It was around midday when the townspeople, their eyes wide with wonder, beheld a strange sight: seventeen horsemen of an unfamiliar race passed along the royal road, heading toward the palace. Observing their appearance and bearing, the people of Navadwip could not help but offer them praise. Their bodies were tall and robust, yet well-proportioned; their complexion gleamed like burnished gold; their faces were broad, adorned with thick, jet-black beards; their eyes were wide, burning with a fierce light. Their attire was devoid of unnecessary ornamentation; they were clad as warriors, their entire bodies girded with weapons, and in their eyes shone the light of unwavering resolve.

And what magnificent steeds bore them! Like fragments of mountain rock in their size, their bodies smooth and gleaming, their necks arched, intolerant of restraint, dancing with pride and energy! The riders, masters of their craft, subdued these fiery, tempestuous horses with effortless skill. At the sight, the people of Gauda broke into even greater admiration.

The seventeen horsemen, their lips pressed together in grim determination, rode in silence toward the royal palace. When, out of curiosity, some townsfolk inquired about them, one among their company, who understood the language, replied, “They are envoys of the Yavana king.” Thus announcing themselves, they presented their credentials to the gatekeepers and wardens, and by the command of Pashupati, were permitted to enter the city without hindrance.

The seventeen horsemen arrived at the royal gate. Owing to the king’s old age and Pashupati’s cunning, the palace was all but unguarded. The royal assembly had dispersed; within the palace grounds remained only a few citizens, and a handful of doorkeepers guarded the entrance. One of the doorkeepers asked, “For what purpose have you come?” The Yavanas replied, “We are envoys of the Yavana king’s representative; we seek an audience with the King of Gauda.”

The doorkeeper said, “His Majesty, the Emperor of Gauda, has just retired to the inner chambers—he cannot grant you audience now.”

The Yavanas, disregarding the prohibition, prepared to enter through the open gateway. Foremost among them was a short, long-armed, ill-favored Yavana. Unfortunately, the doorkeeper, to bar his progress, stood before him with a spear in hand and said, “Go back—or I shall kill you this instant.”

“Then die yourself!” cried the diminutive Yavana, and with the sword in his own hand, struck down the doorkeeper. The doorkeeper perished. Then, glancing at his companions, the small-statured Yavana said, “Now, each of you, do your part.” Instantly, from among the sixteen mounted warriors, a dreadful shout of victory arose. At once, from the girdles of those sixteen Yavanas, sixteen scimitars flashed forth, and like thunderbolts, they fell upon the doorkeepers. The doorkeepers were not armed for battle—suddenly, attacked in their unpreparedness, they could make no attempt at self-defense; within moments, all were slain.

The small Yavana said, “Wherever you find anyone, kill them. The palace is undefended—slay the aged king.”

Then the Yavanas, like lightning, swept into the city, and wherever they saw the citizens—young or old, men or women—they struck off their heads with their swords or impaled them upon their spears.

The townspeople, with tumultuous cries of agony, began to flee in all directions. That dreadful wailing reached even the inner chambers, where the aged king was dining. His face grew pale. He asked, “What has happened—have the Yavanas come?”

The panic-stricken citizens replied, “The Yavanas are killing everyone and are coming to slay you.” The morsel of food, already in the king’s mouth, fell from his lips. His withered body began to tremble like a cane struck by a torrent of water. The queen was nearby—seeing the king collapse onto the dining platter, she took his hand and said, “Do not worry—please, rise.” Saying this, she grasped his hand and helped him up. The king stood, like a lifeless puppet, at her side.

The queen said, “Why worry? All our belongings have been taken to the boat: come, let us depart for Sonargaon through the postern gate.”

Thus, holding the king’s unwashed hand, the queen led him toward the postern gate, journeying to Suvarnagram. With that disgraced, powerless king, the royal fortune of Gauda and Vanga also departed.

With sixteen companions, Bakhtiyar Khilji of Morkataka took possession of the royal palace of the lord of Gauda.

Six years later, the historian of the Yavanas, Minhaj-ud-din, wrote thus. Who knows how much of it is true, how much false? When, in the pictures drawn by men, lions are defeated and men are depicted as the lion’s humiliators, what pictures would be painted if the brush were given into the lion’s own paw? Doubtless, men would appear as mere mice.

Unfortunate Bengal is naturally weak, and now, in the hands of her enemies, the brush paints her fate!