A Brief History of South India

Early History of South India

Before we enter the political world of the Pandyas, Cholas, and Cheras—before Tamil became the language of literature and learning—there was a long silence. A silence filled not with absence, but with whispers from beneath the soil. When we speak of the early history of South India, we are not merely cataloguing dynasties or decoding inscriptions. We are tracing the evolution of a civilization—its ways of life, systems of belief, and expressions of creativity—that unfolded independently, yet in subtle dialogue with the broader Indian subcontinent.

Unlike North India, where the sixth century BCE marks a clear transition from the prehistoric to the historical with the rise of Mahajanapadas and the composition of Buddhist and Jain texts, South India took a different path. Here, the written record emerges a few centuries later, and before that, our window into the past is through stones. Not inscriptions, but graves—megaliths. From around 1000 BCE to the early centuries of the Common Era, large burial structures made of stone became our primary evidence for understanding the people of peninsular India. These Megalithic people left no written testimony, but they left behind a rich material culture: iron tools, black-and-red pottery, beads, weapons, and most of all, reverence for the dead. Their world was evolving—agriculture was spreading, iron was reshaping life, and societal hierarchies were beginning to take root.

Then, sometime around the third century BCE, history begins to speak more clearly. The land south of the Krishna River saw the rise of organized polities, trade routes, and urban settlements. But what is most unique about this phase is the flowering of Sangam literature—arguably the earliest body of secular, classical literature in any Indian language. Composed in Tamil, these poems bring us voices not only of kings and warriors, but also of lovers, merchants, farmers, and philosophers. It is from these verses that we meet the early kingdoms of the south—the Pandyas, Cholas, and Cheras—not as faceless dynasties, but as living entities shaped by ambition, trade, poetry, and war.

The Sangam Age, which spanned roughly from 300 BCE to 300 CE, is not just a political chapter in history. It represents the early consciousness of a people who were forging their identity—through maritime trade with the Roman world, through cultural exchange with Sri Lanka, and through rich internal dynamics. The kings ruled from coastal cities and fertile interiors; ports like Korkai, Puhar, and Musiri connected them to the wider world. And through it all, poets composed verses that reflected both the grandeur of royal courts and the quiet dignity of everyday life.

Eventually, even this age came to a close. Around 300 CE, the Kalabhra interregnum disrupted the continuity of the three kingdoms, plunging the region into a somewhat obscure phase. Yet, the cultural momentum did not stop. Jain and Buddhist poets picked up the pen, composing epics like Silappadikaram and Manimekalai, keeping alive the literary flame of Tamilakam.

The Deccan Powers and the Rise of the Chalukyas

As we move forward in the history of South India, we enter the Deccan—a plateau that is not just a geographic highland but also a cultural bridge, connecting the northern plains to the southern peninsulas. After the fall of the Sangam Age kingdoms and the obscure Kalabhra interlude, the political landscape of peninsular India began to reorganize. It was during this period, around the mid-6th century CE, that a new force emerged from the rugged terrain of Karnataka—the Chalukyas of Badami.

Now, whenever we look at dynasties like the Chalukyas, it’s not enough to memorize their rulers. We must understand why they mattered in the larger civilizational context. The Chalukyas were among the first powerful dynasties to assert themselves in the Deccan after the decline of the Guptas in the north and the temporary silence in the south. Their emergence marks the beginning of a new political rhythm in peninsular India—one where regional powers carved out their space, engaged in dynamic warfare, built architectural marvels, and interacted not only with one another, but also with distant empires.

Founded in 543 CE by Pulakesin I, the Chalukya dynasty made Badami (in present-day Karnataka) its capital. But it was under his descendant, Pulakesin II, that the Chalukyas truly rose to prominence. He was a remarkable king—not just because he expanded territory, but because he gave the Deccan a voice in the subcontinent’s power dynamics. His fame reached such heights that even the mighty Harshavardhana of Kannauj—then considered the political lodestar of North India—was defeated by him on the banks of the Narmada. That single event, described in the Aihole inscription, symbolized more than a military victory; it was a political statement: the Deccan was no longer peripheral—it was central.

