"Let them bring their thunder. I'll answer with the storm."~ Rani Durgavati
Gondwana – One Month After the Battle of Narrai
The scars of victory ran deep.
The Narrai Gorge was quiet now, filled with the smell of blood and damp stone. Trees still stood scorched. Craters from cannonballs dotted the path like graves. Ravens circled, shrieking.
But high on the cliffs, Rani Durgavati stood unmoved, surveying what once was a battleground and now whispered of wrath.
She knew it wouldn't be the last.
Inside the Court of Singorgarh
Maps were unrolled across a blackwood table. Every valley, ridge, waterway, and weak point etched in charcoal and ink. The room smelled of burning cedar and steel polish.
"Four divisions of Mughal forces are advancing from the north," said Commander Bhavasingh. "They've regrouped. Reinforcements arrived from Allahabad. Reports mention new generals. New weapons. Heavy siege artillery."
"And Akbar?" Durgavati asked.
Bhavasingh hesitated. "He does not march. But his eyes are on us. And his fury will follow."
She leaned forward, placing a single brass coin atop the map where Singorgarh stood.
"This fortress is the heart of Gondwana. If it falls, our soul is lost. We hold it. Or we die in its ashes."
Mughal War Camp – Near Jabalpur
A brutal dusk smothered the plains as Mughal banners flapped like the wings of vultures. In the center, a massive war tent housed the new architect of Akbar's will: General Khwaja Moinuddin.
Cold eyes. Merciless discipline. A master of siege.
He walked through rows of soldiers adjusting cannon wheels and feeding elephants. Powder stores were stacked in towers. Engineers carved platforms to haul artillery up cliffs.
He muttered only once.
"No mercy. No prisoners."
Behind him, a line of traitors stood in shackles—former Gondwana courtiers bribed into betrayal.
The Night Before the Siege
Rain fell in thick sheets over Singorgarh. Thunder cracked, but the fortress did not sleep. Fires burned along every wall. Archers oiled their bows. Soldiers whispered prayers with blades in their hands.
In her chamber, Rani Durgavati sat beside her son's bed. Veer Narayan, barely ten, slept unaware of the storm on their doorstep.
She pressed a kiss to his brow.
"You will rise from the ashes, my son," she whispered. "If I fall, you must fly."
Then she stood and armed herself with silent fury.
Dawn: The First Strike
The morning exploded with fire.
The Mughal cannons roared from the cliffs opposite Singorgarh, their thunder crashing into the fort's granite walls. Stones shattered. Watchtowers cracked. The outer defenses began to crumble under the sheer force.
Soldiers screamed. Dust rose.
But no white flag followed.
Durgavati appeared on the battlements in full armor—gold-piped black silk beneath scale mail, her crimson scarf tied across her forehead. Her eyes held no fear. Only flame.
"Patch the walls!" she shouted. "Melt the rain into arrows. Every man is worth ten if he stands without shaking!"
The defenders rallied, hammering supports, drawing oil lines, and countering every Mughal attempt to scale the walls.
The Betrayer Within
On the fourth night of siege, a torch was spotted flickering in rhythm from the eastern tower—a secret signal.
Inside, one of the king's old advisors—Raghav Singh, once trusted—had opened a hidden passage leading under the fortress.
Mughal soldiers began to crawl through the cavern silently, daggers gleaming.
But Durgavati had been watching.
She waited in the darkened corridor beyond the stone passage, flanked by Bhil hunters and Gondi scouts. When the first soldier emerged, she struck with a spear—swift, clean, and without pause.
Within moments, the tunnel became a tomb.
And Raghav Singh?
Hung from the battlements as a message:"Traitors will hang before they kneel."
A Message to Akbar
In the chaos of the siege, a lone Bhil rider was sent through the hills—dressed in animal skins, carrying a scroll sealed with blood-red wax.
The letter read:
*To Emperor Akbar,
You send thousands. I raise forests.You break stone. I wield the wind.You may conquer land. But you will never rule my soul.
— Rani Durgavati*
When Akbar read it, he didn't speak.
He simply ordered: "Break her."
A Crack in the Sky
After three weeks, the fortress began to bleed.
The outer walls collapsed. Food stores ran low. Disease whispered through the camp. And yet, Singorgarh held.
One moonless night, Durgavati gathered her generals beneath the temple roof.
"We ride," she said.
Bhavasingh looked up. "Ride? Where?"
"Out of this coffin. Through their siege lines. Into the forest. We draw them in. Into our land. Into our trap."
The plan was madness.
But her madness was the only hope left.
The Last Ride Begins
Before dawn, under thick mist, a group of 300 elite warriors mounted their horses. Durgavati rode at the front, spear gleaming, her hair braided like a serpent coiled for war.
They burst through the eastern gate with the fury of demons unleashed.
The Mughal camp never saw them coming.
Tents collapsed. Elephants panicked. Ammunition exploded in bursts of fire as the rebels struck deep, fast, and then vanished into the forest.
But the Mughals followed.
Into unfamiliar ground. Into terrain where the trees whispered betrayal and rivers changed paths overnight.
Endgame Approaches
Durgavati led her riders to Bargi, a land of hills and rivers, setting her final defense along the edge of a lake shrouded in mist.
Behind her: wounded soldiers, dwindling numbers, her son hidden deeper in the jungle with loyal Bhil protectors.
Ahead: General Moinuddin's approaching army.
She whispered to the wind:
"This is where I make history. Or become legend."
End of Chapter Four