The night before
Rain on the ramparts, torches held against the wind. On the night before a fort changes hands, nobody on either wall is asleep.
The Mawale form up
Out of the dark below the scarp the ranks take shape — spears first, then the men carrying them. Farmers by daylight, the sharpest infantry in the Deccan by night.
The charge
The line breaks into a run for the gate. The bastion answers with fire, and for a moment the whole plain is lit orange.
First light
The banner is still up. Swarajya was never a slogan on a wall — it was a morning that arrived, and then had to be held.