The night raid had been repelled, but the victory brought no sense of relief. Vidur Pant stood near the eastern gate, his sword still slick with blood, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The remains of the Mughal raiders had disappeared into the darkness, but their presence lingered like a shadow over Fort Panhala.
"We held them off,"
Narayanrao said quietly as he approached Vidur, wiping sweat and grime from his brow. "But they'll strike again, and next time, they won't come under the cover of night."
Vidur's eyes scanned the horizon, his mind racing. They're testing our defenses, probing for weaknesses. The night attack had been quick, but it was clear the Mughals had no intention of retreating. This was just the beginning.
"I know," Vidur replied, his voice steady but grim. "They'll come back with more men, more siege engines, and we'll be ready."
Narayanrao glanced at him, his brow furrowed. "How much longer can we keep saying that, Vidur? Our men are exhausted. The fort is crumbling. How many more attacks can we withstand?"
Vidur didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the distant flickers of the Mughal campfires, glowing like embers in the dark. We've come this far. We can't stop now.
"We hold until we can't," Vidur said quietly, his words cutting through the silence. "As long as we stand, the fort stands."
The aftermath of the battle was somber. The courtyard had been turned into a makeshift triage center, where the wounded were laid out on blankets, their faces pale and lined with pain. Vidur moved among them, checking on the men who had fought so fiercely to defend the fort.
The Maratha soldiers were battered but resolute. Bandages wrapped around their arms and legs, stained with blood and dust. Some were too injured to stand, but their eyes still burned with the same fierce determination that had kept them fighting.
"How are the men?" Vidur asked one of the medics, his voice low as he crouched beside a soldier who was struggling to breathe.
The medic, a young man with dirt smeared across his face, looked up at Vidur, his expression weary. "They're holding on, but it's getting harder. We're running low on supplies—bandages, medicines, everything."
Vidur's jaw tightened. Supplies. That had always been the problem. They had enough to survive another day or two, but after that, there would be nothing. No food, no medicine, no hope.
"Do what you can," Vidur said quietly, his voice heavy. "We'll get through this."
The medic nodded, but there was doubt in his eyes. He wasn't the only one.
Vidur stood and glanced around the courtyard. The soldiers who were still able to walk moved silently through the fort, reinforcing the walls, carrying water, and tending to the wounded. Despite the exhaustion in their faces, they worked without complaint. They knew what was at stake.
By dawn, Vidur found himself once again in the war room, hunched over the map of the fort with Narayanrao and Santaji Ghorpade. The flickering light from the torches cast long shadows across the worn parchment, making the lines of the fort seem more fragile than ever.
"The Mughals will try again soon," Santaji said, his voice filled with quiet frustration. "They didn't risk everything in that night raid. They were testing us, seeing how quickly we'd respond."
Vidur nodded, his eyes locked on the sections of the wall that had taken the brunt of the earlier attacks. They know where we're weak. The Mughals had focused their efforts on the eastern gate and the surrounding walls, battering them with siege engines and infantry.
"They'll hit the eastern wall again," Vidur said, his voice firm. "It's their best chance. If they can breach that section, the entire fort will be compromised."
Narayanrao rubbed his temple, his expression tense. "We've reinforced the eastern wall as much as we can, but it's not going to hold if they come at us with another tower or battering ram."
Santaji crossed his arms, his gaze hard. "Then we need to make sure they don't get that close again."
Vidur's mind raced. What's the next move? The Mughals wouldn't stop until they'd exhausted every option. That meant the next attack would be even fiercer, even more dangerous.
"We need to lure them into a trap," Vidur said, his voice calm but decisive. "They think they've figured out our defenses. Let's use that against them."
Narayanrao raised an eyebrow. "You're suggesting we let them get closer?"
Vidur nodded slowly. "Yes. We'll make them think they're about to breach the walls, then hit them hard. We lure them into the open, then cut them down."
Santaji's eyes gleamed with understanding. "A feigned retreat."
Vidur met his gaze. "Exactly. We fall back from the eastern wall, make it look like we're losing ground. When they push forward, we'll have our archers and infantry waiting to ambush them."
The plan was put into motion quickly. Vidur moved through the fort, instructing the soldiers on how to fall back strategically from the eastern wall without losing control of the defense. Every man was given a clear task: retreat just enough to make the Mughals think they were winning, then hold the line and strike.
The soldiers, though weary, nodded with grim determination. They trusted Vidur's judgment. They knew that if the plan failed, the consequences would be dire.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the tension in the fort grew thick. Every sound seemed louder, every moment heavier. The Mughals would strike soon—Vidur could feel it.
"Are you sure about this?" Narayanrao asked quietly as they stood atop the eastern wall, watching the horizon.
Vidur's gaze was hard, but his voice was steady. "It's our best chance."
Narayanrao exhaled slowly. "Then let's hope they take the bait."
By midday, the Mughal forces began to stir. From the ramparts, Vidur could see them gathering in formation, their banners fluttering in the breeze, their soldiers armed and ready. The sight of their siege engines rolling into position made Vidur's stomach tighten, but he pushed the fear aside. Stay calm. Trust the plan.
"They're coming," Narayanrao muttered, his eyes narrowing as the Mughals began their approach.
Vidur's heart pounded as he watched the Mughal soldiers march toward the eastern wall, their numbers vast, their siege ladders and battering rams looming ominously in the distance.
"Hold your ground!" Vidur shouted, his voice carrying across the fort. "Wait for my signal!"
The Maratha archers stood ready on the ramparts, their bows drawn, their eyes locked on the approaching enemy. Below, the infantry was prepared to fall back, just as planned.
"They're taking the bait," Santaji said, his voice tight with anticipation. "They think we're going to crumble."
Vidur's eyes never left the approaching Mughals. Just a little closer.
As the Mughals reached the base of the eastern wall, Vidur gave the signal. The Maratha infantry began to retreat, just as they had planned, falling back from the wall as if they were losing ground. The Mughals, sensing victory, surged forward, their soldiers pushing up against the weakened sections of the wall.
"They're coming in too fast," Narayanrao muttered, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword.
Vidur's heart raced, but he remained calm. "Hold steady. Wait for it."
The Mughal soldiers began to raise their siege ladders, preparing to storm the walls. The battering ram rumbled forward, its massive frame looming closer with each passing second.
"Now!" Vidur shouted, his voice cutting through the din of battle. "Archers, fire!"
A rain of arrows flew from the ramparts, cutting through the air and slamming into the ranks of the Mughal soldiers. The first wave of attackers crumpled under the barrage, but more followed, their determination unshaken.
Vidur drew his sword, his voice fierce as he rallied the infantry. "Push them back! Don't let them breach the walls!"
The trap had been set, and now the battle for Fort Panhala had truly begun.