Pulakesin II also fought the Pallavas of Kanchi, and although he initially succeeded, he was later defeated by the Pallava ruler Narasimhavarman I. This constant tug-of-war between the Chalukyas and the Pallavas defined much of peninsular politics during this era. Their rivalry was not merely territorial—it was also ideological, artistic, and cultural. Temples, inscriptions, and urban centers all reflect this intense engagement.

What’s especially striking is the international dimension of Pulakesin II’s reign. Chinese traveler Xuanzang (Hsüan Tsang) visited his kingdom and praised the governance and prosperity he witnessed. The Persian king Khusrau II is said to have exchanged diplomatic missions with him—something quite rare for Indian rulers of the time. Such connections reflect a Deccan that was open, confident, and geopolitically aware.

Later rulers like Vikramaditya II continued this legacy. His repeated victories over the Pallavas and his conquest of Kanchi marked the twilight of Pallava dominance. His queen, Lokamahadevi, built the grand Virupaksha temple at Pattadakal to celebrate this conquest—a site that now stands as a UNESCO World Heritage monument, telling us how politics, devotion, and architecture blended seamlessly in this era.

By the mid-8th century, however, the Chalukya hold on power began to weaken. The last notable ruler, Kirtivarman II, could not stop the rising tide of the Rashtrakutas. In 757 CE, Dantidurga, a Rashtrakuta chief and once a Chalukya vassal, defeated him and laid the foundation of a new dynasty.

So what do the Chalukyas represent in our study of early South Indian history? They mark the Deccan’s assertive entry into Indian polity. They serve as a reminder that between the Gangetic plains and the Tamil country lay a culturally rich, politically ambitious region that produced its own kings, its own temples, its own literary and administrative styles—and its own sense of historical destiny. As we now step into the stories of the Pallavas and Rashtrakutas, remember: the Chalukyas were not just a dynasty. They were the architects of the Deccan’s rise.

The Rashtrakutas – Deccan’s Imperial Ambition and Cultural Zenith

After the fall of the Chalukyas of Badami, the political centre of gravity in the Deccan did not collapse—it shifted. From the ashes of the old rose a new dynasty that would not only dominate peninsular India but also leave its mark on the political chessboard of early medieval northern India. This new force was the Rashtrakutas, and their story is one of ambition, expansion, and cultural flowering.

The Rashtrakutas began modestly. Their founder, Dantidurga, was once a subordinate of the Chalukyas. But history often favours the daring. Around 757 CE, he defeated Kirtivarman II—the last Chalukya ruler—and crowned himself the sovereign of the Deccan. To legitimise his rule, he performed the hiranyagarbha ritual, a symbolic rebirth from the golden womb—through which a kshatriya status was ritually acquired. This act wasn’t just a religious rite—it was a political assertion that proclaimed the Rashtrakutas’ arrival among the elite rulers of India.

But it was not just about claiming power; it was about holding it and projecting it. Under kings like Govinda III, the Rashtrakutas became a pan-Indian power. He campaigned far beyond the Deccan, defeating not only the Pratihara ruler Nagabhata II in the west but also the Pala ruler Dharmapala in the east. His most symbolic achievement was the conquest of Kannauj—a city that had, by this time, become the seat of prestige in the subcontinent. Control over Kannauj was not merely territorial; it was symbolic of imperial legitimacy. Thus, the Rashtrakutas had now entered what historians call the “Tripartite Struggle”—a prolonged contest among the Rashtrakutas, Palas, and Pratiharas to control this strategic city.

