Chapter 64: Hunger Before the Walls
The twin columns of smoke from the previous night's raids still stained the sky when Nau Nihal Singh's force struck again at first light.
Raaz had delivered fresh intelligence before dawn — a critical water channel feeding the forward camps protecting Hyderabad's northern approaches. The main Sikh army under Sher Singh and Ventura was now less than a day away. Time was becoming the enemy's greatest threat.
"We hit it hard and fast," Nau Nihal told his men as they mounted. "Destroy the sluice gates and poison the flow if possible. Then we swing east to the Nasarpur bridge. Burn it before their reinforcements can cross."
Jawahar Singh checked his pistols. "They'll be desperate now. Pulling men off the walls to chase us."
"That's the point," Nau Nihal replied. "Every soldier hunting ghosts in the rear is one less waiting for Sher Singh at the gates."
One hundred and thirty riders moved out in tight formation, no banners, no unnecessary noise. They were deep in enemy territory now, far ahead of the main army, operating as a scalpel rather than a hammer.
The water channel was exactly where Gurbaaz's man had marked it — a vital artery guarded by only two hundred tired levies and a handful of Baloch matchlockmen. They had clearly not expected raiders this far behind their lines.
Nau Nihal's force hit them at full gallop.
"Jawahar — take the left bank! Secure the gates!"
Nau Nihal led the center charge himself, pistol cracking as he dropped the first officer who tried to rally the defense. His riders flowed over the low earthen banks like a flood. Swords flashed. Jezails roared. Within minutes the wooden sluice gates were splintered and burning. Bags of salt and bitter herbs were thrown into the flowing water, ruining it for days.
The defenders broke quickly. Some fled toward Hyderabad. Others died where they stood.
"Destroy the channels!" Nau Nihal shouted. "Make it useless!"
By the time enemy horns sounded in the distance, the entire irrigation system was wrecked. Water spilled uselessly across the fields instead of reaching the city's forward positions.
They withdrew cleanly, melting into the scrubland before a larger response could organize.
By midday they reached the Nasarpur bridge — a sturdy stone-and-wood crossing over a deep tributary that many enemy supply routes depended on.
This time the enemy was waiting.
Raaz had warned them the bridge was now guarded by nearly four hundred men. Barricades blocked the approaches. Matchlockmen lined the far bank.
Jawahar studied the position from cover. "Tougher than the last ones. They've reinforced."
"Good," Nau Nihal said. "Means they're scared. We don't need to take the bridge. We need to make sure nothing useful crosses it again."
He split the force. Forty riders under Jawahar created a noisy diversion upstream. Nau Nihal took the rest downstream, using the river's bend for cover. While the enemy focused on the obvious threat, his main group crossed at a shallow ford and hit the bridge defenders from the rear.
The fighting was brutal and close. Nau Nihal lost three men in the first minute. A bullet grazed his left arm, burning like fire. But his warriors were veterans now — hardened by weeks of relentless movement. They fought with cold efficiency.
Fire arrows arced onto the wooden sections of the bridge. Barrels of captured powder were rolled into place and lit. The explosion ripped through the structure with a deafening roar, sending burning timbers into the river.
"Back!" Nau Nihal ordered as fresh enemy troops poured in from the south. "We've done enough!"
They fought their way out, leaving the bridge half-destroyed and burning. Behind them, the crossing was crippled for weeks.
That evening, hidden in a dense grove of date palms, Nau Nihal allowed a short rest. While the men dressed wounds and watered horses, another Raaz messenger arrived — this one a young woman disguised as a grain seller.
The note was excellent:
Hyderabad in chaos. Granaries critically low. Water shortages already reported. Amirs ordered full recall of field forces. Sher Singh and Ventura expected to reach siege positions by tomorrow noon. Southern reinforcements still delayed.
Jawahar read it over Nau Nihal's shoulder and let out a low laugh. "They're starting to feel it. Real hunger. Real fear."
Nau Nihal pressed a cloth to his bleeding arm. "This is what we were always meant to do. Not win grand battles in the open — but make the siege quick and ugly for them. When the main army arrives, the city will already be cracking from within."
He looked at his tired but determined men. "One more big strike tomorrow. Their last major supply depot south of the city. After that, we wait for Sher Singh's signal. Then we charge from behind and break whatever remains."
Jawahar nodded, eyes hard. "And if they send everything after us?"
"Then they leave the walls even weaker for Ventura's guns." Nau Nihal allowed himself a rare, cold smile. "Either way, they lose."
Night fell over the Indus. In the distance, the lights of Hyderabad flickered uncertainly.
The long campaign of movement and adaptation was truly ending. The war of starvation and siege was about to begin in earnest.
And Nau Nihal Singh's shadow force would be right in the middle of it.