The Conquest of the Madras Karnatak and Gingee by Mughals

The Conquest of the Madras Karnatak and Gingee by Mughals

Step into the turbulent world of 17th- and 18th-century South India, where empires clashed for power and prestige. The Conquest of the Madras Karnatak and Gingee by Mughals brings to life the dramatic campaigns, secret alliances, and daring sieges that reshaped the Tamil and Deccan heartlands. From the towering walls of Gingee Fort to the shifting politics of the Karnatak, this compelling narrative uncovers how the Mughal Empire extended its reach deep into the South — forever altering the region’s destiny. Richly detailed and vividly written, this book is perfect for readers of history, heritage, and epic struggles for dominance

The late 17th century was a turbulent time for the Madras Karnatak, a region along India’s southeastern coast caught in a web of shifting powers, local chieftains, and distant rulers. This period, roughly spanning 1680 to 1698, saw the region’s political landscape fractured by conquests, invasions, and fragile truces. Let’s dive into the complex dynamics of the Madras Karnatak during this era, exploring its divisions, the fading grip of the Bijapur Sultanate, and the rise of Maratha influence.

The Two Karnataks: A Divided Land

According to Niccolò Manucci, a Venetian traveler and chronicler, the Madras Karnatak was split into two distinct regions by the Marakkanam River. To the south, the Bijapuri Karnatak stretched down to Porto Novo, while to the north, the Haidarabadi Karnatak extended up to Sadras. Beyond these, the region of Telingana—referred to as the “Gingerlee Country” in the Madras Factory Records—covered the coast from the Krishna River northward to the Orissa frontier. Telingana was a separate province with its own viceroy, encompassing key centers like Masulipatam (its capital), Vizagapatam, and Chicacole.

This division wasn’t just geographical—it reflected the fragmented political control of the region, where central authority was often more nominal than real.

Payinghat: A Land of Chaos and Contention

The area known as Payinghat, located south and west of the Palar River from Sadras (at 12.30° N latitude) to Tanjore, was particularly unstable in 1689. In theory, this tract belonged to the Bijapur Sultanate, which had conquered it in the mid-17th century under the Adil Shahi dynasty. However, Bijapur’s control was shaky at best. The sultanate’s authority barely extended beyond a few forts and their immediate surroundings, and even there, it was enforced by semi-independent nobles who paid little heed to the central government.

The situation was further complicated by the presence of unsubdued poligars—petty local chieftains who held sway over much of the countryside. These local lords operated with significant autonomy, resisting both Bijapur’s rule and attempts at consolidation. The region’s instability made it a patchwork of competing powers, with no single authority able to claim full control.

Shivaji’s Invasion: A Maratha Game-Changer

The arrival of the Maratha leader Shivaji in 1677–78 shook the region to its core. His invasion disrupted Bijapur’s already tenuous hold, carving out a new Maratha stronghold centered in Gingee, in the South Arcot district. However, Shivaji’s conquest didn’t result in a clean transfer of power. Instead, it fragmented the region further. Some Muslim and Hindu officials of the defeated Bijapuri regime clung to pockets of territory, maintaining their influence despite diminished domains.

The Maratha government, now a major player in the region, adopted a pragmatic approach. Recognizing the challenges of governing such a volatile area, they secured their territorial gains through an uneasy truce with the Maharajah of Tanjore and the local poligars. This armed stalemate allowed the Marathas to establish a foothold without fully subduing the region’s entrenched local powers.

A Region in Transition

The conquest of the Madras Karnatak between 1680 and 1698 paints a picture of a region in constant flux. The Bijapur Sultanate’s nominal control was undermined by rebellious chieftains, distant governance, and the Maratha incursion. Meanwhile, the Marathas, though powerful, couldn’t fully consolidate their conquests, leading to a delicate balance of power with local rulers.

This period highlights the complexities of empire-building in a region where geography, local autonomy, and competing ambitions collided. The Madras Karnatak wasn’t just a battleground for armies—it was a testing ground for strategies of control, negotiation, and survival in a fragmented political landscape.

The Rise and Fall of Harji Mahadik: The Maratha Viceroy of Eastern Karnatak

In the late 17th century, the Maratha Empire, under the legendary Shivaji, expanded its reach into the fertile lands of Eastern Karnatak, stretching from the Palar to the Kolerun River. This conquest, achieved during Shivaji’s expedition of 1677-78, marked a significant chapter in Maratha history. To govern this vast territory, Shivaji appointed Raghunath Narayan Hanumanté as viceroy, with Gingee as the seat of power and subordinate governors at Kunimedu and Mahmudi Bandar (Porto Novo). But the story of Eastern Karnatak’s governance took a dramatic turn under Harji Mahadik, a figure whose ambition and defiance shaped the region’s fate.

A New Viceroy Takes Charge

After Shivaji’s death, his son Shambhuji ascended the throne and made sweeping changes. In a bold move, he dismissed and imprisoned Raghunath, replacing him with his sister’s husband, Harji Mahadik, in March 1681. Harji arrived in Gingee with his lieutenant, Shamji Nayak Pundé, to assume control. However, within five months, Shamji was imprisoned, likely due to suspicions of his involvement in plots against Shambhuji. This left Harji as the sole ruler of Eastern Karnatak, wielding unchallenged authority.

Harji’s rule coincided with a period of turmoil in the Maratha heartland. Shambhuji’s indulgence in vice, the growing influence of his controversial advisor Kavi-kalash, and mounting Mughal pressure under Emperor Aurangzib weakened central control over distant provinces like Gingee. Seizing the opportunity, Harji extended his influence, acting more like an independent king than a loyal viceroy. He reportedly assumed the title of “Maharajah” in local circles and neglected to send surplus revenue to Shambhuji at Raigarh, cementing his autonomy.

A Kingdom in Crisis

The fall of Bijapur in September 1686 and the looming Mughal siege of Golkonda, which began in January 1687, sent shockwaves through the Maratha Empire. These events threatened Eastern Karnatak, the Marathas’ richest province, as Mughal forces eyed further expansion. Alarmed by the growing danger and Harji’s increasing independence, Shambhuji took action. In October 1686, he dispatched Kesho Trimbak Pinglé with 12,000 cavalry to reinforce the Karnatak garrisons. However, Kesho carried secret orders to depose Harji and take over as viceroy.