Yet, conquest alone does not make a dynasty great. It is under Amoghavarsha I, the grandson of Govinda III, that we witness the true depth of Rashtrakuta rule. Interestingly, Amoghavarsha was not known for military conquest—he even suffered setbacks at the hands of the Pala king Devapala. But his greatness lies elsewhere. He was a patron of literature, philosophy, and religion. The Arab traveller Suleiman, who visited India in the 9th century, ranked him among the four greatest kings in the world. He composed the Prashnottara Ratnamalika in Sanskrit—a work of religious philosophy—and sponsored the writing of Kavirajamarga, the first major literary work in Kannada. Under his reign, Jainism flourished, and courtly culture in the Deccan reached new heights.

Later, under Krishna III, the Rashtrakutas once again flexed their military muscle. He defeated the powerful Chola king Parantaka I in the famous Battle of Takkolam and even reached as far south as Rameswaram. These were not small victories; they were signs that the Rashtrakutas could project their influence deep into the Tamil heartland—something very few northern or Deccan dynasties had achieved.

But as with all great empires, decline was inevitable. The last significant Rashtrakuta ruler, Indra IV, eventually lost political control. In a final act of renunciation, he embraced Sallekhana—a Jain ritual of voluntary death by fasting—at Shravanabelagola, the very site that had become a spiritual nerve centre of Jainism in the south.

So how do we understand the Rashtrakutas in the broader narrative of South Indian history? They were not just another dynasty on a timeline. They were the first Deccan rulers to aspire for all-India dominance, to combine military ambition with artistic patronage, and to straddle the divide between the north and south. Their court welcomed Sanskrit and Prakrit scholars, Kannada poets, and Jain philosophers alike. Their politics reshaped medieval India; their temples and literature enriched its soul.

From the iron clanging of Kannauj’s battlefield to the quiet austerity of Shravanabelagola, the Rashtrakutas remind us that South India was not merely a recipient of northern currents—it was a source of its own imperial, intellectual, and spiritual traditions.

The Pallavas – Bridging Ancient and Classical South India

In the unfolding drama of South Indian history, there is a dynasty that played a unique role—not merely as a military power, but as a cultural architect of the Tamil region. The Pallavas, emerging around the third century CE, were among the earliest historical dynasties in South India to leave behind a rich trail of inscriptions, monuments, and urban centres. While their political boundaries fluctuated over time, their contribution to temple architecture, Tamil-Brahmi epigraphy, and cultural synthesis left a mark far deeper than many of their contemporaries.

The Pallavas rose to prominence in the shadow of the fading Sangam polities and before the grand rise of the imperial Cholas. In that sense, they were a transitional force—one that bridged the early historical period with the classical age of South Indian polity. Their capital at Kanchipuram became not just a seat of power, but a centre of learning, religion, and art. It was a city where Sanskrit and Tamil coexisted, where Brahmanical and Jain scholars debated, and where temples began to evolve from rock-cut sanctuaries into free-standing structural marvels.

The Pallava political story becomes especially compelling with Mahendravarman I (600–630 CE), a learned and creative monarch. He was both a scholar and a patron of the arts, known for his contributions to Sanskrit literature, music, and architecture. His reign marked the beginning of the Pallava–Chalukya conflict, one of the longest and most intense rivalries in Deccan-South Indian history. He faced defeat at the hands of Pulakesin II, but in adversity, he turned inward—supporting the creation of the first rock-cut temples in Tamil Nadu, particularly at sites like Mahendravadi.

However, it was Narasimhavarman I (630–668 CE)—his son—who restored Pallava prestige with dramatic flair. Known as Mamalla, or the “great wrestler,” he not only defeated Pulakesin II and sacked the Chalukya capital of Vatapi, but also assumed the proud title Vatapikonda (conqueror of Vatapi). His military glory was matched by his cultural vision. He founded the port city of Mamallapuram (Mahabalipuram)—a site that still stands as a monument to early Dravidian artistic expression. The Pancha Rathas, monolithic temples carved out of single boulders, and the Descent of the Ganges relief—carved along open rock surfaces—are more than stone sculptures; they are expressions of a civilization awakening to aesthetic and spiritual sophistication.

