A Story of Chhatrapati Sambhaji

 

When the monsoon clouds sank over the Sahyadri Mountains, most travelers hurried indoors—but not the young prince Sambhaji Raje. At fifteen, he would gallop his horse up the slippery hill paths of Raigad just to feel the rain lash his face and hear thunder echo off the forts his father, Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj, had carved into the cliffs.

“Remember,” Shivaji told him one stormy evening, “a Maratha king must be stone to his enemies and water to his people—unyielding in battle, but life-giving at home.”

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A Crown Earned in Shadow

When Shivaji died in 1680, every rival empire—Mughals from the north, Siddis from the coast, and Portuguese from the west—assumed the Maratha throne would wobble. Sambhaji was only twenty-three, and gossip whispered he was too carefree, too fond of poetry and hunting.

The very week of his coronation, a Mughal column raided the Konkan coast. Sambhaji surprised them by personally leading a midnight counter-strike. Legend says he rode with just sixty cavalry and lit two hundred torches on spare horses, making it look as though thousands of Marathas surged through the palms. The invaders fled, and courtiers stopped calling him “the poet prince” behind his back. They began calling him Dharamveer—protector of the faith.

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War on Three Sides

Aurangzeb soon marched south with what Persian chroniclers dubbed the largest army ever sent against a single king.Sambhaji answered with speed, secrecy, and the forests:

• He scattered mobile units of 300–400 horsemen to harass supply lines.

• He used hill forts like sentinels in a chain—if one fort’s torch went out at night, every garrison within twenty miles readied for attack.

• He recruited polyglot spies who could slip into Mughal camps disguised as drummers or vegetable vendors.

In one daring raid on Burhanpur (1681), Sambhaji’s men carried off more treasure in two nights than the Mughals had collected in taxes all year—then distributed a share to drought-hit villages, sealing the people’s loyalty.

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The Betrayal at Sangameshwar

For nine relentless years Sambhaji held back an empire ten times richer. But in 1689, while meeting a rebel Mughal general who claimed he wished to defect, Sambhaji fell into a trap near Sangameshwar. He fought with his personal sword Bhawani Talwar until its guard was shattered, yet he was captured and taken before Aurangzeb in chains.

Aurangzeb offered luxury, titles, and half the Deccan if Sambhaji would simply bow and convert. Sambhaji replied, “I would rather wear the shackles of my Dharma than the silks of your court.” Infuriated, Aurangzeb ordered a brutal execution meant to break Maratha morale.

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A Spark that Lit a Forest

Instead, Sambhaji’s defiance spread like wildfire. Maratha warriors shaved their heads in mourning but raised their swords in fury. Within weeks, forts that had quietly surrendered erupted in revolt. Sambhaji’s younger brother Rajaram carried the royal seal to the hill fortress of Gingee, and the Maratha resistance—now fueled by martyrdom—dragged on for another nineteen years until Aurangzeb himself died, exhausted and defeated in the Deccan.

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Legacy

Today, atop the ruined walls of Sangameshwar, wild karvi shrubs bloom only once in seven years—a flash of indigo against gray stone. Local elders say the petals remind them of Sambhaji Raje: a rare blaze of color that appears briefly yet leaves seeds strong enough to split rock.

Visitors to Raigad still read the couplets he scratched onto palace pillars:

“The sword may shine for an hour,
But the will behind it can outlast kingdoms.”

And every monsoon, when thunder rolls over the Sahyadris, people say it is the echo of a young prince on horseback—unyielding stone to his foes, life-giving rain to his people.