Rumors swirled that Harji, sensing the shifting tides, considered aligning with the Mughals to secure his position. Such a betrayal would have been a devastating blow to Shambhuji’s authority. Kesho arrived near Gingee on February 11, 1687, but his mission was fraught with challenges.

Mughal Ambitions and Maratha Struggles

Aurangzib, ever vigilant, initially misjudged Kesho’s expedition, suspecting it aimed for Mysore. To counter this, he sent Qasim Khan from the Golkonda siege to secure Bijapuri territories. Through swift marches and strategic bribes, Qasim captured Bangalore on July 10, 1687, and later Penukunda, a key fort once central to the Vijayanagar kingdom, on September 27.

Meanwhile, internal divisions crippled the Marathas in Karnatak. Kesho, eager to claim the viceroy’s mantle, inadvertently revealed his secret orders. By March 1687, word reached Cuddalore that Harji had been sacked, and Kesho was to replace him. But Harji was no novice. Having learned of Kesho’s intentions through allies at court, he fortified Gingee and secured the loyalty of the local army. Kesho, realizing his plan had failed, feigned loyalty to Harji and outwardly submitted to his authority.

A Futile Campaign

To salvage his mission, Kesho led a force of 18,000 cavalry, bolstered by Harji’s troops, into Mysore to collect tribute from local chiefs and halt Mughal advances. But the campaign yielded little success. Disunited and outmaneuvered, the Marathas could not stem the Mughal tide. By November 10, Kesho retreated to Trinomali, just 23 miles from Gingee, his ambitions unfulfilled.

The Fall of Golconda and Early Mughal Advances

On September 7, 1687, the Qutb Shahi dynasty of Golconda fell to Mughal forces, a monumental victory for Aurangzeb’s expansionist ambitions. However, the groundwork for this conquest had been laid months earlier. In July 1687, Mughal officers were already dispatched to seize Golconda’s provinces. The fort of Kondapalli, the second strongest in Telangana and a key treasury and arsenal, was captured through bribery—a cunning move that crippled Golconda’s defenses. Meanwhile, Mughal raiding parties roamed freely, plundering the countryside within three days’ march of Masulipatam (modern-day Machilipatnam), a bustling port city on the Coromandel Coast.

This aggressive push signaled Aurangzeb’s intent to dominate not just Golconda but the broader Karnataka region, a fertile and strategically vital area encompassing parts of modern Andhra Pradesh, Karnataka, and Tamil Nadu.

A Pragmatic Transition: Retaining Qutb Shahi Officers

After Golconda’s fall, Aurangzeb displayed a shrewd understanding of governance. To maintain stability in the newly conquered territories, he initially retained several Qutb Shahi officers in their posts. Muhammad Ibrahim, a high-ranking noble who defected to the Mughals and was granted the title Mahabat Khan, was appointed subahdar (governor) of Hyderabad. Similarly, Muhammad Ali Beg, now titled Ali Askar Khan, became the faujdar (military commander) of the Karnataka region, with Kadapa as his headquarters. Subordinate officers were stationed at key forts: Fath Khan at Chinglepat (Chengalpattu), Madana Ananta Pantulu at Conjeveram (Kanchipuram), and another Hindu officer at Poonamallee.

By October 1687, these officers had sworn allegiance to Aurangzeb, raising the Mughal flag over their forts and proclaiming him their sovereign. This continuity ensured a smooth administrative transition, preventing immediate unrest in the region.

A Change of Heart: Mughal Officers Take Over

Aurangzeb’s trust in former Qutb Shahi officers was short-lived. Concerned about their loyalty to the fallen dynasty, he soon replaced them with trusted Mughal officials. By January 1688, significant changes were made:

•         Mahabat Khan was reassigned to Lahore, far from the Deccan.
•         Ruhullah Khan took over as subahdar of Hyderabad.
•       Qasim Khan replaced Ali Askar Khan as faujdar of Karnataka, with orders to launch a vigorous campaign against the Maratha forces in the region.

This shift reflected Aurangzeb’s cautious approach to consolidating power. By installing Mughal loyalists, he aimed to secure the region against internal dissent and external threats, particularly from the Marathas, who were a growing force under leaders like Sambhaji.

Strategic Importance of Eastern Karnataka

The Eastern Karnataka plains were more than just a territorial prize. The region’s fertile lands and access to trade routes along the Coromandel Coast made it a valuable addition to the Mughal Empire. Key locations like Kadapa, Chinglepat, Conjeveram, and Poonamallee served as administrative and military outposts, strengthening Mughal control. The capture of Kondapalli, with its wealth and armaments, further bolstered their resources.

However, the Marathas posed a formidable challenge. Qasim Khan’s directive to wage war against them underscores the ongoing resistance that would test Mughal dominance in the years to come. The Karnataka region became a battleground, with Maratha guerrilla tactics exploiting the Mughals’ overextended resources.

The Indecisive Struggle in Eastern Karnataka, 1688: A Land Ravaged by Plunder

In 1688, the Eastern Karnataka plains became a chaotic battleground as Maratha factions and Mughal forces clashed in a series of skirmishes, leaving the region devastated by relentless plundering. This blog post delves into the turbulent events of that year, where internal Maratha rivalries and Mughal countermeasures fueled a cycle of destruction, with no side gaining a decisive victory.

Maratha Infighting and Opportunistic Raids

The year began with a bitter feud within the Maratha ranks. Kesho Trimbak, returning from Mysore, clashed with Harji, demanding control of Gingee as per their leader’s orders. A civil war loomed as Harji fortified himself in Tevenapatam (near Cuddalore) to secure a fallback position. Seizing the moment, Harji dispatched a force led by Gopal Pandit and Vital Pillai (possibly Vital Pildev Garud) to exploit the lightly defended former Golconda territories north of the Palar River, recently claimed by the Mughals but lacking strong garrisons.

