Capítulo 8: Master Stroke of Bairam Khan?

***In Mughal tent before the Battle***

As the Mughal forces prepared for the impending battle, Bairam Khan assembled his small unit of elite forces for a covert operation. With a grave expression, he addressed his team, consisting of four skilled swordsmen with shields and two expert archers, Istafa and Ansari.

"My comrades," Bairam Khan began solemnly, "we have been entrusted with a crucial mission that will determine the outcome of this battle and secure victory for our cause. But know that it comes with great risk."

He proceeded to brief his team on the details of the special operation: their objective was to eliminate King Hemu when he was least prepared. Istafa, the sharpshooter among them, would be tasked with the crucial shot, while the others would ensure his safety and provide cover.

"If Istafa falls, Ansari will take his place," Bairam Khan declared, his voice unwavering. "But remember, we have only one chance to succeed. Failure is not an option."

As Bairam Khan concluded his briefing, a heavy silence descended upon the tent, broken only by the distant sounds of the approaching battle. Each member of the team exchanged solemn glances, fully aware of the gravity of their mission and the potential consequences of failure.

"If we fail," Bairam Khan spoke with unwavering resolve, "our duty does not end. We must ensure that our leader escapes to fight another day. Our sacrifice should pave the way for his survival."

His words lingered in the air, heavy with the gravity of their approaching fate. Istafa, the appointed archer, moved forward, his expression determined but with a hint of worry.

"I understand, Khan Sahib," Istafa said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within him. "I will not falter in my duty."

Bairam Khan placed a reassuring hand on Istafa's shoulder, his gaze reflecting a mixture of admiration and gratitude. "I have full faith in your skill, Istafa. Together, we shall accomplish our mission or meet our fate with honor. "

Bairam Khan cast a final glance at his team, a silent prayer on his lips for their success and safety.

"May Allah be with us," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

With hearts heavy yet resolved, the team emerged from the tent and went to the location in formation as planned.

***During the Battle***

Amidst the chaos of battle, the Mughal soldiers found themselves struggling against the relentless onslaught of Hemu's forces. Bairam Khan observed the dire situation with a sense of urgency, his eyes scanning the battlefield as he assessed the unfolding carnage.

"It's time to cut the head of the snake," Bairam Khan declared to his team, his voice barely audible over the clash of swords and the cries of the wounded. "Once Hemu falls, the whole body of the snake shall crumble."

Bairam Khan and his team quickly sprang into action, blending in with the chaos wearing their standard soldier armor and uniforms. They fought fiercely, their swords gleaming in the sunlight as they skillfully cut down Hemu's forces.

As they carved their way through the enemy ranks, Bairam Khan's gaze remained fixed on his ultimate target: Hemu, commanding his army from atop his war elephant. With each step forward, they drew closer to their objective, their determination unwavering despite the bloodshed that surrounded them.

As Hemu felt victory drawing near and surveyed his forces with excitement, Istafa seized the moment. He drew his bowstring tight and released the arrow with deadly accuracy, catching Hemu off guard.

The arrow as a silent messenger of death in the midst of the chaotic battle, found its target with lethal precision. It narrowly missed the protective armor, striking Hemu's eye with a sickening thud. Despite the intense pain, Hemu's determination did not waver. With grim resolve, he tore away the fabric, hastily bandaging his wound in a desperate bid to hold back the encroaching darkness.

Ignoring the urgent pleas of his mahout to retreat, Hemu persisted, driven by sheer willpower and defiance. However, the relentless flow of blood became unbearable, draining his strength until he could no longer resist the pull of unconsciousness. With a heavy heart, Hemu yielded to the darkness, collapsing upon his majestic mount.

Amidst the chaos of battle, Bairam Khan and his team watched with bated breath as their plan unfolded. Overwhelmed with elation at Hemu's downfall, Bairam Khan's joy knew no bounds. In a surge of triumphant fervor, he swiftly dispatched the shocked enemy soldiers before him, his sword flashing with deadly intent.

In the aftermath of Hemu's fall, Bairam Khan wasted no time in issuing his commands, his orders echoing across the battlefield with unwavering authority.

"Capture them all or kill them," he commanded, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty.

Under his leadership, the Mughal soldiers pressed forward, their blades thirsting for victory as they enacted swift and decisive retribution upon their foes, ensuring that none would escape the wrath of the Mughal Empire.

