A queen does not inherit peace. She forges it through fire."
Gondwana – Four Years Later
The sky broke open with monsoon thunder.
In the royal hunting grounds near Singorgarh Fort, tall sal trees trembled under the downpour, their branches slick with water and echoing lightning. But even the storm could not drown the cries that echoed through the jungle.
Not the cry of beasts. But of fate.
A bloodied horse galloped down the stone path toward the fortress gates, its rider hunched, his body covered in both royal silks and wounds. As the guards rushed to help, the rider collapsed in their arms, coughing blood and whispering a name with his last breath.
"Rani… Durgavati…"
Inside the War Room – Singorgarh
The messenger's body lay cold.
Dalpat Shah, Rani Durgavati's husband and Gondwana's ruler, was dead—felled not by blade or battle, but by a sudden illness that withered him in less than three days. Poison, some whispered. A curse, others believed.
But Durgavati didn't flinch.
She stood draped in royal widow's white, the color of mourning—yet her spine remained unbowed. Her grief, locked behind steel eyes, was not for the court to see. Not for the vultures that circled the throne.
And they were circling.
The courtiers of Gondwana were no longer loyal to the Chandelas, and not all of them wanted a woman—a widowed woman—to rule.
"She cannot lead an army."
"She has no heir of age."
"The Mughals are expanding every week. We need a warrior—not a widow in silk."
Durgavati entered the court chamber before they finished scheming.
Her voice cut through the hall like a whip.
"Who among you," she said, "has looked into the eyes of a charging war elephant and survived?"
No one answered.
"I have."
Her footfalls echoed as she walked forward, unarmed and unafraid. "Who among you has ridden through a field of corpses at midnight, hearing the cries of the dying and the ghosts of the dead?"
Still, no reply.
She raised her chin. "And who among you—cowards hiding behind thrones—has faced an assassin on their wedding night, and buried him before dawn?"
Silence.
"I am the Regent of Gondwana. And until my son, Veer Narayan, comes of age… I will rule not as a widow. But as a weapon."
Elsewhere — The Mughal Darbar, Agra
Under a vast canopy of gold and sapphire silk, Emperor Akbar paced with slow fury.
"Four years," he said. "And still, she holds."
Asaf Khan, governor of the eastern provinces, knelt before him, trembling.
"We tried diplomacy, Your Majesty. Then assassins. Then bribes—"
"And yet Durgavati still defies tribute," Akbar hissed. "No coin, no grain, no soldiers. Her rebellion is a disease that could spread to the Deccan."
Another advisor stepped forward. "Perhaps we strike now. While her son is still a child."
Akbar's eyes narrowed.
"Then let her forests burn."
Singorgarh Fort – Nightfall
Durgavati knelt in her private shrine, offering sandalwood and black sesame seeds to the fire. The flames danced. Her sword rested beside the offerings. Widowhood had stripped her of royal jewels, but not of her armor.
A handmaid entered—eyes wide, breathless.
"Your Majesty… word from the Bhil scouts. A massive army moves from Rewa. Mughal banners."
"How many?" Durgavati asked without turning.
"Ten thousand, they say. With cannons."
She stood slowly.
"Then so be it."
In the Council of War
The generals of Gondwana sat stone-faced. Most were tribal lords—men of the jungle, not of cities. They feared cannons, the Mughal cavalry, and the emperor's wrath.
One dared to speak.
"Let us surrender. Preserve the royal bloodline. Bow to Akbar and live."
Durgavati walked to him and held out her palm.
"Give me your sword."
The general frowned. "Why?"
"Because cowards should not carry them."
The room went dead.
"Those who kneel to save their skin," she growled, "invite chains for their sons. I would rather fight and fall than bow and beg."
Another general rose. "We'll fight."
Soon the war drums of Gondwana thundered again.
Forest Edges – Path to Narrai Valley
Durgavati rode at the front—not in palanquin, but astride a black warhorse named Raktveer. She wore no gold. Only armor.
Behind her marched a fierce alliance—tribal archers from the Baigas, sword-dancers from the Bhil, Gondi foot soldiers, and riders of the jungle clans. It was not an empire's army. But it was a people's fury.
She paused near a hillock overlooking the narrow Narrai Pass—a gorge of stone walls and dense forest, the only way into the heart of Gondwana. A perfect place for a trap.
Durgavati turned to her commanders.
"We don't outnumber them. So we outsmart them."
On the Other Side – Mughal Camp
Asaf Khan's encampment gleamed with royal tents, flags, and rows of cannons hauled by elephants. He was confident. After all, who could stop ten thousand trained men armed with muskets and steel?
But something gnawed at him.
There had been no resistance at the borders. No sabotage. No night attacks. It was too quiet.
And when the first man entered the Narrai Gorge—
The trap snapped.
The Battle of Narrai – Dusk
Durgavati's warriors rained arrows from the cliffs, thick and fast as a monsoon downpour. Fires lit up the canyon mouth. Rocks rolled from above, crushing cannon wheels. Bhil warriors, painted in ash and mud, leapt from the trees like phantoms.
The Mughal army reeled.
Cannons couldn't fire up. Muskets jammed in the damp air. Soldiers screamed in chaos, the narrow gorge turning into a slaughterhouse.
Durgavati, spear in hand, rode through the dust like a war goddess reborn. She struck with deadly grace—her blade cleaving armor, her horse leaping over blood-soaked bodies.
Her war cry echoed through the cliffs:
"For Gondwana! For freedom!"
Asaf Khan was forced to retreat.
Aftermath
Durgavati stood atop a scorched boulder as the sun dipped behind the hills. The battle was won—for now.
But her breath was heavy. She knew the emperor would not forgive humiliation. The next assault would be larger. Louder. Deadlier.
Still, she smiled grimly.
Let them come.
Let them burn every inch of forest.
They would not find a queen to tame.
They would find a storm.
End of Chapter Three