This Maratha detachment, with 2,000 cavalry, 5,000 infantry, and numerous pioneers equipped with scaling ladders, swept through the region. They captured several forts and over a hundred towns with ease. On December 24, 1687, Arcot fell in a brutal assault, its governor and most defenders killed. The Marathas unleashed widespread plunder, targeting men and women alike, regardless of creed. Their rampage drove prominent Brahmans from Conjeveram (Kanchipuram) to seek refuge in Madras between December 27, 1687, and January 10, 1688, desperate to protect their families and wealth. On January 10, Madana Ananta, Conjeveram’s governor, also fled to Madras. The next day, Maratha forces stormed the holy city, looting homes, killing around 500 people, and scattering its terrified residents.

Kesho Trimbak, not to be outdone, joined the plundering spree with his own contingent. After seizing Chittapet and Kaveripak, he set up camp in Conjeveram, ravaging the surrounding countryside throughout January 1688. The Marathas’ actions turned the region into a lawless zone, with wealth and lives lost to their unchecked raids.

Mughal Response and Stalemate

The Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb, alarmed by the Maratha incursions, acted swiftly. By mid-December 1687, he ordered four seasoned generals from the former Golconda administration—Ismail Khan Maka, Yachapa Nayak, Rustam Khan, and Muhammad Sadiq—to march to the Karnataka plains and bolster Mughal control. On February 25, 1688, these officers arrived in Conjeveram with a force of 4,000 cavalry and 7,000 infantry.

The Marathas, wary of this Mughal advance, abandoned Conjeveram and retreated beyond Uttramallur, plundering livestock and goods as they withdrew. The Mughal vanguard pursued them, engaging in a skirmish at Wandiwash, where they established their camp. The Marathas, meanwhile, encamped at Chittapet, just a day’s march south. For the next year, the two armies faced off in a tense stalemate, neither side committing to a full-scale battle. Instead, they sent out foraging parties and detachments that indiscriminately looted the countryside, compounding the misery of a population still reeling from the devastating famine of 1686. The region’s trade collapsed, and desperate residents flocked to fortified European settlements along the coast, seeking safety from the relentless plunder.

Opportunists and Shifting Alliances

Amid the chaos, opportunists sought to capitalize on the disorder. Ibrahim Khan Lodi, son of the late Bijapuri governor of Valikandapuram, hatched a plan in March 1688 to seize Cuddalore from the Marathas and establish himself as its governor. His scheme, however, came to nothing. Meanwhile, Harji Rajah appointed Ramji Krishna to raid the borders of Golconda territory, but instead, Ramji turned on loyal Maratha lands near Pondicherry, amassing a fortune of 20,000 hun through his predatory raids by December 1688.

Mughal Administrative Shuffles

Aurangzeb’s administration of the Hyderabad Karnataka region saw frequent changes in 1688. Initially, Yettamato Rao Timapa was retained as governor, but by April, he was replaced by Jan Nisar Khan. In October, Askar Ali was appointed as Jan Nisar’s successor, though Muhammad Sadiq acted as deputy until Askar Ali assumed charge in January 1689, at which point Sadiq was dismissed. These rapid shifts reflected Aurangzeb’s struggle to stabilize the region amid ongoing Maratha resistance.

Confusion and Disorder in Eastern Karnataka, 1689: A Region in Turmoil

The year 1689 brought no respite to the Eastern Karnataka plains, as relentless conflict and chaos continued to grip the region. Caught between Mughal and Maratha forces, the land suffered from incessant plundering, unsafe roads, and a collapsing economy. This blog post explores the turbulent events of 1689, marked by famine, warfare, and shifting power dynamics in the wake of significant Maratha setbacks.

A Land Ravaged by War and Scarcity

The Karnataka region remained a battleground throughout 1689, with Mughal and Maratha armies ravaging the countryside daily. The constant warfare made travel perilous, severely disrupting trade. Locally produced cotton and other goods could no longer reach the English factory at Kunimedu for export, as the routes from there to Porto Novo were plagued by robbery and instability. The deepening scarcity, compounded by ongoing conflict, forced the English to abandon their factory at Porto Novo in July 1689, a stark indicator of the region’s deteriorating conditions.

The turmoil in Karnataka was further exacerbated by events on the neighboring Telangana coast. In the Vizagapatam district, a severe famine ravaged the population, while frequent clashes erupted between the newly appointed Mughal faujdar and local rajahs, adding to the region’s instability and spilling over into Karnataka’s woes.

Maratha Leadership in Crisis

In February 1689, a devastating blow struck the Maratha cause: Shambhuji, a key Maratha leader, was captured by the Mughals. This disaster reverberated through the Maratha ranks, reaching Harji, who was governing Gingee. Seizing the opportunity to consolidate power, Harji imprisoned his rival Kesho Trimbak and his supporters at Trinomali, eliminating the threat of internal dissent. However, as reports of Mughal advances and Maratha setbacks in their homeland reached him, coupled with the mysterious disappearance of Rajaram, Harji grew increasingly alarmed. For a time, he contemplated submitting to the Mughals and offering tribute to secure his position.

Ultimately, Harji chose defiance over surrender. He focused on bolstering his forces and fortifying Gingee, transforming it into an impregnable stronghold against Mughal assaults. On August 19, 1689, he released Kesho Trimbak, possibly to unify Maratha efforts. Tragically, Harji’s plans were cut short when he died a month later, around September 19, 1689.

A Shift in Power at Gingee

Following Harji’s death, his wife, Ambika Bai—Shivaji’s daughter—took charge of Gingee and its surrounding province, governing on behalf of her minor sons. Her leadership provided a semblance of continuity amid the chaos. However, the situation at Gingee took an unexpected turn with the arrival of Rajaram on November 1 or 2, 1689. His presence shifted the dynamics of power, setting the stage for new developments in the Maratha struggle against Mughal dominance.

Rajaram at Gingee, 1689: A Peaceful Revolution and Power Struggles

In late 1689, the arrival of Rajaram at Gingee marked a turning point for the Maratha stronghold in Eastern Karnataka. His presence sparked a quiet but significant shift in power, reshaping the region’s leadership and setting ambitious goals to counter Mughal dominance. This blog post explores the dramatic changes that unfolded as Rajaram consolidated his authority amidst internal rivalries and strategic maneuvering.

