The air was thick with tension as dawn approached. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, leaving the walls of Fort Panhala slick and the ground below a muddy mess. Vidur Pant stood at the eastern wall, his eyes scanning the horizon. The Mughal campfires had burned low, barely visible through the haze, but Vidur knew the calm was deceptive. They were coming.
His heart pounded steadily, but his mind was clear. They had prepared for this, set their trap, and now all that was left was to see if the Mughals would take the bait. The plan was risky, but it was the only way to turn the tide. We have to make them believe they've won before we strike.
Narayanrao approached quietly, his face drawn but his posture strong. His eyes, like Vidur's, were fixed on the distant enemy camp.
"They'll come soon," Narayanrao said, his voice low but sure. "The men are in position. They know what to do."
Vidur nodded, though his gaze never left the horizon. "Good. When the Mughals breach the walls, we need them to believe they've broken through completely. They'll rush in, and that's when we'll trap them."
Narayanrao shifted, glancing briefly at Vidur. "You think they'll fall for it?"
"They will," Vidur replied, his voice firm. "They're desperate for a victory. They'll push harder than ever, and they'll overextend themselves. That's when we strike."
The faint sound of distant movement caught Vidur's attention. His eyes narrowed as he peered through the mist. Shadows were shifting beyond the fort—too far to make out clearly, but enough to know the enemy was on the move. It's starting.
"They're coming," Vidur said quietly, his heart quickening. "Get the men ready. This is it."
The soldiers moved swiftly and silently into position, taking their places along the eastern wall and in the courtyards below. The fort was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of preparation muted by the weight of what was coming. Vidur walked among the men, offering quiet words of encouragement where he could, though the tension in the air was palpable.
The men were tired—exhausted, really—but their faces were set with determination. They knew this could be the final push, the moment when everything would be decided. We've held this long. We can hold longer.
As Vidur passed by a group of soldiers near the gate, one of the younger men, barely in his twenties, looked up at him with wide eyes.
"Captain,"
the young soldier said, his voice shaky but respectful. "Do you really think we can stop them?"
Vidur paused, meeting the soldier's gaze. There was fear in the boy's eyes—fear of what was to come, of the seemingly endless waves of Mughal soldiers that would soon crash against the walls. But there was also hope, and that was what Vidur held on to.
"We'll stop them," Vidur said, his voice calm and steady. "They think they're stronger, but they don't know us. We'll hold this fort, and we'll make sure they never forget it."
The young soldier swallowed hard but nodded, the fear in his eyes fading just slightly. Vidur gave him a firm nod before moving on, his thoughts already shifting to the battle ahead.
As the first rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon, the sound of war drums echoed through the air, their deep, rhythmic pounding sending a shiver down Vidur's spine. The Mughals were coming.
Vidur stood at the top of the eastern wall, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he watched the enemy approach. The Mughals moved in organized ranks, their soldiers marching steadily toward the fort with siege engines in tow. This is it. The final push.
"They've brought everything,"
Narayanrao said as he stepped up beside Vidur, his voice tight with tension. "Siege towers, battering rams, infantry—it's all here."
Vidur nodded, his eyes scanning the approaching forces. The Mughals were throwing their full weight into this attack, just as he had expected. They're desperate. They want this over with.
"Let them come," Vidur said quietly. "We'll make them regret it."
The Maratha soldiers stood ready along the walls, their weapons gleaming in the early morning light. Vidur could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, but he pushed the fear aside. There was no room for doubt now.
As the Mughals drew closer, the first of the siege engines rumbled into place, their massive wooden frames towering over the battlefield. The soldiers manning the siege towers began to raise ladders, preparing to storm the walls.
"Archers!" Vidur called out, his voice sharp and commanding. "Take out the men on the towers! Now!"
The sound of arrows whistling through the air filled the sky as the Maratha archers loosed their first volley. The arrows struck their targets with deadly accuracy, cutting down the Mughal soldiers as they scrambled to position the ladders. But it wasn't enough to stop the advance.
