Nesari & Prataprao

Last night we watched Prataprao Gujar charge across the plain at Salher. He was Shivaji's commander of cavalry — bold, quick and brave, the kind of leader soldiers love to follow. Tonight is his story, and it is not a simple one. It is about courage, about pride, and about what can happen when the two get tangled together.

His own name, given to him at birth, was Kudtoji Gujar. "Prataprao" was a title of honour — it means something like "the glorious one" — and he had earned it. He had led Shivaji's horsemen on long, fast rides, and he had just helped win the great open-field victory at Salher.

It begins in 1673. A general of the Sultan of Bijapur named Bahlol Khan marched into Shivaji's lands with a large army. Prataprao rode out to meet him, and did something very clever: he trapped Bahlol Khan's army in a place where they were cut off from water. Thirsty and cornered, the enemy could not hold out for long.

Think how clever that was. An army can carry food for many days, but water is heavy, and horses and elephants drink a great deal. Without water, even thousands of soldiers become weak and desperate within a few days. So Prataprao did not need to fight a great battle at all; he only had to keep the enemy away from the water.

So Bahlol Khan begged for mercy. He promised that if he were allowed to go, he would never again attack Shivaji's kingdom. And Prataprao, perhaps feeling generous, perhaps not wanting more bloodshed, believed him and let him go.

When Shivaji heard, he was not pleased at all. He knew that a dangerous enemy who escapes once usually comes back. He was so annoyed that he wrote Prataprao a sharp letter. The accounts say it told him not to come and see the king again until he had dealt with Bahlol Khan once and for all. The exact words have not come down to us — but we know the letter stung.

And Shivaji had been right. Before a year was out, Bahlol Khan broke his promise and came back, with an even bigger army, camping near a place called Nesari, in the hills south of Kolhapur.

On the 24th of February, 1674, the news reached Prataprao that Bahlol Khan was close by. A careful commander would have planned the attack and led his whole army into it. But Prataprao remembered the letter. His pride was hurt, and he could not bear to wait a single moment longer.

So he leapt onto his horse and charged straight at Bahlol Khan's enormous army. Only six of his trusted companions galloped after him; the rest of his army did not follow. Seven riders against thousands.

Before we hear what happened, think about this for a moment. Have you ever been told off, and felt so hurt that you wanted to do something big, right away, to prove yourself? Most of us have. That feeling is very strong. Prataprao was a grown man and a great warrior — and still that feeling took the reins.

They fought with astonishing bravery. But seven cannot defeat an army. One by one they were surrounded, and all seven of them fell, Prataprao among them.

This charge is not just a story made up later. Two old records describe it: a letter written that very spring, on the 4th of April, 1674, by an English company's interpreter, Narayan Shenvi; and the chronicle of Krishnaji Anant Sabhasad, who had served at Shivaji's court and wrote his account more than twenty years afterwards. Both say that Prataprao attacked with only six companions.

When the news reached Shivaji, he grieved deeply for his brave commander. Soon afterwards, other Maratha leaders, among them Anandrao and Hambirrao Mohite, struck back hard at Bahlol Khan and avenged Prataprao. Hambirrao became the new commander of the army. And later, Shivaji's younger son, Rajaram, married Prataprao's daughter — a way of honouring the fallen hero's family for ever.

So was the charge at Nesari heroic, or was it rash? Honestly, it was both. It took tremendous courage. But it was also a decision made in hurt pride, and it cost the kingdom one of its finest commanders, only a few months before its proudest day. Brave people can make mistakes, especially when they are stung — and remembering both is part of telling the story truly.

Nearly three hundred years later, the great Marathi poet Kusumagraj wrote a poem about that charge. One of its lines — the refrain that keeps coming back — has become one of the most famous lines in the Marathi language:

"वेडात मराठे वीर दौडले सात""In a fury, seven brave Marathas rode out."

The poem is from the twentieth century, not from Prataprao's own time — but it is sung and recited all over Maharashtra, and it has kept those seven riders galloping in people's hearts ever since.

Goodnight — tonight's badge: saat, "the seven" — great courage, and the reminder to let a cool head ride beside it.