A Peaceful Revolution at Gingee

Rajaram’s arrival at Gingee on November 1 or 2, 1689, triggered what can only be described as a peaceful revolution. Harji’s widow, Ambika Bai, and her Brahman advisors, who had governed the province with considerable autonomy for over eight years, were reluctant to relinquish their authority. However, Rajaram’s legitimate claim to leadership was undeniable. The government of Gingee smoothly transitioned into his hands, marking a new chapter for the Maratha stronghold.

Kesho Trimbak, Rajaram’s chief ally, wasted no time in consolidating his influence. On November 15, he took revenge on Harji’s family by confining Harji’s son. He further pressured Ambika Bai to account for her husband’s long administration of the province, extracting a hefty sum of three lakhs of hun from her to secure her position. Santaji Bhonslé, another key figure, was similarly compelled to pay one lakh, signaling a forceful reassertion of control under Rajaram’s regime.

Rajaram’s Strategic Vision

Rajaram moved swiftly to reorganize his administration and rally support. He issued a summons to all significant officials in the government, calling them to appear before him at Gingee. His broader ambition was to divert Mughal forces away from his homeland in Pune and forge alliances with Hindu Nayaks to raise a formidable army. His ultimate goal? To reclaim the lost kingdoms of Golconda and Bijapur from Mughal control.

To strengthen his administration, Rajaram appointed key figures to critical roles. Prahlad Niraji was named Pratinidhi, or Regent, a newly created post that made him the supreme agent of the Maratha government. Nilo Moreshwar Pinglé retained the title of Peshwa, serving as the nominal prime minister. According to French records, Krishnaji Anant, the historian of Shivaji, acted as Rajaram’s second minister. Locally, Timaji, son of Kesho Trimbak Pinglé, was appointed subahdar of the Gingee district, while Sundar Balaji took charge of Kunimedu, further solidifying Rajaram’s grip on the region.

Power Plays and Moral Decline

The appointment of Prahlad Niraji as Regent, however, introduced a darker dynamic. Described as manipulative, Prahlad allegedly led Rajaram into a life of excess, encouraging the young king to indulge in ganja and opium, keeping him in a constant state of intoxication. Under this influence, Prahlad seized effective control of the government, wielding power behind the scenes. He targeted the Brahmans who had amassed wealth under Harji’s rule, forcing them to surrender their riches through confiscation, further consolidating his authority and enriching the new regime.

Rapacity of the Maratha Government at Gingee: Exploiting European Traders, 1689–1690

In the late 1680s, the Maratha government at Gingee, under severe financial strain, turned to extortion and cunning deals to fill its depleted coffers. With Rajaram at the helm, the Marathas squeezed both their own officials and European trading settlements along the East Coast, engaging in a relentless pursuit of revenue. This blog post delves into the Maratha government’s financial desperation and its contentious dealings with European traders during 1689–1690.

Financial Distress and Extortion

The Maratha administration at Gingee faced a dire financial crisis, unable to sustain itself despite confiscating wealth from former officials. With the rural population already plundered and impoverished, the Maratha ministers turned their attention to the prosperous European trading settlements on the East Coast. In early December 1689, the subahdar of Gingee demanded a “loan” of 3,000 hun from the English factory at Kunimedu, with similar demands made on the French and Dutch factories within his jurisdiction. Wealthy merchants were pressed to lend sums as high as 5,000 or 1,000 hun each.

By late December, the pressure intensified. In addition to the initial 3,000 hun loan, the Marathas demanded an extra 5,000 hun as a fine for the buildings and fortifications of each European company. The Marathas justified their demands with blunt honesty, admitting their desperate need for funds after surrendering their estates to Rajaram to secure their positions. They showed little regard for fairness, driven solely by their financial woes.

In March 1690, Rajaram visited the coast to perform a ritual bath during a lunar eclipse on the 14th. Seizing the opportunity, his administration extorted money gifts from Indian merchants and European companies. The French at Pondicherry, for instance, were forced to pay 200 hun. The Marathas also requested 100 barrels of gunpowder and 2,500 pounds of small shot from the governor of Madras to fuel their war against the Mughals. The English, wary of antagonizing Aurangzeb, skillfully dodged the request.

The Sale of Tevenapatam

With their coffers still empty, the Marathas resorted to selling off assets. They offered the fort of Tevenapatam (later Fort St. David) and a surrounding “random shot” of land to the European companies. The French, offered the fort for 50,000 hun, declined due to their own financial constraints, with their agent Francois Martin wisely refusing the deal. The English, however, saw an opportunity. Through shrewd negotiations, they reduced the price to 51,500 chakram (equivalent to Rs. 1,08,150). In August 1690, Rajaram signed a farman transferring the fort and its surrounding land to the English.

The English governor, Elihu Yale, instructed his agent at Kunimedu to delay taking possession until their best brass gun arrived from Madras, hoping to maximize the “random shot” of land by using the gun’s range. However, the deal was marred by Maratha duplicity. Francois Martin had already learned that the Marathas, desperate for money, often disregarded promises and farmans. Yale soon discovered the same, bitterly noting that the “mercenary Marathas” might resell the fort multiple times to the highest bidder, even selling “their honour and conscience” for profit. A dispute arose over Manikupam, a village within the “random shot,” which the Dutch claimed based on an older farman, with the Marathas backing their claim to extract more money from the English.

Intrigues Among European Rivals

The Dutch, fierce rivals of the French, schemed at Rajaram’s court to undermine the fledgling French settlement at Pondicherry, located near their own factory at Cuddalore. As early as February 1688, Francois Martin had anticipated conflict with the Mughals and fortified Pondicherry’s landward side, securing permission from Harji Rajah for these defenses by paying 5,000 chakram on January 9, 1689.

Upon Rajaram’s arrival in Gingee, Martin sent his agent, M. Germain, to welcome the young prince, who responded favorably, granting the French a farman confirming their rights. However, the Dutch persistently offered bribes to Maratha ministers to secure an order expelling the French from Pondicherry. The Maratha ministers played both sides, seeking to maximize their gains. In June 1690, the French outmaneuvered the Dutch by lending Rajaram 6,000 chakram at 18 percent interest, thwarting Dutch efforts. The Dutch would not succeed in their schemes until 1699, whThe Campaign of 1690: Turmoil in the Karnatak

Hey history buffs! Today, we’re diving into a fascinating chapter from the late 17th century – the Campaign of 1690 in the Karnatak region. This period was marked by shifting alliances, rebellions, and intense military maneuvers between the Mughals, Marathas, and local players. Let’s break it down step by step, sticking closely to the events as they unfolded.