"They're still coming,"
Narayanrao muttered, his eyes narrowing as he watched the Mughals push forward.
"They always do," Vidur replied, his voice grim. "But they don't know what we've prepared."
The sound of the battering ram slamming into the eastern gate echoed through the fort, each thunderous blow rattling the walls and sending a jolt of tension through the soldiers. Vidur stood at the top of the wall, his heart pounding as he watched the gate buckle under the relentless assault.
"It won't hold much longer,"
Narayanrao said, his voice tight with urgency.
"It's not supposed to," Vidur replied, his eyes fixed on the gate. "Let them think they've won."
The gate gave way with a deafening crash, splintering under the force of the battering ram. The Mughals let out a roar of victory as they surged forward, pouring through the breach and into the fort's courtyard. The Marathas pulled back as planned, retreating deeper into the fort as the enemy flooded in.
"They're inside!"
Narayanrao shouted, his voice edged with panic. "Vidur, they're—"
"I know," Vidur cut him off, his voice calm. "This is where we take them."
The Mughals, emboldened by their apparent victory, pressed forward, rushing into the courtyard in disorganized waves. They believed they had broken the Maratha defenses, that the fort would soon be theirs. But they didn't realize they were walking into a trap.
"Now!" Vidur shouted, his voice ringing out over the chaos. "Close the gates! Cut them off!"
At his command, the Marathas sprang into action. The inner gates of the fort slammed shut with a resounding thud, trapping the Mughal forces inside the narrow courtyard. The enemy soldiers, realizing too late what had happened, turned in confusion as the Marathas closed in from all sides.
"Attack!" Vidur roared, his sword flashing as he led the charge.
The courtyard erupted into chaos as the Marathas struck with deadly precision, cutting down the trapped Mughal soldiers before they had time to regroup. The enemy, caught off guard by the sudden reversal, faltered, their once-organized ranks crumbling under the weight of the Maratha assault.
Vidur moved through the chaos like a force of nature, his sword cutting through the Mughal soldiers with practiced efficiency. His heart raced, but his mind was calm, focused on the task at hand. We've turned the tide. Now we finish this.
The battle raged on, but the momentum had shifted. The Mughals, trapped inside the fort's walls, were no longer the invincible force they had appeared to be. Vidur's plan had worked—by letting them in, they had drawn the enemy into a vulnerable position, and now they were paying the price.
As Vidur fought, he could feel the tide turning. The Maratha soldiers, fueled by their newfound advantage, fought with renewed strength, their weapons flashing in the dim light as they cut through the Mughal ranks.
"They're falling back!"
Narayanrao shouted, his voice filled with both relief and disbelief.
Vidur didn't allow himself to relax, not yet. "Push them harder! Don't let up!"
The Mughal soldiers, realizing they were trapped, began to retreat, scrambling to find an escape. But there was none. The Marathas had them cornered, and Vidur wasn't about to let them slip away.
As the last of the Mughal forces fell, the courtyard grew quiet, the sounds of battle fading into the cold morning air. Vidur stood in the center of the courtyard, his sword still clenched in his hand, his chest heaving from the exertion of the fight.
Around him, the Maratha soldiers began to regroup, their faces streaked with sweat and grime, but their eyes gleaming with the thrill of victory. They had done it—they had turned the tide, just as Vidur had planned.
"We did it," Narayanrao said quietly as he approached Vidur, his voice filled with awe. "We beat them."
Vidur nodded, though his expression remained serious. "We won today. But this isn't over yet. The Mughals will come again."
Narayanrao glanced at the fallen enemy soldiers scattered across the courtyard, his brow furrowed. "Do you think they'll keep coming after this?"
Vidur's gaze shifted to the horizon, where the distant glow of the remaining Mughal campfires still flickered. They'll come again.
"They'll come," Vidur said quietly, his voice filled with certainty. "But we'll be ready."