The architectural legacy continued under kings like Rajasimha (700–728 CE), who constructed the majestic Kailasanatha Temple at Kanchipuram and the Shore Temple at Mamallapuram. These were among the earliest structural stone temples in South India, marking a transition from cave-temples to full-fledged temple complexes with vimanas, mandapas, and intricate iconography. These architectural innovations laid the foundation for the later temple-building styles perfected by the Cholas.

But like all dynasties, the Pallavas, too, faced decline. By the late 9th century, internal weakness and external pressures began to take their toll. The final blow came when Aparajita, the last notable Pallava ruler, was defeated by Aditya I, the rising Chola monarch. Thus, ended Pallava political authority, but not their cultural legacy.

So how should we remember the Pallavas? They were not the most expansive empire, nor the longest-lasting. But they were formative. They gave South India its first classical temples, they nurtured Kanchipuram into a cultural capital, and they brought together Sanskritic traditions and Dravidian aesthetics in a uniquely Pallava style. If the Rashtrakutas symbolized the military might of the Deccan, and the Cholas the grandeur of imperial Tamil culture, then the Pallavas were the cultural bridge that connected the two. They remind us that power is not always measured in conquests—sometimes, it is etched into stone and memory.

The Imperial Cholas – South India’s Greatest Dynasty on Land and Sea

If one were to ask: When did South India reach the peak of its political power, artistic achievement, and maritime ambition? — the answer would unmistakably be: under the Cholas.

The Imperial Cholas, ruling from the 9th to the 13th century CE, did not just emerge—they returned. For the Cholas were not entirely new; they were mentioned in Sangam literature as an ancient Tamil dynasty. But after centuries of relative obscurity, they re-emerged in the 9th century with renewed strength, strategic clarity, and a civilizational vision that would carry them across oceans.

The story of this revival begins with Vijayalaya Chola, who captured Tanjore (Thanjavur) around 850 CE and laid the foundations of what would later become the most powerful empire in South India. His successors, particularly Aditya I, built on this momentum. Aditya not only defeated Aparajita, the last Pallava ruler, but also absorbed much of the Pallava territory. In doing so, the Cholas didn’t just conquer—they inherited. They adopted Pallava styles of administration, temple-building, and statecraft, and elevated them to new heights.

The real expansion began with Parantaka I, who pushed southward and even captured Madurai, the heart of the Pandya kingdom. However, his ambitions were checked by Krishna III of the Rashtrakutas—reminding us that the Chola rise was not without setbacks. But what defines great dynasties is not the absence of defeat, but the ability to rise stronger.

And rise they did—with Rajaraja Chola I (985–1014 CE). His reign was a watershed in South Indian history. He was not just a king—he was a visionary who transformed the Chola state into an empire. His campaigns extended across South India—he defeated the Lankan king Mahinda V, annexed northern Sri Lanka, and even brought the Maldives under Chola control. He also played a strategic role in the politics of the Eastern Chalukyas by intervening in Vengi, ensuring the Chola influence on the east coast.

But Rajaraja was not just a conqueror. He was a patron of temple architecture, sculpture, and administration. His greatest legacy is the Brihadeeswarar Temple at Tanjore—a marvel of Chola architecture and Dravidian engineering. It was not merely a temple; it was an emblem of Chola power, symbolically linking political dominance with divine sanction.

His son, Rajendra Chola I, took this ambition even further. He conquered southern Sri Lanka, conducted successful expeditions into Odisha and Bengal, and most remarkably, launched a naval expedition against the powerful Srivijaya Empire in Southeast Asia—covering regions of present-day Indonesia, Malaysia, and Thailand. These campaigns were not just for plunder; they were about asserting Indian maritime strength and controlling key trade routes in the Indian Ocean. Rajendra’s campaigns earned him the title Gangaikondachola—the Chola who brought the Ganga—and he commemorated his northern victories by building a new capital city, Gangaikondacholapuram, with a grand Shiva temple that rivalled his father’s creation.

