In the east, the influence of “Kaala Naags” was growing steadily.
I had completely demolished nearly half of the Britishers’ stocks and ammunition.
Not so long after the news reached Bengal.
“All our supplies and warehouses in Dinapur were burnt down in a forest fire a few days ago.”, a British informer, Hari Singh, said.
A fair figure sat across the table, his hair all straightened backwards, his face facing towards the window and smoke rising from his pipe.
He pulled the pipe out and held it in his hand.
He was Captain Reginald Thorpe.
He was the man whose temper had grown as sharp as his moustache over the years.
A veteran of the Crimean War, he had been posted to Dinapur with a reputation for strict discipline and open contempt for the “lazy natives” under his command.
In recent weeks, the steady loss of supply carts and the growing whispers of unrest had made him increasingly paranoid and brutal.
He ruled his section of the cantonment with an iron fist, convinced that every delay or missing crate was proof of treason among the Indian sepoys.
Without even bothering to look back he said, “You say it was a forest fire, eh?!”, he paused, rotated his chair to face the informer.
His face disgusted and eyes sharp,almost lashing out, he said, ” YOU FILTHY PIGS!!!
What good are you?!!
You can’t even control a normal forest fire.
HOW DOES THE ADMINISTRATION KEEP FILTH LIKE YOU AROUND??!!!!!”
The next second, he swiftly rose from his seat and Hari Singh could see his big and battle hardened hand flying across the room towards him.
SLAP!!!!!
Hari Singh clutched his cheek as it glowed red by the sheer force of the slap.
He looked up to find Captain Reignald’s face was that of disgust.
“What are you waiting here for, you ADDLE PATE!!!
Go and investigate who was behind it.
Don’t you DARE waste my time, you maggot!!”
As Captain Reginald turned back to lit another cigar, the uncontrollable frown on the sepoy’s(informer’s) face became clearly visible.
In his frown he gripped, the rifle handle so tight that it could break any moment.
He didn’t say a word and left the office.
When he was outside and far away from the headquarters.
He lashed out frantically, “Kameene Firangi!!!
Yeh apne aapko samajhte kya hain?!!!
Mai inka paltu kutta nahi hoon ki har samay inke liye apni poonchch hilaata rahoon!!!
Inko mai ab bataunga.
Bus ab tum dekho mai kya karta hoon!!!!!!” Although his voice roared through the headquarters, British officers ignored it thinking it wouldn’t be worth asking hei lowly Indian.
As the night fell, Hari Singh sneaked into the archeology department and instantly grabbed some maps and detailed confidential papers.
He also snuck in as much ammunition as possible for him.
When he returned to his barracks and was about to put on a disguise, he heard footsteps approaching.
Hari Singh froze, his heart hammering.
But it was only a few of his trusted comrades: Naik Ram Singh and a handful of sepoys from his company.
Naik Ram Singh (voice low, urgent):
“Hari bhai!!
We saw what that Firangi dog did to you today.
The whole lines are talking.
Is it true you’re thinking of leaving?”
Hari Singh didn’t answer immediately.
He sat heavily on his charpoy, still clutching his swollen cheek.
The pain was nothing compared to the burning humiliation in his chest.
Hari Singh (bitterly):
“Leave?
I’m done being their pet.
Twelve years I’ve taken their kicks, their curses, their ‘native dog’ insults.
Today Thorpe slapped me like I was nothing, in front of everyone.
For what?
Two missing carts?
They treat us worse than animals.
I’m not waiting to be hanged next.”
The sepoys exchanged uneasy glances.
One younger soldier whispered:
Young Sepoy:
“But where will you go?
If you run, they’ll hunt you down.”
Hari Singh looked up, his eyes hard with sudden resolve.
Hari Singh:
“I’m not running.
I’m joining the ones who are actually fighting back.
There’s a man I heard, they call the Guardian.
He is from the Jhansi-Awadh alliance .
His people move like shadows.
They have new rifles, real medicine, and they don’t treat us like dirt.
I’ve heard enough stories.
If I can reach him, I’ll take every map, every schedule, every weak point I know and give it to him.
Let the British feel what it’s like to bleed.”
Ram Singh hesitated, then nodded slowly.
Ram Singh:
“If you go, some of us might follow.
We’re tired of this too.”
Hari Singh stood up, already reaching for a plain kurta to change into.
Hari Singh:
“Then decide tonight.
I’m leaving before dawn.
Bring whoever you trust.
And bring every scrap of paper you can carry maps of the warehouses, convoy routes, guard shifts.
If we’re going to strike back, let’s strike where it hurts them most.”
