Raigad & Hirkani

Forts won back, a victory on the open plain, and the secret art of ganimi kava: swarajya had grown into a real kingdom. And a real kingdom needs a real capital — a place grand enough, and safe enough, for a crown. Tonight we climb that place. And we meet a mother whose courage is still remembered on its cliffs.

The place is Raigad. Long ago it was called Rairi, and it belonged to the More family of Javali — the proud chiefs we met on Day 8. In 1656, a few months after Javali, Shivaji took Rairi too. For years Rajgad had been his capital; now he chose this mighty mountain to be the new heart of his kingdom.

Why this mountain? The old chronicle of Sabhasad records what Shivaji saw in it: a hill of steep, unbroken rock on every side, taller than anything around it — so sheer that nobody could climb its walls, and an enemy could never easily reach the top. It was as if nature itself had built a fortress and was waiting for someone to move in.

From 1662, the work began to turn it into a royal capital, under a master builder named Hiroji Indulkar. Up on the wide summit rose palaces and offices, houses for ministers, storehouses and stables. There was a long market street with shops on both sides, a great lake called Ganga Sagar to hold the rains, and a temple to Shiva called the Jagdishwar temple.

The only way in was a steep path that wound up to the great gate, the Maha Darwaja, tucked cleverly between two huge bastions so that it was hard for attackers to spot from far away. And the fort had strict rules. The gates opened at sunrise and closed at sunset — and once they were shut, no one, but no one, went in or out until morning.

Picture the summit on an ordinary day. Messengers arrive breathless from distant forts. Clerks sit cross-legged, writing letters and orders in the flowing Modi script, the quick, curling handwriting used for Marathi in those days, and pressing the crescent-moon seal onto each one. Horses stamp in the stables, shopkeepers call out in the market street, and from the temple comes the sound of bells. A whole kingdom is being run from the top of a mountain.

And that rule is where tonight's story begins. In a village at the foot of the mountain lived a young woman named Hirkani. Every day she climbed up to Raigad with pots of milk to sell to the people who lived on the fort. And at home in the village, waiting for her, was her baby.

One evening, Hirkani was a little late. She sold the last of her milk, hurried to the gate — and found it shut. The sun had set. She begged the guards to let her through: "My baby is alone at home! Please!" But the guards shook their heads. The rule was the rule, even for a mother.

Were the guards being cruel? Not really. They were doing their duty. Remember Kondhana, on Day 17: a fort is most in danger at night, and a gate opened in the dark — even once, even out of kindness — could let an enemy in. So the guards kept the rule. And Hirkani had to find another way.

Night fell. Hirkani thought of her baby crying in the dark, and she could not bear to wait until morning. So she walked to the western edge of the fort, where the cliff dropped away into blackness. And she began to climb down.

Down she went, in the pitch dark, feeling for every crack with her fingers and her toes, holding on to roots and rocks, thorns tearing at her sari, never once looking down. It took hours. But at last her feet touched the ground, and she ran through the fields to her village, and took her baby in her arms.

When the story reached Shivaji, he was amazed. A mother had climbed down a cliff that everyone thought no one could climb! He honoured her bravery with gifts. And he understood something important at once: if a mother could climb down that cliff, an enemy might one day climb up it. So on that very spot he had a strong bastion built — and it is called the Hirkani Buruj, Hirkani's bastion, to this day.

Now for the honest part. Hirkani's story is a folk tale: there is no record from Shivaji's own time that tells it, so we cannot be sure it happened just this way. But the bastion is real, it really carries her name, and for hundreds of years mothers in Maharashtra have told their children about the milkmaid who climbed down Raigad.

There is one more person we should remember tonight: the builder. On the steps of the Jagdishwar temple there is a small inscription with the words "Sevechya thayi tatpar, Hiroji Indulkar" — "ever ready in service, Hiroji Indulkar." The great builder of the capital asked for no grand monument; his name sits quietly on a step, where visitors pass by.

Today you can reach Raigad by a long climb or by a ropeway that swings up the cliffs, and since 2025 it has been one of the forts recognised by UNESCO as world heritage. Standing on the summit, you can look over the edge near the Hirkani Buruj and imagine that dark night. And soon, very soon, this mountain would see the grandest day in all of Shivaji's life. That is tomorrow's story.

Goodnight — tonight's badge: Hirkani — a mother's love is braver than any rule, and a wise king learns even from a milkmaid.