What makes the Cholas unique in Indian history is the combination of military, maritime, administrative, and cultural brilliance. They developed a highly organized bureaucracy, supported village self-governance, maintained temple-based socio-economic networks, and fostered an environment where Tamil and Sanskrit literature, bronze sculpture, and classical dance could flourish.

And unlike many dynasties, the Cholas were also sea-farers. They understood that political power no longer resided only in land—it floated on the sea routes, where trade, tribute, and diplomacy converged. In doing so, the Cholas became perhaps the only Indian dynasty to establish naval dominance beyond the subcontinent.

Remember: the Cholas were not just the rulers of Tamil Nadu—they were the shapers of a South Asian identity that was confident, expansive, and deeply rooted in culture. When we call them “Imperial,” we don’t merely refer to territory—they ruled hearts, minds, oceans, and centuries.

Vijayanagara Empire – A Bulwark of Southern Civilization

As the curtain began to fall on the Imperial Cholas and the southern political landscape once again fragmented under internal rivalries and external threats, there emerged a question: Could South India rise once more? The answer came with the rise of the Vijayanagara Empire—not just as a political entity, but as a civilizational response to the growing influence of Islamic sultanates in the Deccan. It was not simply about resistance—it was about resurgence.

Founded in 1336 CE by Harihara and Bukka, two brothers from the Sangama dynasty and former commanders under the Hoysala and Kakatiya rulers, the Vijayanagara kingdom emerged on the banks of the Tungabhadra River, at a time when the Delhi Sultanate’s southern campaigns had destabilized the region. The capital city of Vijayanagara (Hampi) was not only a military stronghold, but a symbolic centre—a place where ancient Hindu traditions, art forms, languages, and sacred architecture were revived with new confidence.

By 1346 CE, the last vestiges of the Hoysala kingdom were absorbed into this growing empire, and with that, the Vijayanagara project gained both territory and legitimacy. As different dynasties came and went in the north, and the Bahmani Sultanate began asserting power in the Deccan, the Vijayanagara kings saw themselves not only as rulers but as guardians of dharma, custodians of India’s classical legacy.

Under Harihara II, Bukka’s son, the empire expanded into Tamil regions and even launched successful campaigns against the Sultanate of Madurai—a power that had overthrown the Pandyas. His son, Kumara Kampana, played a critical role in this southern consolidation, remembered for restoring temples and reestablishing Hindu rule in the deep south.

The empire’s interaction with the outside world also deepened during this time. Under Deva Raya I, though initially defeated by Firuz Shah of the Bahmani Sultanate, the response was not withdrawal but diplomacy—he gave his daughter in marriage to the Bahmani ruler, a sign of the complex coexistence that defined medieval Indian politics. Meanwhile, global awareness of Vijayanagara’s wealth and sophistication was spreading—Nicolo de Conti, an Italian trader, visited the empire and left behind glowing accounts of its grandeur.

With Deva Raya II, often called Praudha Deva Raya, the empire reached a new zenith. His court was international in outlook—Abdur Razzaq, an ambassador from Persia, marvelled at the empire’s strength and prosperity. Vijayanagara by now was receiving tributes from Sri Lanka, the Malayan peninsula, and Burma, reflecting a revival of maritime diplomacy and trade that had once defined the Cholas. The city itself, built with granite and vision, became one of the largest urban centres in the medieval world—filled with palaces, markets, temples, and learning centres.

But it was under Krishna Deva Raya (1509–1529 CE) that Vijayanagara reached its cultural and political peak. Often remembered with reverence as Andhra Bhoja and Andhra Pitamaha, he combined military brilliance with literary sensitivity. He decisively defeated the Bahmani successor states, seized control of the Raichur Doab (the fertile land between the Krishna and Tungabhadra rivers), and subdued the rulers of Orissa, thereby securing the eastern coast. His court became a hub of classical revival: poets, philosophers, and scholars—most famously the Ashta Diggajas—flourished under his patronage. Himself a gifted writer, Krishna Deva Raya composed the celebrated Telugu poem Amuktamalyada and Sanskrit plays like Jambavati Kalyanam.