He looked at each man, his voice steady despite the pain.
Hari Singh:
“Enough of being their slaves.
Tonight, we become their nightmare.”
As the night grew pitch black, the sepoys covered themselves in black blankets and moved together in small groups avoiding the gazes of patrolling sepoys.
Slowly they reached the back gate of the barracks.
Hari Singh opened the gate silently and signalled all his fellow soldiers to quickly pass through the gates and to make a run for it.
Soon all the soldiers passed without much noise, but as Hari Singh was about to pass, his gun collided with the iron gate.
A loud “clang” sound echoed in the silent air.
His face turned pale, cold sweat ran down his cheeks as the thought of a bullet piercing his heart or an official spotting him came to his mind.
As he looked up he froze, his eyes fell upon Inayat Khan, his village friend, who was patrolling the roof.
Due to the sound, Inayat’s eyes focused on him with a sense of recognition and widened in disbelief.
Ram Singh stood there, his eyes pleading for mercy and carrying the weight of years long friendship.
Suddenly the voice of a British officer echoed, “Inayat khan, who is there?” Inayat smiled and said, “Nothing, sahab, just a cow collided with the gate.” Ram Singh’s eyes were filled with tears as he left with his mates.
As he departed he waved a last bye to his childhood friend.
Ram Singh, with his regiment, silently moved towards the forests of Aarah.
After a long journey and countless questionnaires to local people he located the hideout of “Kaala Nags”.
As I stood there at dawn seeing through the training of every special soldier which I and my team had personally forged, a soldier approached me and told me that there was a man named Ram Singh standing in front of our hideout and he had brought a whole British regiment with him.
My eyes widened in disbelief and my ears couldn’t comprehend what they just heard.
A whole regiment?
Here?
How could he have possibly known the location of my troops?
I quickly scanned the outer area and stepped out of the hidden cave entrance, my hand instinctively resting near my suppressed pistol.
There he stood at the edge of the treeline, Ram Singh, an older, battle hardened Naik, still in his torn British sepoy uniform, flanked by nearly a hundred armed men.
Their faces were a mix of exhaustion, defiance, and uncertainty.
The first rays of dawn were just breaking through the forest canopy.
I raised a hand slowly, signalling my own men to stay calm.
Me (voice steady but cautious):
Hari Singh told us what happened with Captain Thorpe.
You and your men!
you chose to come here.
Why?”
Ram Singh stepped forward, his eyes meeting mine directly.
There was no fear in them, only quiet resolve mixed with deep fatigue.
Ram Singh:
“Guardian Sahab!
We heard stories about you even before Hari bhai came to us.
New rifles.
Medicine that actually works.
Men who fight without being treated like dogs.
Today, after what Thorpe did to Hari Singh in front of everyone, we had enough.
We are tired of saluting men who spit on us.
Tired of dying for a government that calls us ‘natives’ and ‘maggots’.”
He gestured to the men behind him.
Ram Singh:
“These are my brothers.
Some have families waiting in the villages.
Some lost friends in the mutinies at Dinapur.
We didn’t come empty handed.
We brought our rifles, what ammunition we could carry, and whatever knowledge we have of British patrols and supply routes.
If you will have us, we want to fight with you.
Not as sepoys of the Company, but as soldiers of the League.”
I studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly.
Me :
“You are welcome here, Ram Singh.
All of you.
But understand this, we do not fight like the British.
We strike from the shadows.
We train in silence.
We protect our own people.
If you join us, there is no going back.
The British will hunt you as traitors.”
Ram Singh gave a grim smile and straightened his shoulders.
Ram Singh:
“We already are traitors in their eyes, Sahab.
At least now we can be traitors with honour.
Tell us what to do.
We are ready.”
I extended my hand.
He grasped it firmly.
Me:
“Then welcome to the Nishachar Dal.
Tonight we rest and eat.
Tomorrow, we begin turning you from British sepoys into the blade that cuts their supply lines.
Jayram will introduce you to the training.
But first, tell me everything you know about the warehouses at Dinapur.”
A relieved smile spread across the faces of Ram Singh and his companions as they joyfully celebrated their integration in the Nishachar Dal forces.
After that we had a long strategy meeting, where Hari Singh showed me all the map markings of major and crucial British treasuries and ammunition supplylines.
Me:
“Okay men, all ears here now!!!
Time to get serious.
We can’t waste anymore time now.
We don’t know but at this very moment the British police force might be searching for the soldiers of their regiment.
We better plan our next move quickly.
Soon the air in the chambers became dead serious, as all the men, who were laughing and enjoying themselves a while ago, started approaching the table dead serious with their eyes locked on the map and positions marked with red flags.