A Rocky Start for the Imperialists

The year 1690 kicked off on a sour note for the Mughal imperialists in the Karnatak. While the arrival of Rajaram had injected fresh energy into Maratha activities back in December 1689, the Mughals faced a setback the following month due to a rebellion among the old Haidarabadi local officers who had recently been absorbed into the Emperor’s service.

Muhammad Sadiq, the most prominent among them, was stewing over his removal from local command. Meanwhile, Yachapa Nayak and Ismail Maka realized that the lavish promises made to them during the annexation of Golkonda territory – when the Emperor sought their loyalty – weren’t going to be honored. They anticipated being sidelined by the Emperor’s long-time servants, facing unemployment or demotion. Frustrated, they deserted their new overlord, forged an alliance with Rajaram (facilitated by the Peshwa, Nilo Moreshwar Pinglé), and started seizing control of the countryside while collecting revenue.

The imperial representatives, scattered from Madras to Kunimedu, were completely overwhelmed in numbers. They suffered defeats and were compelled to escape to European settlements along the coast. Even the governor, Askar Ali Khan, had to dispatch his family and many followers to Madras for safety in April.

The Arrival of Zulfiqar Khan

This rebellion only fizzled out with the approach of Zulfiqar Khan, who stepped in as the supreme Mughal commander a few months later. He had been dispatched from the imperial Court at Korégaon at the end of November 1689. His route took him through Reichur, Karnul, Nandiyal, Kadapa, and Garamkonda before descending into the Karnatak plain around June 1690. Along the way, he engaged in battles and captured numerous forts. By August, he reached Conjeveram, and by early September, he was in the environs of Gingee.

In response, Rajaram had dispatched his own troops, along with contingents from his allies Tanjore Trimbak Rao and Yachapa Nayak, northwest into the Karnatak plateau. Their mission was to block the Mughal general’s descent into the eastern plains. However, the sheer intimidation factor of Zulfiqar Khan’s reputation proved too much, and they retreated without accomplishing anything.

The Tide Turns: Mughal Advances and Maratha Retreats

With Zulfiqar Khan’s forces on the move, the military dynamics flipped dramatically. Maratha raiding parties were pushed back by the Mughals, and an invasion loomed over Rajaram’s dominions. The Maratha withdrawal to Gingee was hasty and disorganized.

Zulfiqar Khan’s arrival, fresh from his major triumph at Raigarh where he captured Shambhuji’s entire family, combined with his string of victories in the Kadapa and Arcot districts, initially sparked panic at Gingee. Rajaram abandoned the fort and sought a more secure haven further south in the Karnatak, closer to his ally, the Rajah of Tanjore.

By October, Zulfiqar Khan was taking proactive measures, writing to the French to block any potentiaGingee: The Impregnable Rock Fortress of the Karnatak Plains

Standing majestically on the vast Karnatak plain, the rock-fortress of Gingee commands an extraordinary strategic position. From its almost central location, this formidable stronghold dominates the entire landscape stretching from Arcot in the north to Trichinopoly in the south, and from the Eastern Ghats all the way to the Bay of Bengal.

A Fortress Like No Other

Gingee fort is not merely a single fort, but rather an impressive complex of three fortified hillocks united by powerful lines of circumvallation. These three peaks form a rough triangle with a circumference of nearly three miles, creating one of the most formidable defensive positions ever constructed.

The hills themselves present a natural barrier that seems almost insurmountable. They rise steeply from the plain, their rocky surfaces covered with enormous boulders that make them nearly unclimbable to the casual observer. Yet the builders of Gingee transformed these natural obstacles into an integrated fortress system of breathtaking complexity.

Engineering Marvel of Stone and Strategy

Each of the three hills has been fortified on all sides with multiple lines of stone walls, one rising above the other in ascending tiers. These walls are punctuated by bastions filled with embrasures for artillery, loopholed for musketry, and pierced only by narrow, heavily defended gateways. The defensive architecture represents centuries of military engineering expertise.

Connecting the three citadels runs a magnificent stone-faced rampart nearly 60 feet thick, protected by an outer ditch over 80 feet wide. This triangular enclosure, measuring about three miles around, forms the lower fort, while the three hills serve as individual citadels within the complex.

Access to each citadel from the lower fort is provided by steep flights of steps carved from hewn granite. These staircases are built ingeniously on and among the massive boulders that litter the hillsides, creating paths that are both functional and defensible.

Rajgiri: The Crown Jewel

The western peak, known as Rajagiri (called “Great Mountain” in Orme’s historical plan), stands as the strongest and highest of the three summits. Rising 800 feet above the surrounding plain and towering 400 feet in an almost vertical ascent above the rest of the ridge, Rajgiri represents the ultimate defensive position.

The only path to Rajgiri’s summit follows a steep and narrow route from the lower fort, approaching from the south-west. This treacherous way passes through gates set in three successive lines of loopholed walls, each built one above the other on the ridge. The path finally scales a massive rock formation whose top nearly reaches the level of the citadel’s summit.

But here lies Rajgiri’s most ingenious defensive feature: a great natural chasm, some 24 feet wide and 50 feet deep, separates this rock mass from the topmost terrace of the citadel. The fortress’s former owners, agents of the mighty Vijayanagar empire, had artificially lengthened and widened this natural barrier to enhance its defensive capabilities.

The only entrance to the citadel crosses this chasm via a narrow wooden bridge. The far end of this bridge leads to a stone gate commanded by additional embrasures and loopholes. Military historian Orme observed that this single point could be held by ten men against ten thousand attackers—a testament to the brilliant defensive design.

The Sister Citadels

The northernmost hill is Krishnagiri, referred to as “English Mountain” in Orme’s plan, while the southern peak is Chandrayandurg, known as “St. George’s Mountain.” This southern citadel stands at a much lower elevation than its two companions but remains a formidable defensive position in its own right.