Foreigners were equally enchanted. Domingo Paes, a Portuguese trader who visited his court, described a city unmatched in splendor—its markets, processions, military parades, and towering temples—suggesting that Vijayanagara, in many ways, was the last great imperial expression of classical Indian civilization before the rise of the Mughals.

It’s important to understand that the Vijayanagara Empire was not merely a Hindu counter to Islamic sultanates—though that is how colonial historiography once framed it. Instead, it was a multifaceted, cosmopolitan, and syncretic empire, grounded in dharmic traditions but open to diplomacy, trade, and exchange. Its kings saw themselves as inheritors of ancient traditions and defenders of cultural continuity, but they ruled with pragmatism and vision.

In the larger arc of South Indian history, Vijayanagara represents the final blaze of medieval Indian glory—a moment where architecture, language, warfare, administration, and literature came together in a grand civilizational assertion. And though the empire would eventually fall in the 16th century at the Battle of Talikota, its legacy remains etched in stone at Hampi and in the collective memory of India’s cultural history.

Remember: Vijayanagara was not just a kingdom—it was an idea. An idea that South India was not peripheral, but pivotal. That amidst invasions and disruptions, continuity could be created not through resistance alone, but through creativity, confidence, and cultural conviction.

Bahmani Sultanate: A Tale of Ambition, Identity, and Transition

To understand the rise of the Bahmani Sultanate, we must first step back and observe the broader political canvas of the time. In Delhi, the Tughlaq dynasty was struggling to hold together its vast empire. Their reach had extended far into the Deccan, but their grip was weakening. The frequent revolts, the strain of overexpansion, and the failure of some of Muhammad bin Tughlaq’s policies had created unrest among the provincial governors—many of whom were powerful military elites with their own local ambitions.

It was from within this context that a man named Alauddin Hasan, originally a military governor under the Tughlaqs, declared independence in 1347 CE and established the Bahmani Sultanate with Daulatabad (and later Gulbarga) as his capital. But he did something more symbolic—he took the title Hasan Bahman Shah, claiming descent from Iranian nobility, which helped craft a legitimate identity for his rule. Whether that descent was real or constructed mattered less than what it symbolized: a desire to carve out a separate, dignified, and culturally vibrant kingdom in the Deccan.

As the new sultanate grew, it began to reflect both the Perso-Islamic ideals of its founders and the Deccani realities of its geography. This duality—between Persian cosmopolitanism and Deccan regionalism—would become a defining feature of Bahmani political and cultural life. Over the next hundred years, rulers like Muhammad Shah I and Firuz Shah Bahmani laid the foundation of a robust administrative system and brought cultural patronage into the heart of governance. Firuz Shah, for instance, was a scholar-king fluent in multiple languages, from Persian to Kannada, and symbolized the cultural mingling that was occurring within the sultanate.

But kingdoms are not built on conquest alone. They require vision and reform. And it was during the reign of Muhammad Shah III, through the wise and brilliant Mahmud Gawan, that the Bahmani Sultanate reached its peak. Gawan, a Persian by origin, served as the wazir (prime minister) and carried out major reforms in the military, finance, and education. His tenure reflected a rare blend of idealism and practicality. He tried to reduce factionalism, rationalize taxation, and promote learning—but tragically, palace conspiracies led to his execution in 1481 CE, a decision that deeply weakened the internal stability of the kingdom.

The Bahmani Sultanate, in its later years, became a victim of the very contradictions it had nurtured. The growing tension between the foreign-born nobles (Afaqis) and the Deccani Muslims led to frequent infighting. Eventually, the central authority eroded, and by the early 16th century, the sultanate fragmented into five successor states, known as the Deccan Sultanates—Bidar, Bijapur, Golconda, Ahmadnagar, and Berar.

