The sky was painted in shades of deep orange and purple as dusk began to fall. The Maratha forces, carefully chosen by Santaji and Dhanaji, had been positioned along the narrow mountain pass. They were hidden in the rocky outcrops, their weapons ready, their bodies tense with anticipation. The MC crouched beside Narayanrao, his heart pounding in his chest. This was it—the moment when everything could change.
Sambhaji Raje's plan was unfolding perfectly. The Mughals had taken the bait, sending troops toward Sangameshwar, convinced that the Marathas were planning a major raid there. But in reality, the Marathas had set their sights on a lightly guarded supply caravan passing through this secluded mountain route.
It was the perfect spot for an ambush.
The MC, though nervous, felt a sense of purpose. He wasn't a warrior by any means, but he had grown into this role. He had helped strategize this ambush, and now it was time to see if his modern knowledge of warfare, combined with the skill and courage of the Maratha soldiers, could turn the tide in their favor.
Santaji, crouched a few feet away, gave the signal. A single bird call echoed through the mountains, signaling the start of the raid. The Maratha warriors tightened their grips on their weapons, ready to strike.
The distant sound of hooves and the creaking of wooden wheels grew louder as the Mughal supply caravan approached. The caravan was moving slowly, the guards at ease, unaware of the trap awaiting them. There were only a handful of Mughal soldiers escorting the wagons, clearly believing that they were safe from any threats.
The MC's breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold. This is the moment, he thought. One mistake, one wrong move, and everything could fall apart. But if they succeeded, the Mughals would be dealt a serious blow, and the Marathas would gain much-needed supplies.
The caravan reached the narrowest part of the pass. The walls of the mountain rose sharply on either side, creating a natural choke point. The perfect place for an ambush.
Santaji gave the second signal, and chaos erupted.
The Marathas descended from their hidden positions like shadows, fast and silent. Arrows flew through the air, striking the first line of Mughal soldiers before they even had time to react. The Mughal guards, caught completely off guard, scrambled to defend themselves, but they were too slow.
The MC, his heart racing, stayed low behind the rocks, watching as the Maratha forces overwhelmed the Mughal guards. The element of surprise was working in their favor. He had no illusions about his own abilities—he wasn't a soldier, and he knew that his role in this battle was to observe, strategize, and support where he could.
Narayanrao, with a fierce grin on his face, charged forward with the other soldiers, his sword gleaming in the fading light. The Marathas moved with precision, cutting down the Mughal soldiers with brutal efficiency. The guards, though trained, were no match for the coordinated attack.
The MC watched as the lead wagon toppled over, its oxen panicking as arrows pierced the air around them. One of the Mughal officers tried to rally his men, shouting orders and waving his sword, but Santaji was faster. In a flash of movement, Santaji lunged forward, his sword cutting through the officer's defense. The officer fell to the ground, and the remaining Mughal soldiers began to retreat.
But there was no escape. The narrow pass offered little room for maneuvering, and the Marathas pressed their advantage. Within minutes, the battle was over.
The MC stood slowly, his breath coming in short bursts. The battle had been brief, but the adrenaline still coursed through his veins. He looked around at the aftermath—bodies of Mughal soldiers lay scattered, and the supply wagons were now firmly in Maratha control.
Santaji approached, wiping his sword clean on a cloth. "That was too easy," he muttered, his eyes scanning the horizon. "They should have sent more guards."
The MC frowned, feeling a growing sense of unease. "Do you think they knew? That this was a setup?"
Santaji shook his head. "No, they took the bait. The Mughals were sure we'd attack Sangameshwar. But something still feels off."
Narayanrao, who had returned from overseeing the capture of the supplies, overheard their conversation. "We've secured everything," he said, his voice serious. "But Santaji's right. This was too easy. I don't trust it."
The MC nodded, his mind racing. "We need to get the supplies back to Raigad as fast as possible. If the Mughals figure out what happened, they'll retaliate—and they'll come back stronger."
Santaji agreed. "We'll move out immediately. No resting."
The Maratha forces, victorious but cautious, quickly gathered the stolen supplies and prepared to make their way back to Raigad. The mountain pass was dangerous at night, and they needed to be swift and silent to avoid detection.
The MC, walking beside Narayanrao, felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. The plan had worked, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The Mughals wouldn't let this go unchallenged.
As they made their way through the twisting mountain paths, the MC's mind raced with thoughts of what was coming next. Aurangzeb was a formidable enemy, and this small victory would only serve to provoke him. The Marathas had won this battle, but the war was far from over.
Halfway down the mountain, a scout came rushing toward them, his face pale and his breath labored. "There's movement on the western side of the hills," he gasped. "Mughal forces… they're regrouping."
Narayanrao's eyes narrowed. "How far?"
"Less than two hours away," the scout replied. "They're moving fast. Too fast."
The MC's heart sank. It was a trap. The Mughals had anticipated the ambush, and now they were closing in on them. If they didn't move faster, they would be caught in the open, with no defense.
Santaji, overhearing the news, quickly took command. "We can't outrun them with the supplies. We'll have to split the forces. Half of us will take the supplies and move through the southern pass. The rest will hold the Mughals off."
Narayanrao nodded. "I'll stay with the defensive unit."
The MC's mind raced. This was exactly the kind of situation he had feared. A direct confrontation with a larger Mughal force could be disastrous. But they had no choice. If they left the supplies behind, their raid would have been for nothing.
"I'll go with Narayanrao," the MC said, surprising himself. He wasn't a fighter, but he knew he had to be there. If they were going to outsmart the Mughals, they needed to think strategically—and that was something he could help with.
Narayanrao gave him a nod of approval, and Santaji quickly divided the forces. Half of the men, along with the supplies, moved south under cover of darkness, while the rest, including the MC, Narayanrao, and Santaji, prepared to make their stand.
The Maratha soldiers set up a defensive position in a narrow gorge, the rocky walls providing some protection. The MC crouched behind a large boulder, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of the approaching Mughal forces. The night was eerily silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.
Narayanrao knelt beside him, his face calm but serious. "They'll be on us soon."
The MC nodded, his heart racing. He wasn't sure how this would play out, but he knew one thing: they couldn't afford to lose. If they failed to hold off the Mughals, the supplies would never make it back to Raigad, and everything they had worked for would be in jeopardy.
The sound of distant hooves reached their ears. The Mughals were close.
Santaji moved quietly among the men, giving orders and ensuring they were ready for the fight. "Remember," he said in a low voice, "we don't need to win this battle. We just need to delay them long enough for the supplies to make it through."
The MC gripped his dagger tightly, his mind focused on the task at hand. Hold them off. Just long enough.
The first wave of Mughal soldiers appeared on the ridge, their armor gleaming in the moonlight. The battle was about to begin.