Soldier:
“Please continue sir, we are all listening attentively.
We will support you in every storm on your deadly path.”
With Ram Singh’s regiment now integrated and full maps and critical British intel now secured, I settled on multiple raids at once.
My whole target was to surround and isolate Patna and strike multiple simultaneous blows.
For these raids, rather than directly fighting the British in person, I had thought of planning multiple drone attacks.
I reached into a long, strange wooden box and pulled out several dark, metallic pieces.
They were black as midnight, smooth like no iron I had ever seen, and strangely light in his hands.
No rust.
No familiar smell of forge or fire.
With calm, practiced movements, I began fitting the pieces together.
A central body.
Four slender arms extending outward.
Small propellers at the ends that looked like the wings of a mechanical insect.
Tiny red eyes; not lanterns, but glowing dots.
They blinked once as he connected the final part.
The whole thing was no larger than a large tray, yet it looked so alive.
Unnatural.
Like something forged not by human hands, but by the gods themselves or perhaps by demons.
Hari Singh whispered beside me, his voice trembling.
“What… what is that, Sahab?”
I looked up, his face half hidden in the shadow of a lantern glowing near me.
Me:
“This is a drone.
It sees in the dark.
It flies without wings.
It strikes without sound.
Tonight… it will be our eyes in the sky.”
He pressed something on its body.
A soft hum filled the cave; quieter than a bee, yet steady and unnatural.
The black machine lifted slowly off the ground, hovering a few feet in the air, its red eyes glowing brighter.
It turned silently, as if scanning us, then drifted toward the cave entrance like a ghost obeying its master.
My knees felt weak.
One of the younger sepoys fell back against the wall, muttering prayers under his breath.
“Bhagwan raksha karo!!!!
This is no machine of man.
This is a servant of Yama!!!!
or perhaps a gift from the gods to punish the Firangis.”
I could only stare, heart pounding, as the black shadow slipped out into the night without a single flap of wings.
If this thing truly belonged to the Guardian, then the British were already doomed.
As I was testing them.
I felt some uneasy feeling lingering around.
Every soldier in the hideout was hiding in the dark chambers, cowering in fear.
Suddenly as realisation hit me, I foreheadslapped myself in pity.
I helped the soldiers get back to their nerves after explaining that it was my new divine weapon against the British.
As the words left my mouth, the expression on the sepoys’ faces changed from fright and confusion to calm and understanding.
As the night grew darker, the NISHACHAR DAL made their move.
This time each drone operator was paired with a soldier from the British contingent.
This proved to be a boon as the soldiers, with their knowledge of the area’s terrain and British outposts, helped the controllers avoid British watch towers.
As the range of the drone signal was also finite the operator had to be at a close range to the drone.
They were given some camouflage dresses as well to prevent from long sight or patrol detection.
That same night, a large British convoy, carrying supplies and ammunition, was on its way to Denapur through the jungle.
The carts contained British supplies, food, ammunition, extra clothing and many more items.
They were escorted by three British regiments in the front and three regiments in the back.
As they were continuing on their path, they heard some unconventional humming sounds.
The soldiers were baffled.
Even the British commander of the platoon failed to understand the situation.
Soon their compartments became visible and small nozzles snuck out.
Everybody’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Before the commander could shout the order the drone spun at ultrasonic speed and shot bullets in every direction.
The British were horrified as they bent down covering their heads with their hands, desperately trying to protect themselves.
The commander frustrated, angry and refusing to give up, stood up to take aim at the drone.
As he stood up, even before he could turn towards the drone, a bullet pierced perfectly through his skull.
The next moment his body fell on the ground lifeless.
Their were horrified cries everywhere.
The soldiers threw away their weapons and in an desperate effort to run away sprang frantically in different directions.
But unfortunately all were caught by the regiment soldiers.
They were brought and tied together as my sepoys looted the British supply lines.
I came forward with mask covering my face.
I deliberately changed my voice, holding one of the sepoys by the collar, I said in coarse voice, “See..
this is what happens when you side with those British.
Don’t you have shame helping those who are looting you all of every penny while treating you like dogs.
The British have incurred upon themselves the “Divine Punishment of God.” Everything will be burnt to crisp.
Nothing will remain of the proud empire who has angered God.
Cover in fear, for He who knows all has passed his divine judgement upon the British.” I looked him dead in the eye.
Even after we retreated the soldier stood there frozen by fright, only muttering the God’s name.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away in the cool hills of Bushahr, the Begum’s procession entered the Kingdom of Bushahr.