Yet, the legacy of the Bahmani kingdom cannot be reduced to its political decline. It was one of the earliest Indo-Islamic kingdoms of the Deccan, and it set the stage for architectural innovation, linguistic synthesis, and new models of regional power. It also played a critical role in resisting the expansion of both Vijayanagara in the south and northern Sultanates like the Mughals for some time.

In short, the Bahmani Sultanate was not just a kingdom—it was an evolving experiment in regional assertion, cultural negotiation, and administrative creativity. Its story is essential for understanding the political shifts in medieval India and the unique path the Deccan carved out for itself in Indian history.

Timeline of South Indian History:

Timeline	Key Event / Ruler / Dynasty
1000 BCE	Beginning of Megalithic Culture in South India
6th Century BCE	Beginning of historical period in North India
4th Century BCE	North–South cultural and economic contacts gained importance
3rd Century BCE	Megalithic people moved to river basins and deltas
3rd BCE – 3rd CE	Sangam Age – Tamilakam flourished in literature and polity
1st Century CE	Discovery of Monsoon Winds boosted Indian Ocean trade
Early Christian Era	Megalithic phase continued in remote areas

Timeline	Chalukyas of Badami (543-757 CE) and Pallavas (3rd to 9th Century CE)
543–566 CE	Pulakesin I founded Chalukyas of Badami
566-597 CE	Rule of Kirtivarman I of Chalukyas
600-630 CE	Mahendravarman I of Pallavas, conflict with Chalukyas began during his reign, defeated by Pulakeshin II.
610–642 CE	Pulakesin II – defeated Harshavardhana; diplomacy with Persia
630–668 CE	Narasimhavarman I (Pallava) defeated Pulakesin II
700–728 CE	Rajasimha Pallava – built Kailasanatha and Shore temples
733-745 CE	Vikramaditya II: ended Pallava Supremacy in far south.
743–757 CE	Kirtivarman II, last Badami Chalukya, defeated by Dantidurga (Rashtrakuta)
880-897/903 CE	Aparajitha Pallava ruler: defeated by Chola King Aditya I

Timeline	The Rashtrakutas (757–973 CE)
757–778 CE	Dantidurga – founder of Rashtrakutas, performed Hiranya-garbha
793–814 CE	Govinda III – defeated Pratiharas and Palas
814–878 CE	Amoghavarsha I – patron of Jainism and Kannada literature
934–963 CE	Krishna III – defeated Cholas at Takkolam; marched to Rameswaram
Late 10th Century CE	Indra IV, last Rashtrakuta, performed Sallekhana at Shravanabelagola

Timeline	Imperial Cholas (850–1279 CE)
850 CE	Vijayalaya founded the Chola dynasty
871–907 CE	Aditya I defeated last Pallava king, Aparajita
907–953 CE	Parantaka I – expansion; defeated by Krishna III (Rashtrakuta)
985–1014 CE	Rajaraja Chola I – conquered Sri Lanka, Maldives; built Brihadeeswarar temple
1012–1044 CE	Rajendra Chola I – naval expedition to SE Asia; built Gangaikondacholapuram

Timeline	Transition and Regional Powers
880–903 CE	Aparajita Pallava defeated by Aditya I Chola
1000 CE	End of Pallava prominence; rise of Cholas
1336 CE	Foundation of Vijayanagara Empire by Harihara and Bukka
1347 CE	Alauddin Hasan Bahman Shah founded Bahmani Sultanate
1378 CE	Kumara Kampana defeated Sultan of Madurai
1490 CE	Breakup of Bahmani Sultanate into Deccan Sultanates (Bijapur, Ahmadnagar, Berar, etc.)
1509 CE	Krishna Deva Raya became ruler of Vijayanagara Empire
1565 CE	Battle of Talikota – Vijayanagara crushed by Deccan Sultanates