I was born about 2500 years ago (approx) and known for my bravery.
One day I went out from my tribe to kill the king of another tribe, but killed his secretary by mistake. (Well, they were dressed somewhat alike.)
On being taken captive by the security detachment surrounding the monarch, I committed an act of self-harm and was sent back, post haste, to my own people.
For my action, I was granted fertile farming land on the banks of the river that runs through the Capital city of my country.
Scholars argue, even unto your day, whether I actually existed, or was just a propaganda exercise initiated by the government of my nation.