The sky above Fort Panhala had darkened, a fitting reflection of the dread that hung heavy over the fort. Vidur Pant stood near the ramparts, his eyes scanning the horizon. Thousands more... The words of the messenger echoed in his mind, making his chest feel tight.
"Days," the man had said. Perhaps less.
"Vidur!"
Narayanrao's voice broke through the fog of his thoughts as he approached, his face lined with concern.
Vidur turned slightly. "The news is worse than we feared," he said quietly, his voice steady but grim.
Narayanrao nodded, his brow furrowed. "Thousands. And they're marching straight toward us." His jaw clenched. "What are we going to do?"
Vidur didn't answer immediately. He could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, every decision from here on out determining whether Fort Panhala would stand or fall. If reinforcements don't arrive soon...
"We prepare," Vidur said at last, his voice calm but firm. "We make this fort as impenetrable as possible. And we hold them off until help comes."
Narayanrao exhaled slowly, his eyes locked on Vidur. "And if help doesn't come?"
Vidur's gaze hardened. "Then we hold anyway."
The next few hours passed in a blur of activity. The fort buzzed with the sounds of men preparing for the inevitable. Soldiers reinforced the gates with thick planks of wood and stone. Archers sharpened their arrows, while blacksmiths worked furiously to repair broken weapons. Vidur and Narayanrao moved through the fort, checking every detail, speaking to every man.
As they reached the southern wall, Vidur's eyes fell on a group of soldiers laying stones along the weak points of the ramparts. We can't afford any cracks.
"Vidur," Santaji Ghorpade's voice called from the other side of the courtyard as he approached, his expression grim. "I've spoken with the scouts. The Mughals are closer than we thought. Two, maybe three days away."
Vidur's jaw tightened, but he gave no outward sign of the fear creeping through his veins. "How many?"
"Thousands," Santaji replied, his voice heavy. "More than we can count. And they're not just soldiers. They've brought siege weapons. Larger than before."
Vidur nodded, though his mind raced. More men. Bigger weapons. This wasn't just an assault. This was meant to be the final blow.
"We can't wait for them to bring those weapons to the gates," Narayanrao muttered. "We'll need to be strategic with the archers. Hit them before they get too close."
Vidur met Santaji's gaze, his voice calm but commanding. "Prepare the men. We need everyone at the walls when they arrive. Every able-bodied man."
Santaji gave a quick nod before disappearing to carry out the orders. As Vidur turned back to the walls, his eyes lingered on the hills beyond. They're coming.
The next day passed in tense anticipation. Vidur stood atop the ramparts with Narayanrao by his side, watching the horizon. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the land. The silence was suffocating.
"How long do you think we have?" Narayanrao asked, his voice low.
"Hours," Vidur replied, his gaze fixed on the distance. Maybe less.
Narayanrao sighed. "I sent word to Raigad again, but there's been no reply."
Vidur's heart sank, though he kept his face impassive. No reinforcements. No sign of help. We're on our own.
"We'll hold them as long as we can," Vidur said, his voice steely. "That's all we can do."
Narayanrao nodded, though his expression was filled with doubt. "What if we can't?"
Vidur didn't answer, his mind already racing through strategies. He knew Narayanrao was right to worry. The odds were stacked against them. But he couldn't afford to show weakness. Not now.
"We will," Vidur said at last, his voice firm. "We have no other choice."
As dusk began to settle over the fort, a distant sound reached Vidur's ears—a low, rumbling noise that sent a chill down his spine. He turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as he strained to listen.
"Narayanrao," Vidur said quietly. "Do you hear that?"
Narayanrao stepped closer, his expression darkening as the rumbling grew louder. "They're coming."
Vidur's heart raced, but he remained calm. He motioned to one of the soldiers nearby. "Sound the alarm."
The soldier ran to the bell tower, and moments later, the sharp clang of the bell echoed through the fort. The sound sent a ripple of tension through the men, but Vidur remained focused. He had no time for fear. Only action.
"Get the archers ready," Vidur ordered. "And tell the men to prepare the oil. We'll burn the ground before they reach the walls."
Narayanrao nodded, moving swiftly to carry out the orders. Vidur stood by the edge of the rampart, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The rumbling was louder now, unmistakable. The Mughal army was on the move.
By the time the last rays of sunlight faded, the Mughal forces had appeared on the horizon. Vidur's heart skipped a beat as he saw them—a sea of soldiers, stretching as far as the eye could see. The sight was overwhelming.
"They've brought everything," Narayanrao muttered, his voice tight with tension.
Vidur nodded, his face grim. "They mean to end this."
As the Mughal forces advanced, Vidur could see the massive siege engines being pulled behind them. The wooden structures loomed in the distance, casting dark shadows over the land.
"They'll hit the gates first," Narayanrao said, his eyes scanning the enemy lines. "We need to hold them off there."
Vidur didn't take his eyes off the approaching army. "We will."
As the Mughal army continued its slow march toward the fort, a tense silence fell over the defenders. The Maratha soldiers stood ready along the walls, their faces set with grim determination. Vidur moved through the ranks, checking on the men, offering words of encouragement where he could.
"Stay focused," Vidur told a young archer who looked no older than eighteen, his hands shaking as he gripped his bow. "You've trained for this. Trust yourself."
The boy nodded, though his eyes were wide with fear.
Vidur moved on, his own nerves tightly controlled. Fear was natural, but he couldn't let it control him. Not now. Not when so many lives depended on him.
Narayanrao joined him near the gate. "They'll reach us by morning."
Vidur nodded, his face set. "We'll be ready."
The night passed slowly, the silence thick with anticipation. The men didn't sleep—they couldn't. Every sound, every creak of the fort's walls, felt like a warning. Vidur stayed atop the ramparts, his eyes on the Mughal campfires flickering in the distance.
As dawn broke over the fort, the Mughal army was fully visible, their ranks stretching out in endless lines. The sound of drums echoed through the valley, sending a chill through the Maratha defenders.
Vidur stood at the top of the gate, his heart steady but his mind racing. This is it.
"They'll strike soon," Narayanrao said quietly, standing beside him.
Vidur nodded, his eyes never leaving the enemy. "Tell the men to hold their positions. We don't retreat until the gates fall."
Narayanrao moved quickly, relaying the orders as the Mughal army prepared to strike. The air was thick with tension, the weight of the coming battle pressing down on everyone.
Vidur took a deep breath, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. We hold this fort. No matter what.
A deafening roar echoed across the battlefield as the Mughal cannons fired the first shots. Stones and debris slammed into the walls of Fort Panhala, shaking the ground beneath Vidur's feet. Dust and rubble filled the air, but the walls held.
"Archers!" Vidur shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Fire at will!"
The Maratha archers released a volley of arrows, the sky darkening as the projectiles rained down on the advancing Mughal soldiers. The first wave of attackers staggered but kept coming, their shields raised as they marched toward the gates.
"Pour the oil!" Vidur commanded. "Burn them before they reach the walls!"