Her procession rallied forward at an incredibly high speed under a crisp mountain sun.
The air carried the scent of sandalwood.
As Begum Hazrat Mahal reached the royal court, she couldn’t help but admire the intricate hand carved designs o pillar and domes.
But her soon shifted towards the real task.
Her gaze met Raja Shamsher Singh, who sat on his throne, watching her with mix of curiosity and calm.
He had heard the latest rumours of Allinace’s growing authority and power.
Begum introduced herself as a key pillar of alliance.
“You have come a long way, Begum Sahiba.
I have heard of your successes in Kullu and Mandi.
What brings the Lioness of Awadh to my hills?”
Begum Hazrat Mahal bowed her head slightly with graceful dignity, then met his gaze directly.
Begum Hazrat Mahal:
“Your Highness, I come not as a supplicant, but as a sister who has tasted the same poison that now threatens these sacred mountains.
The British speak of protection, yet they bleed your passes with taxes, demand your sons for their wars, and treat proud Rajput rulers like mere vassals.
I have seen their true face in Awadh.
They promise friendship and deliver chains.”
She took a measured step forward, her voice steady and persuasive.
Begum:
“You are a warrior king of the hills, Raja ji.
You know better than most how the British devour what they claim to guard.
The time has come to choose — remain under their shadow and watch your kingdom slowly shrink, or stand with us as an equal and secure Bushahr’s future for generations.”
The Raja leaned forward slightly, intrigued but cautious.
Raja Shamsher Singh:
“Bold words.
But what does your alliance truly offer a hill state like Bushahr?
We have held our own for centuries.”
Begum smiled not in triumph, but with genuine understanding and quiet confidence.
Begum Hazrat Mahal:
“We offer what the British never will: respect and strength as equals.
First, the Road of Fire will reach your valleys.
Trade will increase dramatically ; wool, herbs, horses, and salt will flow freely.
Your treasury will grow richer than it has in decades.
Second, we bring modern rifles and training that will make your warriors far stronger than any British regiment in these mountains.
Third, medicine that can heal your soldiers from wounds and fevers that once killed them.
And most importantly a mutual defence pact.
If the British ever turn against Bushahr, the full might of Jhansi, Awadh, Rajputana, and Bihar will stand with you.”
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle, then added with a soft but sharp edge.
Begum:
“In return, we ask only for alliance as brothers ; not vassals.
You keep your throne, your customs, your honour.
No tribute.
No interference.
Together, we ensure that no Firangi ever dictates terms in these hills again.
Join us, and history will remember Raja Shamsher Singh as the ruler who helped free the North, not the one who clung to a dying empire.”
A long silence filled the court.
Maharaja Shamsher Singh stared at her, his expression slowly shifting from caution to quiet excitement.
The anti-British sentiment she had stirred clearly resonated with his Rajput pride.
Raja Shamsher Singh (with a growing smile):
“You speak with the fire of a true leader, Begum Sahiba.
The British have grown arrogant and heavy-handed.
Your offers: the Road of Fire, modern weapons, medicine, and real protection are difficult to refuse.
Bushahr has no desire to remain a pawn in their game.”
He rose from his throne, his voice ringing with decision.
Raja Shamsher Singh:
“Very well.
Bushahr shall join the Jhansi-Awadh Alliance as an equal partner.
Let the Road of Fire reach our valleys.
Let your instructors train our warriors.
Together, we shall ensure the British regret ever setting foot in these mountains.”
He clapped his hands.
Attendants brought forward several ornate chests.
Raja Shamsher Singh (warmly):
“As a token of our new brotherhood and my personal respect, please accept these gifts the finest Kinnauri shawls, rare Himalayan herbs and perfumes, exquisite silver jewellery, and a pair of our strongest mountain horses.
May they remind you of Bushahr’s commitment to the League.”
Begum bowed her head gracefully, a satisfied and respectful smile on her face.
Begum Hazrat Mahal:
“Your generosity honours me, Maharaja.
Bushahr has chosen wisely.
The League welcomes you as a true brother.
Together, we shall build a future the British can only fear.”
Far away in Jhansi, the walkie talkie in the royal court roared to life.
As soon as Rani Lakshmibai took it in her hands, a voice crackled through.
“This is Begum Hazrat Mahal, the eastern campaign is going smooth.
Bhai also confirmed that He has successfully destroyed the Dinapur facility of the British.
He was also successful in merging a whole contengent of British sepoys into the alliance army.
”
Rani replied, “Very good!!
It is a wonderful news.
I am glad the both of your campaigns are progressing well.
At this pace we can free this land from British sooner than I expected.”