Chapter 67: The Final Push

The first light of dawn had only begun to touch the sky when the distant sound of drums reached the walls of Fort Panhala. Vidur Pant, who had been standing on the ramparts since the early hours of the morning, turned his head sharply towards the sound. His heart quickened as he saw movement in the Mughal camp. The fires that had flickered faintly throughout the night were now roaring, and soldiers were assembling, forming into tight ranks.

"They're moving," Vidur said quietly, his voice steady, but his heart pounded harder in his chest. He had expected this. The Mughals were finally making their move.

Narayanrao appeared at Vidur's side, his face set in a grim expression. He had been awake all night as well, the tension making sleep impossible. His eyes flicked between the enemy camp and Vidur. "This is it, isn't it? They're coming with everything."

Vidur nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Yes. This will be their final push."

There was no doubt in his mind that this battle would be the decisive one. The Mughals, after their repeated failures to break the walls, would throw everything they had left. Vidur felt it in his bones. The siege was coming to its end, one way or another.

Preparations for the Battle

The atmosphere inside the fort shifted quickly from a tense calm to frantic activity. Vidur and Narayanrao moved swiftly through the courtyard, rallying the soldiers, preparing them for the onslaught that was now inevitable. There was no need for words of encouragement—the men knew what was at stake. Every movement, every glance between them spoke of resolve, determination, and a silent acceptance that today could be their last.

"Man the eastern wall!" Vidur called out as he walked, his voice strong and clear. "Reinforce it as much as you can!"

The eastern wall, though battered and patched up after every assault, had become the focal point of the Mughals' attacks. Vidur knew that they would likely strike there again—it was the weak spot, and the enemy would want to exploit it.

Narayanrao followed closely behind, barking orders to the soldiers as they ran to their positions. "Archers to the front! Get ready for the first wave!"

The men moved with practiced efficiency, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of the imminent battle. Despite everything, there was still fight left in them, and Vidur knew they would give it their all.

Vidur paused near a group of soldiers stationed at the gate, his eyes scanning their faces. Many of them were bruised and bandaged from the previous battles, but their eyes were still sharp. One of the men, a grizzled veteran with a scar running down his cheek, looked up as Vidur approached.

"Captain," the man said, his voice rough but steady. "How bad is it going to be?"

Vidur crouched beside him, meeting his gaze. "It'll be the hardest fight we've faced yet. But we've come this far. We'll hold."

The veteran nodded, his expression grim but resolute. "We'll fight to the last man if we have to."

Vidur placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Let's make sure it doesn't come to that."

The sound of the Mughal war drums grew louder, their rhythmic pounding echoing across the battlefield. The fort trembled slightly as the first siege towers rolled forward, their massive wooden frames looming in the distance like dark giants. Behind them, the Mughal infantry advanced in tight, disciplined ranks, their shields raised and their swords gleaming in the early morning light.

Vidur stood at the top of the eastern wall, his sword unsheathed, his eyes locked on the approaching enemy. He could feel the tension in the air, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. This is it.

"They've brought everything," Narayanrao muttered as he joined Vidur at the wall, his voice tight with anticipation. "Siege towers, battering rams, infantry—they're not holding back."

Vidur nodded, his expression grim. "No, they're not. But neither are we."

The Maratha soldiers lined the walls, their bows drawn, their faces set in grim determination. The tension was palpable, every man holding his breath as they waited for the order to fire. Vidur's heart raced, but his mind was clear. He had led these men through every battle so far, and he would lead them through this one too.

"Archers, ready!" Vidur called out, his voice strong and commanding.

The archers notched their arrows, their bows drawn as they fixed their eyes on the approaching enemy. The Mughals were close now, their siege towers rumbling closer with each passing moment.

"Hold," Vidur ordered, his eyes narrowing as he watched the enemy draw near. Wait for the right moment.

The battering ram slammed into the eastern gate with a deafening crash, the wood groaning under the force. Each strike sent shockwaves through the fort, the walls trembling with the impact.

