The Rise of Maratha Empire : The Akhand Bharat

The cold breeze kissed his face as he opened his eyes, blinking against the harsh sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees. The air was thick with the scent of earth, a sharp contrast to the urban smog he was used to. Birds chirped overhead, and the distant rustle of leaves reminded him of something out of a nature documentary. But this was no nature park or weekend getaway. This was something… different.

He blinked, trying to steady his breathing. His body felt stiff, like he'd slept in an awkward position. Sitting up, he winced as sharp rocks dug into his palms. The ground beneath him was rough, hard-packed dirt mixed with stones and dry grass. It wasn't anything like the polished floors of his city apartment.

He reached for his phone out of habit, only to feel the absence of it. His jeans were still there, but his pockets were empty. No phone, no wallet. Just him, alone in this strange wilderness.

"What the hell…?" he muttered, standing up slowly, his knees protesting as if he hadn't moved in hours. The landscape stretched out before him, wild and untouched. There were no buildings, no roads, no signs of the bustling life he had known in modern India.

His mind raced as he took in his surroundings. Towering trees rose around him, their thick trunks casting long shadows on the forest floor. The chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, and the distant sound of running water painted a picture of solitude. But this solitude wasn't peaceful; it was disorienting. His heart pounded in his chest as anxiety crept up his spine.

He had no idea where he was.

"Okay… okay, think," he whispered, trying to gather his thoughts. He remembered sitting at his desk, about to start another round of his favorite strategy game, Total War. He'd closed his eyes for just a moment to rest, and now… now he was here.

Here? Where was "here"? This couldn't be real. Maybe it was a dream, or some kind of weird hallucination.

Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his temples. "Get a grip, man. It's just a dream. You'll wake up any second now."

But the longer he stood there, the more real everything felt. The sunlight was too warm, the earth too rough under his feet. This wasn't a dream.

"What the hell is going on?" His voice echoed faintly through the trees, but there was no response. No cars, no people, no signs of life—just the oppressive silence of nature.

His pulse quickened as panic set in. He started walking, unsure of his direction, hoping to stumble upon some sign of civilization. But as he moved, something strange caught his eye. At first, he thought it was a trick of the light—just a flicker in his peripheral vision. But when he turned his head, he saw it again: translucent words hovering in front of him.

"SYSTEM INITIATED."

He froze, staring in disbelief at the floating text. His hands waved in the air, swiping through the holographic display, but the words remained, as if anchored in his vision.

"What… the… hell?"

Before he could process what was happening, the text shifted, and a voice—calm, emotionless—spoke directly into his mind.

"Welcome, User. You have been granted access to the Technology System. Completing missions will reward you with advanced technological tools and knowledge. Your first mission: Save Sambhaji Maharaj."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Sambhaji Maharaj? He blinked, struggling to comprehend the message. He knew that name—everyone who studied Maratha history knew that name. Chhatrapati Sambhaji Raje, son of the great Shivaji Maharaj. But how…? How could this be about him?

"Sambhaji Maharaj…?" he whispered. "But… he's been dead for centuries. This can't be real. It can't be."

But the system didn't care about his confusion. The voice continued, cold and precise:

"Time period: February 1689. Location: Bahadurgad Fort, Ahmednagar District. Sambhaji Maharaj is scheduled for execution by Aurangzeb on March 11, 1689. Your mission is to prevent this from happening. Failure will result in your termination."

The date hit him like a cold bucket of water. 1689. He felt the ground tilt beneath him. If this was true—if somehow, impossibly, he had been transported back in time—then this wasn't just some bizarre dream. This was real. And he was standing in a world that existed over 300 years before he was even born.

A deep, sinking feeling settled in his stomach. His breaths came faster now, his chest tightening as he tried to process the impossible. Sambhaji Maharaj was captured by Aurangzeb's forces in February 1689, tortured for weeks, and executed in March. His death had shattered the morale of the Maratha Empire. The execution of such a brave and noble leader was one of the darkest moments in their history.

And now… now he was expected to stop it?

"This… this can't be happening," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He could feel his legs shaking beneath him. He was no warrior, no freedom fighter. He was just an ordinary guy from the 21st century who spent too much time playing strategy games and obsessing over historical facts. How was he supposed to save one of the greatest warrior kings in Indian history?

His mind raced. Sambhaji Maharaj. March 11, 1689. That gave him… how many days? He looked at the sky, trying to gauge the time. If this was February, and the system was right, then he had just a few weeks to plan and execute a rescue mission.

But how could he even begin? He didn't know how to fight, let alone lead a rebellion against the Mughals. And worse, he had no idea how to navigate this world—its politics, its dangers. He was out of his depth.

Suddenly, another message appeared in front of him:

"New reward unlocked: World Map. Allows tracking of resources, people, and locations in real-time."

Before he could react, the map unfolded before his eyes, overlaying his vision with a translucent display of the surrounding area. A large section was grayed out, but several key points blinked in vivid detail. Bahadurgad Fort was marked as a solid red dot to the north. To the east, another icon appeared—Sambhaji Raje, glowing faintly with the image of a crown.

His breath caught in his throat. This… this was insane. The map was showing him real-time locations of people and places, and Sambhaji's icon was there, clearly moving along a path. He wasn't sure if he should be awestruck or terrified.

"Okay," he breathed, "this is real. This is happening."

He had no idea how or why, but if this map was accurate, then Sambhaji Maharaj was being moved. And if he didn't do something soon, history would repeat itself, and Sambhaji would be executed.

"No way," he whispered, his voice shaky. "No way I'm letting that happen."

He had always admired Sambhaji Maharaj—his bravery, his scholarship, his leadership. Even in the face of torture and betrayal, Sambhaji had never wavered. And now, standing here in this moment, the man from modern India felt a strange sense of responsibility.

But he was just one man. And he wasn't a soldier.

He knelt down, gripping the rough earth in his hands, letting the reality of the situation sink in. He was scared—terrified, even. This wasn't some strategy game where you could reload from the last save point. If he failed here, there were no do-overs. Sambhaji Maharaj would die, and the Maratha Empire would fall into disarray.

The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"I'm late," he whispered, his voice tinged with regret. "I should've come earlier. I should've been there when Shivaji Maharaj was alive. It would've been an honor to serve him. But now…"

He trailed off, glancing at the map again. There wasn't time for self-pity or doubt. If this was happening—if this system was real—then he had to act. He had to make things right, not just for the sake of history, but for Sambhaji Maharaj. The man deserved better.

"Alright, Raje," he said, standing up on shaky legs, "I'm coming to save you."

With that, he began walking north, toward Bahadurgad, toward the heart of history, and toward his mission: saving Sambhaji Maharaj.