Pavan Khind & Baji Prabhu

Last night Shivaji slipped out of Panhala in the storm, while brave Shiva Kashid gave his life as the decoy. But the enemy soon discovered the trick, and now they were racing after the real Shivaji. Tonight — on the 13th of July, 1660 — Act II comes to its end, with one of the bravest stands in all of history.

All night the little band ran. Through pouring rain and pitch darkness, up slippery hillsides and down again, across streams swollen by the monsoon, through mud up to their knees, they hurried toward the fort of Vishalgad, still many miles away. And behind them, getting closer with every hour, came Siddi Masud's riders. By the time the grey dawn came, the Mavlas could almost hear the hooves.

Leading the run was Baji Prabhu Deshpande — a strong, seasoned warrior, older than most of the men around him. Here is something surprising about him: years before, he had served a chief named Krishnaji Bandal of Rohida, who fought against Shivaji. When Shivaji won Rohida, Baji Prabhu joined him — and became one of his most faithful men. Sometimes yesterday's rival becomes tomorrow's truest friend.

Ahead of them, the path squeezed through a narrow, rocky gap between two steep hills. Its name was Ghod Khind — "the horse pass." It was so narrow that only a few people could get through it at a time. Steep, rocky hillsides closed in on both sides. Baji Prabhu looked at that pass, and he understood at once: here, a few determined men could stop a great many.

So he turned to Shivaji with a plan. The old tellings remember his words in different ways, but the promise was this: "Maharaj, go on to Vishalgad with half the men. I will hold this pass with the rest. When you are safe inside the fort, fire the cannon — three shots. Until I hear them, no one gets past."

Shivaji did not want to leave him. But there was no other way: swarajya needed its king alive. So Shivaji ran on toward Vishalgad, and Baji Prabhu, his brother Fulaji, and a few hundred tired Mavlas of the Bandal company turned round to face the enemy, in the narrowest part of the pass.

Then Siddi Masud's soldiers came pouring up the path, wave after wave. But in that narrow pass they could only come a few at a time — and every time, the Mavlas met them with swords and spears and tumbling stones, shouting their old war-cry, "Har Har Mahadev!" The enemy fell back, gathered, and came again. And again. Hour after hour, the pass held.

Baji Prabhu fought like a storm. He was wounded, and wounded again, but he would not fall back a single step. Beside him his brother Fulaji fell, and many of the brave Mavlas with him. Still Baji stood in the pass, with the dwindling few around him, listening, always listening, for the sound of the guns.

Meanwhile Shivaji had reached Vishalgad — only to find that this fort, too, was ringed by enemy soldiers, under two chiefs named Surve and Dalvi! Tired as they were after a whole night of running, Shivaji and his men had to fight their way through that ring as well. And they did it. They broke through, and the gates of Vishalgad closed safely behind them.

The moment Shivaji was inside, the cannon roared. Boom! And again — boom! And a third time — boom! The sound rolled out across the wet green hills, all the way back to the narrow pass.

And Baji Prabhu heard it. The accounts say that, badly wounded, he had been holding on almost by willpower alone. When the three booms came, he knew his king was safe. His promise was kept. And then, at last, brave Baji Prabhu closed his eyes.

Shivaji grieved deeply for him. The bodies of Baji Prabhu and Fulaji were carried to Vishalgad, and their last rites were performed there, with Shivaji present; their memorials are still at Vishalgad today. And the pass was given a new name. No longer just "the horse pass," it became Pavan Khind — "the holy pass," made sacred by the courage of the men who held it.

And here is something wonderful. Every year, when the monsoon comes back, many people — school children, families, grandparents with walking sticks — walk that same route from Panhala to Pavan Khind, through the same rain and the same mud, over the same green hills. It takes them a couple of days. They do it to remember. When they reach the narrow pass, they stop and stand quietly for a moment, and many of them say Baji Prabhu's name. Perhaps one day we could walk a little of it together, you and I.

Now for the honest part. The old accounts don't agree on the numbers — how many Mavlas stood in the pass, how many enemies came at them, or how long it lasted (some say about twelve hours, some more than eighteen). No one wrote down Baji Prabhu's exact words. But this much is certain: a small band held a narrow pass for many hours, so that their king could live.

And so ends Act II, The Lion Rises. Think how far he has come: a letter that freed his father, a door opened to the sea, a giant met at Pratapgad, a decoy at Panhala, and a pass held to the last. Panhala itself had to be given up for now — but a fort can be won back one day; a king, and a dream, cannot be replaced. Tomorrow Act III begins: the mighty Mughal empire sends a great general to Pune — and he moves into Shivaji's own childhood home.

Goodnight — tonight's badge: pavan, "made holy" — a place made sacred by people who kept their promise to the very end.