When the golden sun crested the mountain peaks and lit the world like a shining lamp, King Dara rallied his infinite host from beyond the banks of the Euphrates. The plain overflowed with warriors, outnumbering the blades of grass upon the earth. Hearing the thunderous arrival of the Persian ranks, Sekandar sounded his war drums and set his legions in motion. Two boundless armies, the likes of which the world had never witnessed, stood face to face. The glare of Indian daggers, silvered breastplates, and iron bards turned the earth into a tempestuous sea of steel and swirling dust. Mighty war elephants charged in the van, followed closely by fearless horsemen who had forsaken their lives for glory.
For seven whole days, the furious champions locked in mortal combat, face to face. The deafening clamor of war horns, Indian bells, and the shattering clash of heavy maces made the very mountains quake. So thick was the rising dust that the sun turned as dark as lapis lazuli, and the air itself seemed to boil with crimson rage. On the eighth day, a gloom enveloped the battlefield, veiling the eyes of the Persian host. Disorder seized the Iranian lines, and Dara's soldiers broke rank and fled. Sekandar's forces pursued them relentlessly—one side plunged into grief and ruin, the other exulting in victory. Sekandar pressed onward to the riverbank as countless Iranian warriors fell beneath the sword. There, beside the waters where the elite of Persia once stood, Alexander commanded his troops to cross, establishing his triumphant dominion over the field.