"They're going to break through," Narayanrao shouted, his voice edged with fear.

"Not yet," Vidur replied firmly. "We need to hold them off as long as we can."

The first of the siege towers reached the wall, its ladder clattering against the stone as the Mughal soldiers began to climb. Vidur's sword was already in his hand, his muscles tensing as the first enemy soldier appeared at the top of the wall, his sword raised.

"Fire!" Vidur shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos.

The sky above the battlefield darkened as arrows flew from the bows of the Maratha archers, their deadly rain falling upon the advancing Mughal forces. The first wave of soldiers fell, their shields pierced by arrows, but more took their place, undeterred.

Vidur swung his sword, cutting down the first soldier to reach the top of the wall, then another. The clang of steel on steel filled the air, the battle erupting into chaos as the Mughal forces surged forward, determined to breach the defenses.

"Hold the line!" Vidur shouted, his voice hoarse as he fought. "Don't let them through!"

The battering ram slammed into the gate again, the wood splintering under the relentless assault. The walls trembled, the stone groaning under the pressure. Vidur's heart raced as he fought off another wave of soldiers, his sword moving with practiced precision.

"They're going to breach the gate!" Narayanrao called out, his voice barely audible over the din of battle.

Vidur's jaw clenched. Not yet. We're not ready.

With a final, deafening crash, the gate gave way. The wood splintered under the force of the battering ram, and the Mughals surged forward, pouring through the breach and into the courtyard. Their war cries filled the air as they rushed in, swords raised and eyes blazing with the promise of victory.

"Fall back!" Vidur shouted, his voice hoarse but commanding. "Pull back to the inner walls!"

The Maratha soldiers moved quickly, retreating in an organized line as the enemy flooded the courtyard. The Mughals, believing they had finally broken through, pressed forward with reckless abandon, their ranks swelling as they pushed deeper into the fort.

"They think they've won," Narayanrao muttered, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Vidur's eyes narrowed. "Let them think that."

As the last of the Mughal forces entered the courtyard, Vidur gave the signal. The inner gates slammed shut with a resounding thud, trapping the enemy inside. The Marathas, positioned along the inner walls, launched their counterattack, their swords flashing in the morning light as they struck from all sides.

The courtyard erupted into chaos once more, but this time, the tide was turning. The Mughals, trapped and disorganized, struggled to hold their ground as the Marathas pressed the attack, their movements swift and deadly.

The sun was high in the sky by the time the battle began to turn in favor of the Marathas. The Mughal forces, outnumbered and overwhelmed, were being driven back, their once-strong ranks crumbling under the weight of the relentless assault.

"They're retreating!" Narayanrao shouted, his voice filled with both relief and disbelief.

Vidur didn't allow himself to relax just yet. "Push them harder! Don't let them regroup!"

The Maratha soldiers, fueled by the prospect of victory, fought with renewed strength, their weapons flashing in the sunlight as they cut through the enemy ranks. The Mughals, realizing they were losing ground, began to fall back, their retreat growing more frantic with each passing moment.

Vidur's heart pounded as he moved through the chaos, his sword cutting down the last of the enemy soldiers with precision. The battle was turning, and this time, it was turning in their favor.

As the last of the Mughal forces were driven out of the fort, the courtyard fell silent, the sounds of battle fading into the cool morning air. Vidur stood at the center, his chest heaving from the exertion of the fight, his sword still clenched in his hand. Around him, the Maratha soldiers began to regroup, their faces streaked with dirt and sweat, but their eyes bright with the fire of victory.

"We did it," Narayanrao said quietly as he approached Vidur, his voice filled with awe. "We've held them off again."

Vidur nodded, though his expression remained serious. "We won today," he said softly. "But the siege isn't over yet."

Narayanrao glanced toward the distant Mughal camp, his brow furrowed with concern. "Do you think they'll come again?"

Vidur's gaze darkened as he looked toward the horizon. "They'll come," he said quietly, his voice filled with certainty. "But when they do, we'll be ready."