This is a guest post written by Sibaram Das. The insights, perspectives, and experiences presented in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of Indrosphere. While we are committed to maintaining high editorial standards, we cannot assume responsibility for the content contributed by our esteemed guest contributors.

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We’ve all heard the tales of the Mahabharata – the epic war, the valiant heroes, and the kingdoms that rose and fell. But for years, a particular question gnawed at me: where exactly was the kingdom of Bahlika, the elder brother of King Shantanu, who famously renounced his claim to the Hastinapur throne? He was a significant figure, later fighting for the Kauravas and meeting his end on the 14th day of the great war. The name “Bahlika” echoed in my mind, a mystery waiting to be unravelled.

My journey to find answers led me far north of the Hindu Kush mountains, to a land where Afghanistan meets Uzbekistan. And there, nestled within a province that still bears the ancient name, I found it: Balkh. Just 30 km from the bustling city of Mazar-e-Sharif, the ancient city of Balkh is widely believed to be the very Bahlika mentioned in the epic. Driven by a thirst for a tangible connection to the Mahabharata, I embarked on a journey that would far exceed my expectations.

A City of Legends: More Than Just an Ancient Name

Balkh isn’t merely an ancient name; it’s one of the oldest continually inhabited cities globally, once revered as the “Mother of Cities.” Its history predates written records, stretching back into the mists of time.

Legend has it that Zoroaster, the revered prophet and founder of Zoroastrianism, was born here, long before his teachings spread westward into Persia, influencing monotheistic religions for millennia to come. This makes Balkh a cradle of profound spiritual thought, a place where the seeds of a major world religion were sown.

The echoes of Alexander the Great also resonate strongly within Balkh’s ancient walls. Known to the Greeks as Bactria, it served as a vital strategic outpost. Alexander himself built formidable fortifications here and, perhaps most famously, married Ruxana (Roxana), a local Bactrian princess, solidifying a powerful cross-cultural union. The locals still venerate her tomb, a testament to the enduring memory of their queen. I even witnessed this devotion myself, with people coming to her tomb to pray for the sick – a tradition deeply rooted in Central Asian culture, perhaps a lingering influence from the Greek era.

Over the centuries, Balkh became a melting pot of cultures and empires. After the Greeks came the Scythians, followed by the relentless Huns, and then the powerful Turks. Each left their indelible mark, contributing to the rich tapestry of Balkh’s cultural heritage.

One of Balkh’s most renowned sons is undoubtedly Jalaluddin Rumi, the unparalleled Sufi mystic and poet whose timeless verses on love and divine union resonate deeply across the globe. Born in this very city, Rumi is often referred to as “Balkhi,” a tribute to his birthplace. This tradition of adopting the place of birth as a surname is a Persian custom, and to this day, many locals proudly carry “Balkhi” as part of their identity, a living connection to their rich and illustrious heritage.

During my visit, I was even shown the alleged ruins of Rumi’s home, a deeply moving experience for any admirer of his profound philosophy. The good news is, the Turkish government is now funding efforts to preserve this significant site, ensuring Rumi’s birthplace receives the recognition it deserves.

Unearthing Hidden Histories: The Haji Piyada Mosque

On the surface, Balkh today appears as a quiet, forgotten village. Simple mud-brick homes, villagers going about their daily chores – there seems to be no trace of the grandeur that once was. I initially thought there wasn’t much to see, until I stumbled upon a place called Haji Piyada.

Tucked away in a desolate corner of the town, Haji Piyada is believed to be the first mosque in Afghanistan, or even Central Asia. As I approached, I was met by local Taliban fighters manning a checkpoint, guarding the monument. A brief but surprisingly friendly conversation in Urdu followed, and one of them, taking a liking to my interest in their history, offered to show me the site personally. I readily agreed.

The structure itself was mostly in ruins, protected by a simple shed to shield it from the elements. But as I examined it closely, a startling realisation dawned upon me: the design wasn’t Islamic, nor even distinctly Persian. It had clear North Indian architectural elements. I voiced my suspicion to the Taliban soldier, and with a sparkle in his eyes, he confirmed, “This is much older than Islam. People used to worship here before it was turned into a mosque.” My instincts were right. I was standing in the remains of an ancient temple, its original deity lost to time, but its architectural language spoke volumes about deeper connections.

He further elaborated, telling me that his home was nearby, and his forefathers had spoken of this site being over 3000 years old, “maybe more.” “Bahut bahut tarikhi jagah hai,” he emphasised, highlighting its immense historical value. When I asked if people still prayed there, he replied, “No, it’s no longer used as a mosque. Praying here is forbidden.” It was a poignant moment, a testament to the layering of histories and beliefs in this ancient land.

Walking Through Echoes of Empires

Our journey continued through the remnants of Balkh’s grand past. We visited the remains of Alexander’s fort and the massive wall that once encircled the old city. Today, it’s mostly barren land, with only tufts of grass and crumbling mud walls serving as a testament to its former might. We climbed one of the remaining sections to get a panoramic view of the entire city. Standing there, watching the sun dip below the horizon, a profound thought struck me: Alexander himself might have witnessed this very sunset from these same walls, millennia ago. The sheer weight of history in that moment was almost palpable.

As we stood there, a group of curious boys approached us, speaking in the local Balkhi dialect, which I couldn’t understand. My companion explained they were asking where I was from and why I was there. When they learned I was from India, their faces lit up with amazement. None of them had ever seen an Indian before. We shared a lively and heartwarming interaction, a reminder of the simple, universal curiosity that transcends borders and languages.

The Enduring Power of Story

As the day drew to a close, and I had to politely decline the soldier’s kind invitation for dinner, needing to reach Mazar-e-Sharif before dark, I left Balkh with a heart brimming with awe and a mind buzzing with reflection.

That night, as I sat in my room, one thought resonated deeply within me. It’s easy to dismiss the stories in our ancient texts as mere myths, fabrications, or exaggerations. But when you physically walk these lands, feel the ancient stones beneath your feet, meet the people who carry the oral histories of generations, and witness the tangible remnants of civilisations past, you begin to feel a profound shift. You begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, not everything written in those ancient texts is fiction. Maybe, just maybe, they remembered something real. Balkh, the forgotten city, stood as a powerful testament to that possibility, a living bridge between the grandeur of myth and the undeniable reality of history.

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Author Bio:
Sibaram Das is an aircraft maintenance engineer turned full-time entrepreneur, but his true passion lies in exploring the world as a seeker of stories. Having travelled to 38 countries, he ventures beyond conventional tourism to uncover the deeper layers of human culture, forgotten traditions, and nearly lost civilisations. From tribal gatherings in Africa to the ruins of Mesopotamia, Sibaram’s journeys are about breaking stereotypes, building empathy, and listening deeply to the stories that shape humanity.