Hirkani

In the mist‑shrouded Western Ghats, the stone walls of Raigad fort rise like a crown over a bustling village at its base. Captured and made the capital by Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj in the seventeenth century, the stronghold lives by a simple, unyielding rhythm: the massive gates swing open at dawn to welcome traders and close at dusk, sealing the hilltop until sunrise. The daily market that spills out from the gate is a tapestry of sounds, colors, and barter, a place where the lives of those inside the fort and the villagers below are tightly woven together by the cadence of entry and exit.

Amid the clamor of stalls, Hirkani makes her modest livelihood selling fresh milk to the fort’s residents. Her days are marked by early mornings, the soft jingle of goat bells, and the tender care of her infant son, who waits patiently for her return. The routine is familiar and comforting—until a sudden, unavoidable delay forces her to race toward the gate as the sun dips below the hills, and the massive doors are already sealed for the night. The gate, guarded by the watchful Mawla, stands as an unbending barrier between the fortified world above and the precarious descent that leads back to her home.

Faced with the stark choice of leaving her child on the hilltop or defying the daily law, she feels a surge of resolve that pushes her beyond the ordinary. The night air is thick with the scent of stone and pine as she contemplates the sheer cliff that drops from the fort’s walls, a silent, vertical passage that few would dare to navigate. In the glow of torches and the hush of night, the tension between duty and survival hangs heavy, hinting at a courageous act that will echo through the corridors of the fort and the hearts of those who watch.

Last Updated: November 25, 2025 at 14:44