or Śrī Rāmacandra. They may pray for victory. We have mantras; we have the celestial weapons like the Āgneyāstra[17]which great archers learn. Agni[18], Vāyu[19], or Garuda [20]serve as the presiding deities of those mantras. These deities—Agni, Vāyu, and Garuda—are world-renowned and mentioned in the Vedas. These gods have no relation whatsoever to the deities of the Mleccha lands. There, they do not have such a multitude of gods. They have no sacred traditions. Their customs are not ordained by the Smṛtis (sacred codes); they emerged only for the convenience of social life.
"Among them, some have learned certain mantras that originated only in those lands. In our country, a mantra is always in the Sanskrit language. In those lands, the mantras are in their own tongues. The presiding deities of those mantras are strange beings. In the region of Meruva, there is a massive well. Every person in that village uses the water from that well. At least four or five people commit suicide by jumping into it every year. That well is a deity. There is a mantra for which that well is the presiding goddess. Some people there chant that mantra for a few days using the name of their enemy. That enemy inevitably falls into that well and dies. No one knows who first envisioned that mantra.
"There is a connection between this mantra and a sword technique I am going to tell you tomorrow. If one recites that mantra a million times and executes this sword strike against an enemy, the enemy cannot withstand it. It is not mere sword-craft. A Piśāca(demon), which is the presiding deity of that vile mantra, takes refuge in that strike and slaughters the enemy.
"I used to have a doubt. Quite often, the inhabitants of Mleccha lands like the Śakas[21], Yavanas[22], Rāmaṭhas, Daradas[23], and Bāhlikas invade our Bhārata-deśam. What would become of our warriors if they employed such a base technique? To resolve that doubt, I did something. I have four sons. My fourth son is an official in the court of the King of Suṃha. I taught him my entire sword-craft. He is a devotee of Rāma. I made him sit and chant the name of Rāma a hundred thousand times. I myself performed a million recitations of that vile mantra, and while engaging in a sword duel with him, I unleashed that strike upon him. I do not know what he felt at that moment. He let out a cry of 'Rāma!' and blocked my sword with his. My sword shattered into two pieces. At that very instant, a sound erupted as if a massive boulder had been dropped into the well in our backyard.
"Afterward, I told my son everything. I said, 'Son! I wanted to see the extent of the power of these base &vile mantras. Even though you are my own child, I executed this strike on you to test the power of our land, our Vedas, and our Gods. Had you died, I would have stabbed myself with my own sword and died as well. All my faith in this Bhārata-deśam would have vanished. My belief in our tradition would have perished. My conviction in the Infinite Time, the Kalpas[24], the Yugas[25], and the eternity of Bhārata-deśam spoken of by our ancestors would have been destroyed. But it did not happen so. It is our good fortune.' But my boy is a bit stubborn. He could not forgive me for executing that strike on him. He took a vow never to touch a sword again.
"My three eldest sons are in the service of foreign kings' armies. This one is just an ordinary official."
Niraṅkuśa walked halfway back with Gaṅgu. Then, he turned and returned home.
Translation by vihu_vhu
[1] Rangoli/patterns drew on floor ( indian practise )
[2] [the celestial abode of Kṛṣṇa]
[3] 'Ponna' Chettu is the Telugu name for the Alexandrian Laurel (Scientific name: Calophyllum inophyllum). It is an evergreen tree native to tropical coastal regions and holds significant ecological, medicinal, and cultural importance. // Common Names --- English: Alexandrian Laurel, Beach Calophyllum, Beauty Leaf. // Sanskrit: Punnaga. // Hindi: Sultan Champa.// Tamil: Punnai.
[4] Capital of Andhra
[5] Rāmaṭha - Location: Associated with the Raumaka Mountain region in northern/northwestern India.------------------------------------------Context: Mentioned in ancient Ayurvedic and poetic texts as a source of specific herbs and minerals (like Asafoetida or Hing). Like the other Mleccha lands, it was viewed as a remote, frontier region characterized by its unique natural resources rather than strict adherence to Vedic social structures.