Gates and Approaches

Three main gates provide access to the fortress complex. The northern entrance, now called the Vellore or Arcot gate, was known in the 17th century as the ‘gate towards Tiruvannamalai.’ The eastern face features what is now called the Pondicherry gate, which served as the principal entrance to the fort during the 17th century.

Directly west of this eastern gate, spanning the lower enclosure, stands a small postern gate built into the wall connecting Chandrayan with Rajgiri. This entrance, known to Indians as Shaitan-dari and marked on French maps as “Port du Diable,” adds another layer to the fortress’s complex access system.

The Outlying Stronghold

About half a mile south of Rajgiri rises a fourth hill, now called Chakkili-durg (referred to as Chamar-tikri by the historian Bhimsen). Though its summit is strongly fortified, this hill stands independent of the main Gingee complex, serving as an additional defensive outpost rather than an integrated part of the triangular fortress.

A Monument to Military Architecture

The fortress of Gingee represents one of the most sophisticated examples of hill fortress architecture in South India. Its combination of natural defensive advantages with human engineering creates a stronghold that has dominated the Karnatak plains for centuries. Every stone wall, every carved step, and every strategic gate tells the story of a civilization that understood the art of war and the science of defense.

From its commanding position overlooking the vast plains, Gingee continues to stand as a testament to the military genius of its builders and the enduring power of stone and strategy combined in perfect harmony.l escape by Rajaram via the sea on an English ship.

Devastation and Displacement in the Region

The desolate landscape from Gingee to the sea-coast endured relentless pillaging by camp-followers and “couriers” from both the Mughal and Maratha sides. Local inhabitants, desperate for safety, fled with their families either deep south into Tanjore territory or to the European factories along the coast. As a result, Pondicherry’s population surged twofold within a single year, swelling to 60,000 souls.en they finally secured Rajaram’s permission to seize Pondicherry.

The Siege Begins: September 1690

Zulfiqar Khan arrived at the imposing fortress of Gingee in early September 1690, fresh from Aurangzib’s court with imperial orders to capture this Maratha stronghold. Yet as he gazed upon the three interconnected hills and their formidable defenses, the magnitude of his task became clear. He simply sat down before the fortress—a telling indication of the challenge ahead.

The investment of such a vast group of forts with his current forces was utterly impossible. Zulfiqar lacked the heavy artillery and sufficient munitions needed for an effective bombardment of Gingee’s stone walls. By September 19th, desperation had already set in as he urgently requested 200 maunds of powder and 500 soldiers from the English at Madras. Within days, his demands escalated dramatically—500 maunds of powder, 500 great shot, 500 soldiers, and 30 skilled gunners.

European Support and Mercenaries

The English, who owed Zulfiqar ground-rent for their settlement, responded by sending 200 maunds of powder and 3,800 iron shot. By November, the Mughal commander was also pressing the French agent in his camp for European munitions and gunners, recognizing that local resources alone would not suffice against Gingee’s defenses.

High pay offers proved irresistible to many European soldiers—English and other nationalities—who abandoned their original allegiances to join Zulfiqar’s army. Through these recruitment efforts, he managed to form an elite corps of 100 white men, bringing European military expertise to bear against the Maratha fortress.

The Illusion of Success: April 1691

By April 1691, the Mughal army encamped before Gingee had grown so large and well-provisioned that observers throughout the surrounding country expected the fortress to fall quickly. The impressive size of the besieging force and its apparent readiness suggested that Aurangzib’s military machine would soon claim another victory.

Yet appearances proved deceiving. Despite months of effort, the siege had made virtually no progress. The Mughal forces found themselves unable to prevent supplies from reaching the fortress—a complete blockade remained beyond their capabilities. Even more troubling, the Marathas were recovering from their initial shock at facing such a massive imperial army and had begun to harass the besiegers relentlessly.

Maratha Reinforcements and Royal Return

The dynamics shifted dramatically in November 1690 when three prominent Maratha chiefs—Nimaji Sindhia, Mankoji Pandhré, and Navoji Mané—abandoned the Mughal cause in Western India. Bringing 2,000 horsemen with them, they traveled to join Rajaram and took charge of the crucial defense works at Chakrakulam in Gingee’s lower fort.

February 1691 marked another pivotal moment when Rajaram himself returned to Gingee. The Maratha king had initially hoped to forge a grand alliance with the petty Hindu princes of the East Coast, envisioning a confederacy that could challenge Mughal forces throughout Golkonda and Bijapur. However, the bitter mutual enmities among local chieftains rendered this ambitious plan impossible.

Only one reliable ally emerged: Rajaram’s first cousin, the Rajah of Tanjore. This family connection proved invaluable, as the Tanjore ruler provided continuous support throughout the siege with men, money, and provisions. His motivation stemmed partly from family loyalty and partly from territorial concessions, but his aid enabled Rajaram to maintain defiance against the imperial forces for years from within his mountain stronghold.

The Tables Turn: Mughal Decline After April 1691

The Mughal military superiority that had seemed so decisive began crumbling rapidly after April 1691. Maratha bands roaming the countryside effectively cut off grain supplies to Zulfiqar’s camp, creating logistical nightmares for the besiegers. The situation became so dire that many Deccani mansabdars who had initially supported the campaign began deserting to join their former enemies.

Relief came temporarily when Sayyid Lashkar Khan arrived with a welcome supply of money from Emperor Aurangzib himself and grain from the Kadapa district. Yet this respite proved insufficient against the mounting pressures. Zulfiqar was forced to send increasingly desperate reports to the Emperor, explaining that enemy forces were surrounding his position, cutting off provision lines, and that he urgently needed reinforcements to avoid disaster.

Family Drama and Imperial Frustration

The emperor’s response involved summoning Asad Khan, Zulfiqar’s father and the empire’s wazir, who had been campaigning successfully south of the Krishna River since November 1690. From his encampment at Kadapa, Asad Khan received direct orders to hasten to his son’s aid. Additionally, Prince Kam Bakhsh, stationed at Wagingera, was commanded on July 20, 1691, to proceed to the Karnatak and provide support from behind.

