When the letter of the Shahanshah of Iran was presented at the royal court of India, the monarch demanded it be read aloud. As the scribe uttered the commanding lines, the countenance of the King of Hind paled with fury. Turning to the envoy, he bade him refrain from haste and arrogance, declaring that the Iranian King was walking a path of vain delusion by demanding tribute from Hind. The King of Hind boasted of his unyielding treasures, his armor-clad war-elephants, his mountains and seas laden with gems, amber, musk, and priceless medicines. He proclaimed that eighty crowned kings stood obedient at his command, and his dominion stretched from Qannuj to the borders of China and the lands of Saqlab. Comparing himself to a soaring eagle and other kings to mere cranes, he warned that only the ancient sacred law protecting heralds kept his blade from severing the messenger's head.
Unshaken by the Indian king's fierce bluster, Bahram—standing before him disguised as his own imperial messenger—replied with noble composure. He admonished the king against abandoning wisdom for pride, conveying his monarch's decree: let two learned sages be produced from the court of Hind to match minds with Iran's scholars; if the Indian sage should prove superior in wisdom, Iran would waive all demands of tribute. But if not, let the King of Hind select a hundred of his finest cavalrymen to face a single Iranian warrior in combat, that the true measure of their valor and worth might be revealed to all the world.