Prologue: I Was There, And I Laughed Through It All Yes, I’m that jester. Kalhan the Crooked, the official entertainer of Raja Dahir’s court. I made jokes, poured wine, and mocked everyone who deserved it. This is the story of the boatman who let Qasim in. When Muhammad bin Qasim slithered across the Indus, even […]
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Prologue: I Was There, And I Laughed Through It All
Yes, I’m that jester. Kalhan the Crooked, the official entertainer of Raja Dahir’s court. I made jokes, poured wine, and mocked everyone who deserved it. This is the story of the boatman who let Qasim in.
When Muhammad bin Qasim slithered across the Indus, even I couldn’t bring myself to laugh. Instead, I was forced to remember. So instead, I remembered. And now, I write.
This tale isn’t about swords clashing in epic battles. It’s about one man, one boat, and one treacherous deal that cracked open the gates of a civilization. And no—it wasn’t for God. It was for gold.
Welcome to The Boatman’s Deal with the Devil.
Sindh, Before It Drowned in Fire
Sindh, before 712 CE, was not some goat-herding, backward land as the invaders like to portray. It was a land of temples and trade, tolerance and texts, debate and dharma. We had Buddhist viharas, Shaivite shrines, and Brahmin academies.
And we had Raja Dahir, a scholar-king who read books instead of burning them, who governed not with a whip but with wisdom. He wasn’t the last king of Sindh.
He was the first Indian monarch to stand up to an ideology that believed conversion was peace, taxation was justice, and burning temples was diplomacy.
Painting depicting the boatman who let Qasim in
The Boatman Who Let Qasim In: Moka Basayah’s Betrayal
You might think the fall of Sindh began with an army. Wrong. It began with Moka Basayah, a local Buddhist feudatory, who looked at Muhammad bin Qasim and said: “Sure, hop in. Just leave me some land, okay?”
This isn’t fiction. It’s right there in the Chachnama, the Persian chronicle of Sindh’s conquest, translated by H.M. Elliot in The History of India, As Told by Its Own Historians. (Read here →)
“Moka Basayah, desiring to gain favor with the Arabs, informed Muhammad bin Qasim of a ford across the river. He promised him boats and safe passage for his troops.” — Chachnama, translated by Elliot & Dowson, Vol 1, p. 159
One traitor. One crossing. One night of paddling across the Indus. The Boatman Who Let Qasim In!
By morning, Sindh was bleeding.
Qasim’s Camel Cavalry Rides Across, God on Their Lips, Blood in Their Eyes
Muhammad bin Qasim didn’t come with treaties. He came with siege engines and surahs. And once he crossed the Indus, thanks to Moka’s boats, he unleashed theocratic terror.
He showed no mercy towards temples. Children were not spared either.
At Debal, he destroyed the grand temple, killed the priests, and enslaved the women—“distributing them among his men,” as proudly recorded in the Chachnama.
“Muhammad bin Qasim ordered the idol to be broken and a mosque to be built in its place.” — Chachnama, p. 176
And what was his justification? Nothing but Quran 9:29 and orders from al-Hajjaj, the governor of Iraq, who said:
“Kill those who do not believe in Allah… until they pay the jizya with willing submission.”
This wasn’t conquest. This was systemic religious cleansing—dressed as divine duty.
The Boatman Who Let Qasim In Got a Town. We Got Slaughtered.
Yes, Moka Basayah was rewarded.
As per Chachnama, he was given control over the territory he helped betray. He became a “governor” under the new Islamic regime, complete with protection and land—while our soldiers were impaled and our daughters chained.
This is how civilizations fall—not by storm, but by sale.
Raja Dahir: Not the Last King, But the First Resistor
Let’s be clear: Raja Dahir wasn’t India’s last line of defense. He was its first scream of defiance.
While kings in Kannauj calculated coinage and court politics, Dahir stood alone against the world’s first doctrinal imperialism. An empire not just expanding territory, but exporting a god who demanded submission—not devotion.
When he rode into the final battle at Aror, Dahir knew he was outnumbered. But he also knew that surrender was worse than death.
And when he died—beheaded, his head sent to Damascus—he didn’t just fall. He rose in legend.
The Jester’s Account of That Night
I remember the night before he rode out.
He summoned me, wine in hand.
“Kalhan,” he said, “write me a verse they’ll remember when I fall.” I laughed. “I don’t write verses for dead men.” He smiled. “Then write one for your children.”
So here it is:
“A king stood tall with truth in hand, while traitors paddled blades through sand. He fell to zealot’s cursed breath, but earned more life than he lost in death.”
Qasim and destruction of Sindh
Why The Chronicle of The Boatman Who Let Qasim In Must Be Told
Pakistani textbooks continue to claim that Qasim brought justice and order. Indian secularists still shy away from calling this conquest by its true name: jihad. Somewhere, another Moka Basayah is sharpening his pen, preparing to spin betrayal into a tale of pragmatism.
And What of Qasim?
He died as he lived—faithful to a cause that discarded him.
After sending Raja Dahir’s daughters as “gifts” to the Caliph, he was accused of defiling them. In rage, the Caliph had him sewn into ox hide and suffocated.
“His body, in the hide of a cow, was sent back to Iraq where it decomposed before reaching.” — Chachnama, Vol. 1, p. 187 (source)
No sword salutes. No flags flown.
Only silence, and the stench of poetic justice.
Final Thoughts: Every Civilization Falls By a Paddle First
We imagine conquests as epic clashes. But sometimes, they’re quieter. A whisper. A deal. A boat gliding in the dark.
That’s why this chronicle matters. Because every age has a Qasim, a Moka, and a Dahir.
Which one we become is the only part history hasn’t written yet.
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