Yet Asad Khan’s behavior proved both puzzling and infuriating. Despite having often expressed eager desire to see his son and having frequently criticized other imperial generals for their failures against the Marathas, he now displayed remarkable lethargy when his own son faced dire straits. He had previously boasted to colleagues, saying, “His Majesty has not charged me with any enterprise. When he does so, he will see what ‘Turk’ means.”

When reports of Asad Khan’s inactivity reached Aurangzib, the emperor turned to his librarian with barely contained frustration and declared, “His Turkship is over. How runs the proverb?” Together they recited the cutting verse: ‘Don’t brag again, as your boast (Turki) has come to an end!’ This stinging rebuke was immediately incorporated into a dispatch sent to the tardy wazir.

Renewed Action and Strategic Shifts

The imperial humiliation proved effective. Upon receiving this caustic letter, Asad Khan finally began active preparations for his advance. Prince Kam Bakhsh reached Kadapa on October 4th, and the combined force marched toward Gingee, arriving on December 16, 1691.

Meanwhile, Zulfiqar had pragmatically abandoned his futile direct attacks on the fortress and shifted to more profitable activities—levying contributions from the zamindars of South Karnatak. He summoned Ali Mardan Khan, the faujdar of Conjeveram, strengthened his main camp, then launched mobile field operations against the kingdoms of Tanjore and Trichinopoly. This campaign proved successful as he returned after collecting substantial tributes from zamindars throughout the region, fighting many battles and emerging victorious in them all.

By late August 1691, Zulfiqar was moving via Cuddalore toward Tanjore, pursuing this new strategy of territorial conquest rather than siege warfare. His most significant success came at year’s end with the capture of Trinomali, an achievement that earned him promotion on January 16, 1692.

Diplomatic Calculations

The year also witnessed interesting diplomatic maneuvering. In October, Zulfiqar approached the French with a request to capture Valdaur on his behalf. The French, displaying characteristic pragmatism, wisely declined this invitation to become directly involved in the Mughal-Maratha conflict.

The Year’s End Assessment

As 1691 drew to a close, the scorecard remained decidedly mixed for the imperial forces. Despite massive resources, European mercenaries, and eventual family reinforcements, no decisive success had been achieved against Gingee itself. The fortress continued to defy the Mughal Empire, its three hills standing as monuments to Maratha resilience and the limitations of even the mightiest imperial war machine.

The great siege had evolved into something far more complex than Aurangzib had envisioned—a grinding campaign that would test not just military might, but also imperial patience, family loyalty, and the very limits of Mughal power in South India.

Reinforcements That Changed Nothing

Despite the massive reinforcements brought by Prince Kam Bakhsh and the powerful wazir Asad Khan, 1692 proved equally barren of results for the Mughal forces besieging Gingee. The imperial war machine had swollen to unprecedented proportions, yet the three hills of the Maratha fortress remained as defiant as ever.

The year began with fresh hopes as Ismail Khan Maka, a prominent grandee from the fallen Qutb Shahi State, was successfully induced to enter Emperor Aurangzib’s service. He brought his entire contingent to join Zulfiqar’s camp, adding experienced Deccani troops to the imperial cause. However, this gain was offset by Yachapa Nayak’s decision to remain loyal to the Marathas, demonstrating that local allegiances remained far from settled.

Strategic Repositioning and Camp Architecture

Armed with these substantial additions to his forces, Zulfiqar Khan renewed the siege of Gingee with renewed vigor in 1692. The Mughal commander established his headquarters in a strategically chosen position opposite the eastern Pondicherry gate, near a hillock called Alki Madad—the same location that would later appear on Orme’s historical plans as the ‘Rock Battery.’ This placement allowed him direct observation of one of Gingee’s primary entrances while positioning his artillery across one of the branches of the Gingee river.

The command structure reflected the complex family and political dynamics within the Mughal hierarchy. Asad Khan and Prince Kam Bakhsh established their encampment three miles away from Zulfiqar’s position, beyond the northern gate on the road leading from Krishnagiri to Singhavaram hill. This separation would soon prove problematic as the siege intensified.

Ismail Khan and other local auxiliary forces were stationed at a northwestern outpost, positioned in the direction of Karnatak-garh, evidently south of the channel that drained the pool at the northern foot of Rajgiri. Each of these Mughal camps was carefully walled around for protection—a telling indication that the besiegers felt far from secure in their positions.

The Persistent Supply Problem

One of the most frustrating aspects of the siege continued to be the Marathas’ ability to maintain their supply lines. The gate of Shaitandari—that narrow postern gate known to Indians as the “Devil’s Gate“—could not be effectively blockaded. The garrison moved freely through this entrance, coming and going at will while bringing in provisions whenever needed.

The Mughals did attempt to address this problem by posting an outpost under Kakar Khan to watch the path through the Vetavalam wood, the route by which many supplies reached the fortress. However, this surveillance proved woefully inadequate, and the critical supply line remained largely intact.

Maratha Tactical Superiority

The defenders of Gingee demonstrated remarkable tactical innovation throughout the year. Maratha forces regularly launched sorties from Krishnagiri, employing rocket fire to threaten Prince Kam Bakhsh’s camp—an early example of rocket warfare that would later become synonymous with South Indian military technology.

These attacks forced Zulfiqar to strengthen the guards around the prince’s position, but the Marathas’ most ambitious operation came under cover of darkness when a force 9,000 strong sallied out of the north gate in a massive nighttime assault. Although this attack was eventually repelled by the combined efforts of the entire Mughal army, the danger it posed was so severe that it prompted a complete reorganization of the imperial camps.

Defensive Reorganization

Recognizing the vulnerability of separated positions, Zulfiqar made the crucial decision to relocate Prince Kam Bakhsh’s camp to his own side. The two encampments were then joined together within the same protective walls, creating a unified defensive position that could better withstand Maratha attacks.

The strategic position opposite the north gate, previously occupied by the prince, was reassigned to Sayyid Lashkar Khan, maintaining imperial presence at this critical approach while ensuring better coordination between the main camps.

