The doors to the Mughal commander's quarters burst open with a resounding crash, echoing through the stone halls of Fort Panhala. The Vidur followed close behind Narayanrao, his heart hammering in his chest as they stepped into the large chamber. Inside, the Mughal commander stood waiting, flanked by his elite guards. The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with the promise of violence.
The commander, a tall and imposing figure with cold, calculating eyes, regarded the Marathas with disdain. "So, the Maratha dogs think they can take Panhala," he sneered in a deep voice laced with arrogance. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it.
"We don't think, we know," Narayanrao replied sharply, his voice steady but filled with conviction. "Your men are scattered, your defenses broken. Surrender now, and your life will be spared."
The Vidur watched the exchange closely, his hand gripping his dagger tightly. He could feel the danger radiating from the Mughal guards, their eyes fixed on the Maratha invaders. The battle outside the commander's quarters was still raging, the sounds of clashing steel and shouts filling the air. This confrontation, however, would determine the outcome of the entire raid. If they could capture or kill the commander, the remaining Mughal forces would crumble.
The Mughal commander's lips curled into a mocking smile. "You overestimate yourselves, Maratha. This fort is my domain, and you are nothing but intruders."
Without warning, he drew his sword, the blade gleaming in the dim light. His guards followed suit, stepping forward in perfect formation, ready to defend their leader. Narayanrao wasted no time. He raised his sword, his voice steady and commanding. "Marathas, attack!"
The room erupted into chaos as the two forces collided. Narayanrao led the charge, his sword flashing as he met the Mughal commander's guards head-on. The Vidur, not a trained fighter, stayed just behind the front lines, his eyes darting around the room for any sign of a threat. His heart pounded in his chest, and his breath came in quick bursts as the battle raged around him.
The Mughal guards were skilled, their movements precise and disciplined. But the Marathas fought with passion and determination. Narayanrao engaged the Mughal commander directly, their swords clashing with a metallic ring that echoed through the chamber. The commander was quick and powerful, his strikes fast and relentless, but Narayanrao held his ground, parrying each blow with skill and precision.
The Vidur's gaze darted toward the thick stone pillars that lined the room. He knew he had to contribute, but getting in the middle of the swordfight wasn't an option. His strength lay in strategy, not brute force. As he looked around, an idea formed in his mind. If we can't overpower them, we can outthink them.
"Narayanrao!" the Vidur called out, moving toward the edge of the room, trying to stay clear of the battle. "We need to cut them off! Push them toward the corner, and we'll trap them!"
Narayanrao, still locked in a fierce duel with the Mughal commander, nodded sharply, understanding the plan. He began to push the commander back toward one of the corners of the room, his movements calculated and deliberate. The Maratha soldiers, catching on, worked together to press the Mughal guards back, step by step.
The Vidur kept his distance, positioning himself near one of the doorways to block any potential escape routes. His role was not to fight but to ensure that the Mughal forces had nowhere to run. The commander, realizing what was happening, fought back fiercely, his strikes becoming more desperate as the Marathas closed in.
But the Marathas were relentless. With each blow, the Mughal forces lost ground, their defense weakening under the relentless pressure. Narayanrao's blade moved with deadly precision, cutting down two of the commander's guards with swift, clean strikes. The Mughal commander, now cornered and surrounded, glared at Narayanrao with fury in his eyes.
"You may have taken this room, but you will never take Panhala," the commander spat, his voice filled with defiance.
Narayanrao, his face calm but resolute, raised his sword. "Panhala is already ours."
With one final, swift movement, Narayanrao brought his sword down, striking the commander's blade from his hand. The Mughal leader stumbled back, disarmed and defeated, his eyes wide with shock. The remaining Mughal guards, seeing their leader fall, hesitated, their resolve breaking.
The battle was over.
The chamber fell into a tense silence, broken only by the labored breathing of the Marathas and the distant sounds of fighting still raging outside. The Vidur stood in the corner, his heart pounding from the intensity of the fight. He hadn't needed to fight directly, but his plan to trap the Mughal forces had worked. Fort Panhala was within their grasp.
Narayanrao, still catching his breath, approached the fallen Mughal commander. "Surrender now," he said coldly, "and your life will be spared."
The commander, his pride clearly wounded, glared up at him but finally nodded, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He had no choice. The fort was lost, and his men were either dead or scattered. "You've won this battle, Maratha," he muttered. "But Aurangzeb will not let this stand."
Narayanrao turned away, motioning for the Maratha soldiers to secure the prisoner. "Let him live," he said quietly. "We'll use him to send a message to Aurangzeb."
As the commander was taken away, the Vidur breathed a sigh of relief. The hardest part of the mission was over. Fort Panhala was theirs. But as he looked around at the exhausted faces of the Maratha soldiers, he knew that the true test was yet to come. The Mughals wouldn't sit idly by while one of their key strongholds was taken. Aurangzeb would retaliate, and when he did, he would come with the full force of his empire.
"We did it," the Vidur said quietly, walking over to Narayanrao. "Panhala is ours."
Narayanrao nodded, but his face was grim. "For now. But this victory will only make Aurangzeb more determined. He'll send more men, more supplies. We have to be ready."
The Vidur knew he was right. Taking the fort was just the beginning. Now, they had to hold it.
Outside the walls of Fort Panhala, the second wave of Maratha forces, led by Santaji Ghorpade, poured into the courtyard, securing the last remaining pockets of resistance. The Mughal soldiers who hadn't fled were quickly overwhelmed, and within the hour, the fort was fully under Maratha control.
As the sun began to rise over the horizon, Santaji made his way to the top of the fort, raising the Maratha saffron flag high above the battlements. The sight of the flag fluttering in the wind sent a surge of pride through the Vidur. They had done it. Against all odds, they had taken one of the Mughals' most important strongholds.
From his vantage point at the top of the fort, the Vidur looked out over the land below, the vast expanse of rugged hills and valleys stretching as far as the eye could see. This was just one victory in a long war, but it was a symbol of what was possible.
The Marathas had proven that they could strike deep into Mughal territory, that they could win. But the Vidur knew that holding this fort would be a far greater challenge than taking it. The Mughals would regroup, and they would come back stronger. And when they did, the Marathas would need to be ready.
As he stood atop Fort Panhala, the Vidur felt a strange mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. He had survived another battle, contributed to another victory. But the road ahead was long, and the stakes were only growing higher.
For now, though, they would savor this moment. Panhala was theirs.
And for the first time since his arrival in this world, the Vidur felt a glimmer of hope.