I was enjoying my new life as the crown prince of the Maratha Empire. I had a loving family, a loyal brother, and a great destiny. I was learning, growing, and improving every day. I was confident, happy, and hopeful.
But I was not naive.
I knew that this world was not a fairy tale. I knew that there were dangers, enemies, and challenges. I knew that I had to be careful, alert, and prepared.
And I was right.
One day, I received a letter from the Mughal Emperor, Muhammad Shah. He was the ruler of the largest and richest empire in India, but also the weakest and most corrupt. He was the descendant of the great Mughal Emperors, such as Akbar, Jahangir, and Shah Jahan, but he was nothing like them. He was a lazy, incompetent, and decadent ruler, who cared more about his pleasures than his duties. He was hated by his subjects, despised by his nobles, and feared by his enemies.
He was my enemy.
The letter was a declaration of war.
He accused me of being a rebel, a traitor, and a usurper. He claimed that I had no right to the throne of the Maratha Empire, that I was an impostor, a foreigner, and a fraud. He demanded that I surrender to him, that I renounce my title, that I accept his authority.
He threatened me with war, destruction, and death.
He was a fool.
He underestimated me, he provoked me, he challenged me.
He made a mistake.
I was not afraid of him, I was not intimidated by him, I was not impressed by him.
I was ready for him, I was eager for him, I was waiting for him.
I wrote a reply to his letter.
I rejected his accusations, I denied his claims, I defied his demands.
I declared my independence, I asserted my rights, I affirmed my identity.
I challenged him to a war, a duel, a showdown.
I was the crown prince of the Maratha Empire, the future Peshwa, the leader of the Marathas.
I was Raghunath.