[6] Gāndhāra: Location: Spanned modern-day eastern Afghanistan and northwestern Pakistan (Peshawar and Rawalpindi districts). ----------------------------Post-Mahabharata Status: After the death of Shakuni and his sons in the war, the Kuru king Janamejaya (grandson of Abhimanyu) later invaded Gandhara and conquered its capital, Takshasila.-----------------------------Kaliyuga Context: This region became a significant cultural crossroads, eventually becoming a major center for Buddhism and Hellenistic-influenced art. It was later absorbed into the Persian Achaemenid Empire around 535 BCE. ~ Gemini
[7] Bāhlikā (Balkh) - Location: Centered around the modern Balkh region in northern Afghanistan.--------------------------Post-Mahabharata Status: The term "Bahlika" was often used broadly to refer to "outsiders" from the northwest who followed a variant of Vedic culture.-----------------------------Kaliyuga Context: Identified as a Mleccha land because its people did not strictly follow the Varna system or the specific ritualistic framework of the Indo-Gangetic plain. It was known for trade, particularly in horses and aromatic herbs. ~Gemini
[8] Laṃpāka - Location: Corresponds to the modern Laghman region near Kabul, Afghanistan.--------------------------------------------------History: Known as the "Gateway of India".------------------------------------------Kaliyuga Context: During the early centuries of the Kali Yuga, it remained a frontier stronghold. Ashoka placed an Aramaic inscription here around 260 BCE to communicate with local populations. It later became a center for both Shaivism and Buddhism until it was destroyed by Ghaznavid invasions in the 10th century CE. ~Gemini
[9] Trigarta - Location: Located in the foothills of modern Himachal Pradesh (Kangra and Jalandhar), drained by the Ravi, Beas, and Sutlej rivers.-----------------------------------Post-Mahabharata Status: Originally allies of the Kauravas, the Trigartas survived the war and continued as an independent republic or kingdom.--------------------------------------------------Kaliyuga Context: While geographically closer to the heartland, its mountainous isolation and independent tribal structure often placed it on the periphery of "civilized" Vedic territories, leading to its occasional classification alongside frontier lands.
[10] The Land of the Persians (Pārasika-deśa)- Location: Modern-day Iran.Context: By the start of the Kaliyuga and into the medieval period, Persia was the primary western neighbor of India. It was recognized as a powerful kingdom but labeled Mleccha because its Zoroastrian (and later Islamic) customs differed fundamentally from Vedic traditions.
[11] Khāsā-deśa and the Khāsā Sea - Identification: Likely refers to the Caspian Sea and the regions surrounding it.----------------------------------------The People: The Khasas were an ancient tribe mentioned in the Mahabharata and Puranas. Historically, they inhabited the Himalayan foothills (from Kashmir to Nepal), but in larger geographical descriptions, they are linked to the Kashgar region or the lands near the Caspian (historically called the Sea of Kharas or Khas in some accounts).----------------------------Description: Being "above the land of the Persians," this points to the steppes and mountainous regions of Central Asia (modern Turkmenistan/Uzbekistan).
[12] Tuśāra (Tushara)Location: Corresponds to Tocharians in ancient Bactria (northern Afghanistan and southern Uzbekistan).-----------------------Context: The Tusharas were famous in Indian history as a powerful frontier people. In the post-Mahabharata era, they are often grouped with the Shakas (Scythians) and Yavanas (Greeks). The text places the "Khāsā Sea" between them and the Khasas, reinforcing the geography of the Central Asian basin.
[13] Mahā-khāsa: Refers to the "Great Khasas," likely the tribes inhabiting the high Pamir Mountains or the broader Xinjiang/Kashgar region.
[14] Mahā-nāsa: The term literally translates to "Great Nose" or "Large Nose." This is often a descriptive ethnic label used by ancient Indian writers to describe the distinct facial features of Central Asian or Mongolic/Turkic tribes (likely the Huns or Xiongnu).
[15] the term Mleccha is used to describe groups that did not follow the Varna-Ashrama (Vedic social order), lived outside the sacred geography of Aryavarta.
[16] priests
[17] a legendary celestial weapon (astra) in Hindu scriptures presided over by Agni, the god of fire. It is depicted as a projectile—usually an arrow or missile—that, when discharged, unleashes inextinguishable magical flames capable of consuming entire armies. ( after start of kaliyuga and when krishnas' avatar left earth, all astra and divine weapons,things, e.t.c left earth too) and for these people of kaliyuga 99% aren't capable of neither handling that much power nor they can use divive items(like Samanthakamani)
[18] Personification of Fire
[19] Personification of Air
[20] Divine mount of God Vishnu ( resembles Eagle )
[21] 1. Śaka (Shaka/Sakas)Scythian peoples originally inhabiting the trans-Hemodos region (Shakadvipa in the Puranas), they were located in Central Asia along the river Jaxartes and beyond. The Sakas were known as formidable warriors.
[22] Yavana (Greeks/Ionians)The Yavanas occupied northwestern Central Asian territories and later expanded their influence. By the 4th century BC, they controlled regions like Bahlika (Bactria), though during the Mahabharata period they were distinct peoples in the far northwest. They are grouped with Kambojas, Sakas, and Paradas as military powers of the Uttarapatha (northern frontier).
[23] Darda A northwestern people located in the Himalayan foothills, part of the Uttarapatha (northern zone) of ancient India. They were among the frontier kingdoms that posed potential invasion risks.
[24] A Kalpa is the basic unit for measuring cosmic time, representing one single daytime period for Brahma, the creator god. ------ One Kalpa equals 4.32 billion human years.--------Structure: One Kalpa consists of 1,000 Maha Yuga cycles.-------- At the end of a Kalpa, the universe undergoes partial dissolution (pralaya) during Brahma's night, which lasts for another 4.32 billion years before creation begins again at dawn. ~Gemini
[25] A single Yuga consists of four distinct ages that reflect a gradual decline in moral and physical order. The total duration of one Maha Yuga is 4.32 million years