***Aftermath of Battle***

In the aftermath of the brutal clash, where the clash of steel had drowned out even the screams of the fallen, the battlefield lay silent, bathed in the dying light of the evening sun. The air was thick with the scent of blood and the groans of the wounded, while victorious Mughal soldiers moved with purpose among the wreckage, scavenging what they could from the spoils of war.

In the heart of the Mughal encampment, Bairam Khan and Ali Quli Khan stood amidst the throng of captives and beaten adversaries, their camaraderie evident in their firm embrace. The weight of their victory hung heavy in the air, mingling with the pungent smoke of battle.

"Well done, Ali Quli Khan," Bairam Khan remarked, his voice tinged with pride. "Your leadership on the battlefield was impeccable."

Ali Quli Khan returned the sentiment with a grateful nod. "Thank you, Bairam Khan," he replied, his gaze scanning the faces of their fallen foes. "But it was your strategic brilliance that secured our triumph."

Bairam Khan offered a humble smile in response, though his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "All praise belongs to Allah," he said solemnly. "He has guided our hand in this victory."

Ali Quli Khan cast a wary glance at the captured prisoners, his brow furrowed with concern. "What shall become of them, Bairam Khan?" he asked, his voice low with uncertainty.

Bairam Khan's response was measured, his gaze unwavering. "We must send a message," he declared, his tone grave. "An example must be made."

A ripple of unease spread through the crowd at Bairam Khan's words, but he remained resolute, his resolve unshakeable.

"Prepare the prisoners for transport," he commanded, his voice carrying authority. "We will make an example of them before the walls of Purana Qila. As for kafir Hemu once he gains consciousness, we will take him to Badshah for the ceremony."

Ali Quli Khan nodded in understanding, though his expression betrayed a hint of discomfort. "As you command, Bairam Khan," he replied dutifully.

Just as the gravity of their conversation began to settle over the camp, a commotion at the edge of the tent drew their attention. A guard burst into the center, his breathless demeanor betraying the urgency of his message.

Bairam Khan's eyes narrowed with concern as he turned to face the newcomer. "What news do you bring?" he demanded, his voice sharp with anticipation.

The guard hesitated for a moment, his expression wrought with apprehension. "My lords," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "there has been an attack. Badshah Afzal's tent has been breached, and he has been taken."

A wave of shock swept through the gathered Mughal soldiers, their murmurs of disbelief rising to a fevered pitch.

Bairam Khan's commanding presence cut through the chaos like a blade, his voice booming with authority as he issued his orders. "Silence!" he thundered, his words echoing across the camp. "We cannot afford to lose our composure now."

The soldiers hesitated, their murmurs subsiding under Bairam Khan's stern gaze. With a sense of urgency, they turned their attention to his next command, moving swiftly to secure the prisoners of war and fortify their defenses.

"Secure the prisoners!" Bairam Khan barked, his voice ringing out with authority. "Ensure that none escape, and maintain vigilance at all times. Our victory will not be tarnished by a single lapse in security!"

The soldiers sprang into action, their movements swift and efficient as they carried out Bairam Khan's orders with unwavering determination.

Bairam Khan turned to Ali Quli Khan with a solemn expression. "Ali Quli Khan," he began, his voice firm yet tinged with concern, "the well-being of Badshah Afzal is paramount. We cannot afford to lose him."

Ali Quli Khan met Bairam Khan's gaze with a resolute nod. "Understood, Bairam Khan," he replied, his voice echoing with determination. "I will ensure that Hemu and his commanders are treated and guarded with the utmost care."

Bairam Khan's features softened slightly at Ali Quli Khan's assurance, though the weight of their responsibilities remained palpable. "Increase the vigilance of the military camp," he instructed, his tone commanding. "We must be prepared for any eventuality."

With a decisive nod, Ali Quli Khan pledged his compliance. "Consider it done, Bairam Khan," he affirmed, his determination unwavering.

Bairam Khan then turned his attention to the assembled soldiers, his voice carrying authority as he issued his final command. "Prepare the elite team for immediate deployment," he ordered, his tone brooking no dissent. "We will find the Badshah and bring him back safely."

In the midst of the frenzy activity, a sense of urgency pervaded the camp, casting a somber shadow over the once-joyful atmosphere.

Even though Bairam Khan had internal pride for the role of his masterstroke, he was quite anxious for the sudden appearance of variable whose absence of intelligence gnawed his mind and soul.

And so, as the night descended and the stars glimmered overhead, Bairam Khan and his elite team set out to the mountain top. In the heavy silence that enveloped the Mughal camp, the fate of their beloved Badshah hung in the balance, and only time would tell what the dawn would bring.

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