The sun had long since set, leaving Fort Panhala shrouded in the cool stillness of night. The crackling of torches and the distant murmur of soldiers filled the air, but it was a strange kind of calm, the kind that comes before something terrible. Vidur Pant stood once more on the ramparts, his eyes fixed on the dark horizon where the Mughal camp stretched like a sea of shadows. The respite they had earned with the burning of the ladders was fleeting, and Vidur knew the Mughals would not rest for long.
"How long do you think they'll wait before they strike again?"
Narayanrao asked, his voice low as he stepped up beside Vidur, his face illuminated by the soft glow of a nearby torch. His tone was calm, but Vidur could sense the underlying tension beneath it.
Vidur's eyes didn't move from the horizon. "Not long. They've tasted defeat twice, but they'll come back with something new. They always do."
Narayanrao nodded, his jaw set with determination. "The men are holding on, but they're tired. Every battle leaves us more worn down than the last."
Vidur exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the cool night air. "I know. But we have no choice. We keep fighting. We keep holding the line. We've bought ourselves time tonight—enough to reinforce the walls again and catch our breath."
"And after that?" Narayanrao asked, his voice tinged with weariness.
Vidur finally turned to look at his old friend, his expression serious but calm. "After that, we wait. And we fight again when they come."
As the night wore on, Vidur found himself wandering the fort alone, his thoughts heavy. His steps took him to the courtyard, where small groups of soldiers gathered around fires, tending to their wounds and sharpening their blades. There was a somberness in the air, the weight of the siege pressing down on every man, but there was also a quiet resolve. We're still here.
Vidur paused by one of the fires, watching as a group of soldiers—men he had fought beside only hours earlier—sat in silence, their expressions grim. One man, his arm bandaged and his face streaked with dirt, looked up as Vidur approached, offering a weary smile.
"Captain," the soldier said, his voice hoarse but filled with respect. "Another day, eh?"
Vidur nodded, crouching down beside him. "Another day. How are you holding up?"
The soldier chuckled softly, though there was little humor in it. "Could be worse, I suppose. We're still alive."
Vidur's eyes flicked to the others sitting around the fire, their faces lined with exhaustion but showing the same flicker of determination. These men had fought with everything they had, pushing themselves to their limits to defend the fort.
"You're doing well," Vidur said, his voice steady. "Every day we hold them off is a victory."
The man nodded, though his eyes reflected the weariness that came from too many battles fought in too little time. "Just hoping we can keep it up, sir."
"We will," Vidur replied, his tone firm. "We'll keep holding, no matter what."
Vidur clapped the soldier on the shoulder before standing and continuing through the courtyard. His heart was heavy with the knowledge that their strength, while admirable, wasn't endless. How much longer can we hold this fort?
Later that night, Vidur returned to the war room, where Narayanrao and Santaji Ghorpade were already waiting. The map of the fort lay spread out before them once again, marked with new notations and adjustments from the latest battles. The room was dimly lit, the flickering light of the torches casting long shadows on the walls.
"We've reinforced the western wall,"
Santaji said as Vidur entered, his voice low but steady. "The damage from the last assault has been repaired, but it won't hold if they hit us again with siege weapons."
Narayanrao leaned over the map, his arms crossed. "They've tried everything so far—siege towers, battering rams, infantry assaults. We've repelled them each time, but they're learning. The next time they attack, they'll come at us with something we haven't seen yet."
Vidur nodded, his eyes scanning the map. "They'll adapt. That's why we need to stay ahead of them. We've been reacting to their attacks so far, but if we keep waiting for them to make the first move, we'll be overwhelmed eventually."
Santaji frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. "What are you suggesting?"
Vidur's gaze flicked up to meet Santaji's. "We need to take the initiative. Hit them before they hit us."
Narayanrao raised an eyebrow. "You want to attack the Mughals? With our men stretched as thin as they are?"
