When King Gav returned to his palace laden with sorrow, he summoned his venerable counselor to address the consuming burning of his mother's grief and her cruel suspicion of fratricide. The wise minister counseled that such a rift could only be healed through wisdom and visual proof. Envoys were dispatched to every realm, summoning sages, priests, and strategists from Kashmir, Danbar, Murgh, Mai, and distant shores to the royal court.
Day and night, the gathered sages deliberated in silence, contemplating the topography of the fatal battle—the moats, the waters, and the elephant lines. When the morning war-drums echoed, the masters requested dark ebony and shimmering ivory. They crafted a four-sided board decorated with one hundred squares, laying out the exact miniature representation of the battlefield. Upon it, they carved two opposing armies: foot soldiers, cavalry, proud kings with elephants and crowns, armored steeds, war-camels, and mighty rooks.
Every piece was assigned its precise role and rule of movement: the King stood at the heart of the host, the Wise Counselor at his side, war-elephants flanking the center, swift camels above them, battle-horses beneath, and formidable Rooks (castles) sweeping the flanks. The infantry marched step by step, transformed into counselors upon reaching the enemy line. They demonstrated the intricate dance of war—how pieces blocked paths, how the call of 'O King, move!' echoed when the sovereign was threatened, and how, when surrounded on all sides by moats, horses, and troops, the King became 'Mat'—checkmated and consumed by thirst, anguish, and exhaustion.
As the Queen Mother gazed upon the wooden simulation and saw how Talkhand was entrapped atop his elephant without receiving a single physical wound from Gav's blade, her heart accepted the bitter truth. Day and night, weeping tears of blood, she remained seated before the chessboard, finding her only solace in retracing the fatal positions of that battle until her final breath.