The deep thud of the Mughal battering ram rolling toward the gates echoed through the courtyard like the beat of a war drum. Vidur Pant's heart raced as he stood on the ramparts, his eyes fixed on the massive wooden structure creeping closer. Every second it moved forward brought the fort one step closer to falling.
"They're going to break through,"
Narayanrao muttered, his voice low but filled with urgency.
Vidur didn't answer immediately. His mind raced, searching for a solution, any way to stop the ram before it reached the gates. But the fort's defenses were stretched thin, and the soldiers were already locked in fierce combat along the walls. We're out of time.
He turned to Narayanrao, his decision made. "We're going out there."
Narayanrao's eyes widened. "Are you mad? There's no cover, Vidur. We'll be slaughtered before we even reach the ram."
Vidur's gaze hardened. "If we don't stop it now, the gates will fall. And when that happens, we're finished."
Narayanrao looked at him, his face set with grim determination. "Then we go."
The gate creaked open just enough to let Vidur, Narayanrao, and a handful of Maratha soldiers slip through. The courtyard behind them was chaotic—soldiers shouting, arrows whistling through the air—but Vidur's focus was on the looming battering ram in the distance.
"We need to move fast," Vidur muttered under his breath, his feet pounding the earth as they dashed toward the approaching siege weapon. The sound of the Mughals' war drums reverberated in the air, their rhythm like the pulse of a great beast closing in.
Narayanrao ran beside him, his sword drawn, his breathing heavy but steady. "What's the plan? How do we stop something that big?"
Vidur's mind raced. The ram's too large to destroy outright. But there was another way. "We don't need to destroy it," Vidur said, his voice low but firm. "We just need to slow them down long enough for the archers to do their work."
Narayanrao glanced at him, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "We take out the men pushing it."
Vidur nodded. "Exactly."
The ground was uneven beneath their feet, the air thick with the stench of smoke and blood. As they approached the Mughal lines, Vidur could see the soldiers pushing the battering ram—six men, their backs bent under the weight of the massive structure. Behind them, more Mughals formed a protective line, shields raised, swords drawn.
"We'll only have a moment," Vidur muttered, his voice tight with tension. "We hit them hard and fast, then get out."
Narayanrao's grip on his sword tightened. "Ready."
Vidur signaled to the others, and they moved as one, breaking from the shadows and charging toward the enemy. The Mughal soldiers didn't see them at first, their focus on the siege, but the moment Vidur's sword struck, the battle was joined.
Vidur's blade sliced through the first soldier, blood spraying across the dusty ground as the man crumpled beneath the weight of the attack. Beside him, Narayanrao swung his sword in a wide arc, cutting down another man before he had time to react. The sudden assault threw the Mughal soldiers into confusion, and for a brief moment, the line faltered.
"Push forward!" Vidur shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.
The small group of Maratha soldiers surged toward the battering ram, their swords flashing in the dim light. Vidur's heart pounded in his chest as he dodged an incoming strike, his mind sharp, every movement precise. We can't let them recover.
Narayanrao fought fiercely beside him, his sword moving in swift, deadly arcs. "We need to break their ranks!" he shouted over the din of battle.
Vidur nodded, his focus unshaken. "Go for the men pushing the ram! Without them, it's dead weight."
Vidur darted between the Mughal soldiers, his eyes locked on the men struggling to push the massive wooden ram. With a swift, calculated strike, he cut down the first man, his body collapsing under the weight of the siege weapon. Narayanrao followed close behind, slashing at another, the Mughal lines beginning to buckle under the surprise attack.
"Hold them!" Vidur shouted, his voice filled with urgency. "Don't let them regroup!"
The Maratha soldiers pressed the attack, but the Mughal forces were quick to recover. The clashing of swords filled the air as the remaining soldiers closed in, their eyes filled with fury.
"Vidur!" Narayanrao called out, his voice strained. "They're regrouping!"
Vidur's eyes darted to the line of Mughal infantry closing in around them. We're running out of time. He swung his sword, cutting down another man before glancing toward the fort. "Fall back! We've done what we needed!"
The retreat was swift, but not without cost. As they pulled back toward the fort, the Mughal soldiers pursued, their shouts ringing through the air as they pressed the attack. Vidur's chest burned with exertion, but he forced himself to keep moving. We've slowed them down. That's all that matters.
"Keep moving!" Vidur shouted, his voice hoarse as they neared the gates.
Narayanrao was right beside him, his sword still drawn, his face grim. "We're almost there!"
Arrows whistled past them as they sprinted for the safety of the fort. Vidur could hear the gate creaking open ahead of them, the soldiers on the walls providing cover fire as they ran. He could feel the Mughals closing in, their footsteps pounding behind him.
With a final burst of energy, Vidur reached the gates, collapsing inside just as the heavy doors slammed shut behind them. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, his body aching from the fight.
"We made it," Narayanrao muttered, his voice filled with disbelief as he leaned against the gate. "We actually made it."
Vidur nodded, though his mind was already racing. We bought ourselves time, but how much?
Back inside the fort, the mood was tense but relieved. Vidur stood with Santaji Ghorpade and Narayanrao near the gates, their faces lined with exhaustion. The battering ram had been stopped—at least for now—but the fight was far from over.
"They'll try again," Santaji said, his voice low. "You know that."
Vidur nodded, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. "We slowed them down, but they'll come back. And next time, they'll be even more prepared."
Narayanrao wiped the sweat from his brow, his voice quiet but steady. "We can't keep doing this, Vidur. Our men are exhausted. The fort can't take another direct hit."
Vidur didn't answer immediately. He knew Narayanrao was right. The fort's walls were weakened, and the soldiers were running low on supplies and energy. But they couldn't stop. Not now.
"We'll hold," Vidur said finally, his voice filled with quiet determination. "We have no choice."
As night began to fall, the Mughals regrouped in the distance, their campfires flickering in the darkness like a sea of stars. Vidur stood once more on the ramparts, his gaze fixed on the enemy lines. The fort was quiet now, but the tension in the air was palpable. Every man knew what was coming.
Narayanrao joined him, his expression grim. "They'll come at us again in the morning."
Vidur nodded, his eyes never leaving the horizon. "And we'll be ready."
Narayanrao glanced at him, his voice filled with quiet frustration. "How long can we keep doing this, Vidur? How long until we break?"
Vidur's gaze hardened. "As long as it takes."