Vidur didn't hesitate. "Not a full attack. A raid. We've been defending this fort for days, but we can't win by simply holding our ground. If we can hit their supply lines, disrupt their plans, it might give us the edge we need to outlast them."
Santaji considered Vidur's words for a moment before nodding slowly. "It's risky, but it could work. A small force could slip out under cover of darkness, strike their supply routes, and be back before they know what hit them."
Narayanrao frowned, his face etched with concern. "We can't spare many men. If they counterattack while we're out there—"
Vidur cut him off. "That's why it has to be a small group. Just enough to cause damage and disappear. We'll need to move fast, hit them hard, and retreat before they have time to respond."
The decision was made quickly. Vidur, Santaji, and a small group of Maratha soldiers would slip out of the fort under the cover of darkness and strike the Mughal supply lines. It was a dangerous plan, but it was the only way to shift the balance of power in their favor.
As the hours passed, the fort was alive with quiet preparation. The men chosen for the raid moved silently, gathering weapons and supplies, their faces set with determination. They knew the risks, but they also knew what was at stake.
Vidur stood near the gate, his sword strapped to his side, as the final preparations were made. The air was cool, the night dark and still. He glanced up at the walls, where the sentries stood watch, their eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of movement.
"We're ready,"
Santaji said quietly as he approached, his face shadowed by the torchlight.
Vidur nodded. "Then let's move. We don't have much time."
The gate creaked open just enough to let the small group of men slip through, their footsteps barely audible as they disappeared into the night. Vidur led the way, his eyes sharp, every sense on high alert. The Mughal camp was a short distance from the fort, but getting there unnoticed was the key.
They moved quickly, staying low and avoiding open spaces. The darkness worked in their favor, the dim light of the Mughal campfires serving as their guide as they approached the enemy's perimeter.
Vidur's heart pounded in his chest, but his mind was calm, focused. He had done this before—slipping behind enemy lines, striking swiftly, and retreating before the enemy could react. But this was different. If they were caught, there would be no retreat.
They reached the outskirts of the Mughal camp without incident, the supply lines stretched out before them like a web of opportunity. Vidur crouched low, his hand signaling to the men behind him.
"Go for the supply wagons,"
he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Disable them, set them alight if you can, and then fall back. No unnecessary risks."
The men nodded, spreading out as they moved toward the targets. Vidur's heart raced as he watched them work quickly, slipping between the shadows, their movements silent and precise. This has to work.
The first wagon was set alight, the flames licking up into the night sky as the fire spread quickly. Vidur's pulse quickened as the sound of shouts echoed through the Mughal camp. The soldiers were starting to notice the fires, their confusion evident as they scrambled to respond.
"Move!" Vidur hissed, signaling for the men to fall back. "We've done enough—don't get caught."
The Marathas moved swiftly, retreating into the shadows as the Mughal soldiers rushed toward the burning wagons. Vidur glanced over his shoulder as the fires grew brighter, the flames consuming the supplies the Mughals had relied on.
They slipped back toward the fort, their mission complete, but Vidur knew they wouldn't have long before the Mughals retaliated. We've struck them, but now we'll need to be ready for their response.
When Vidur and his men returned to the fort, the gates opened quietly, allowing them to slip inside unnoticed. The raid had been a success—several of the Mughal supply wagons had been destroyed, and the confusion in their camp would buy the Marathas more time.
But Vidur knew the cost of such a strike. The Mughals wouldn't let it go unanswered.
"We've disrupted their plans,"
Vidur said to Narayanrao as they stood in the courtyard, watching the first hints of dawn appear on the horizon. "But they'll come back stronger. We need to be ready for whatever comes next."
Narayanrao nodded, though his face remained tense. "We'll hold, Vidur. We'll keep holding."
Vidur's gaze shifted toward the horizon, where the Mughal camp lay in darkness, the fires from their supply wagons still smoldering in the distance. For how long?