The Assault on Chandrayandurg

With his reorganized forces, Zulfiqar selected Chandrayandurg—the southern hill of the Gingee complex—as his primary objective. This represented a shift from attempting to assault all three hills simultaneously to focusing concentrated effort on what appeared to be the most vulnerable target.

The Mughal engineers ran siege trenches toward Chandrayandurg, employing traditional siege warfare techniques adapted to the challenging terrain. Once these approaches were complete, Zulfiqar launched a dual bombardment targeting both the southern hill and the main Pondicherry gate.

Artillery pieces thundered day and night, hurling shot and shell against the ancient stone walls. To distant observers, this intense bombardment suggested that the fortress might finally succumb to imperial might. However, those closer to the action understood the reality—these exertions were largely for show, as the surrounding countryside well knew.

Life in the Trenches: An Eyewitness Account

The harsh realities of siege warfare in the South Indian climate were documented by an eyewitness who left a vivid description of conditions in the Mughal camp during 1692. The monsoon rains fell with exceptional severity, turning the entire campaign into an endurance test that neither side had fully anticipated.

Grain prices soared as supply lines stretched thin and weather disrupted transportation. The soldiers, required to spend days and nights continuously in the waterlogged trenches, endured tremendous hardship. The combination of tropical diseases, inadequate shelter, and constant vigilance took a severe toll on imperial morale.

The Artillery Observatory

Muhammad Mumin, the chief of the imperial artillery, had constructed an impressive observation post on the hillside—a fortified yard with a strong portico featuring multiple stages that provided commanding views of the battlefield. From this vantage point, observers could count 24 tanks scattered throughout the sprawling Mughal camp, evidence of the massive logistical operation required to sustain the siege.

Monsoon Misery

During the rainy season, the entire region transformed into what appeared to be one vast lake. The same geographical features that made Gingee such a formidable defensive position—its elevated hills surrounded by lower terrain—now worked against the besiegers. Water collected in every depression, turning approach routes into muddy quagmires and making the movement of artillery and supplies nearly impossible.

The contrast could not have been starker: while the Marathas remained secure on their well-drained hilltops with their stone-built defenses, the imperial forces struggled in flooded camps, their carefully planned siege works often submerged beneath sheets of monsoon rain.

The Year’s Bitter Conclusion

As 1692 drew to a close, the fundamental strategic situation remained unchanged despite all the imperial efforts. The massive reinforcements, the tactical reorganizations, the focused artillery bombardments, and the enormous expenditure of resources had failed to crack the Maratha defense.

Gingee’s three hills continued to dominate the Karnatak plain, their stone walls scarred but unbroken, their garrisons supplied and defiant. The great Mughal war machine, for all its apparent might and sophisticated organization, had spent another full year achieving nothing more than an expensive demonstration of the limits of imperial power when confronted with determined resistance in a well-chosen defensive position.

Nighttime Terror on the Hillside

The siege of Gingee had settled into a grinding pattern of attack and counter-attack, with neither side able to deliver a decisive blow. One night, the Maratha garrison launched a fierce assault on the Mughal battery positioned on the hillside. The defenders were driven from their trenches with heavy casualties, their carefully constructed siege works overrun in the darkness. Yet Dalpat Rao, Zulfiqar Khan’s most devoted lieutenant, proved his worth by recovering the lost position and painstakingly restoring the damaged trenches—a small victory that would soon be overshadowed by far greater disasters.

The Western Cavalry Arrives

As winter approached in December 1692, the Mughal position transformed from merely difficult to absolutely untenable. The cause of this dramatic shift thundered across the landscape in the form of more than 30,000 Maratha horsemen—a vast cavalry force raised in Western India by Ramchandra, Rajaram’s chief agent, and now arriving in the Eastern Karnatak under two of the most celebrated Maratha generals: Dhana Singh Jadav and Santa Ghorparé.

This massive reinforcement represented a strategic masterstroke by the Marathas, bringing fresh troops and experienced commanders to break the stalemate that had persisted for over two years.

The Conjeveram Catastrophe

The deluge of newly arrived Maratha cavalry first burst upon the Conjeveram district with devastating effect. The mere reputation of these warriors—whom the Mughal sources tellingly describe as “brigands”—inspired such terror that inhabitants from far and near fled in panic toward the city of Madras, seeking refuge behind English walls between December 11th and 13th.

Ali Mardan Khan, the Mughal faujdar of Conjeveram, made a fatal miscalculation when Santa Ghorparé’s division approached near Kaveripakkam. Unaware of the vast numbers he faced, Ali Mardan rode out to encounter what he assumed was a manageable enemy force. Instead, he walked directly into a carefully prepared trap.

The battle that followed demonstrated the fragility of Mughal military loyalty. During the fighting, Ali Mardan’s corps of bahelia musketeers—supposedly reliable troops—suddenly switched sides and joined the enemy. Finding resistance utterly futile, the Khan attempted to retreat to Conjeveram, but his small force was completely surrounded.

The disaster was total: Ali Mardan Khan was captured along with 1,500 horses and six elephants. All the property and materials of his army were looted on December 13th. The Khan was transported to Gingee as a prisoner and held for ransom, while several of his officers and many other nobles from the Mughal side fled precipitately to Madras. The English East India Company, maintaining their careful neutrality, treated these refugees well and fed them at Company expense.

Months later, Ali Mardan finally secured his freedom, but at an enormous cost. His brother-in-law Ali Qadir raised the staggering ransom of one lakh of hun—a sum that represented a major financial victory for the Marathas and a corresponding loss for the imperial treasury.

The Western Trap: Ismail Khan’s Capture

While Santa Ghorparé devastated the Conjeveram district, Dhana Jadav led the other division of Maratha reinforcements in a direct assault on the siege trenches along Gingee’s western approaches. The coordinated nature of this two-pronged attack demonstrated sophisticated Maratha strategic planning.

Upon receiving reports of the approaching enemy forces, Zulfiqar Khan quickly assessed his hopeless situation. Recognizing that he was catastrophically outnumbered, he wisely ordered his scattered outposts to fall back and consolidate with the main army—these isolated positions were no longer defensible against such overwhelming numbers.

Sayyid Lashkar Khan and Kakar Khan executed the withdrawal order efficiently, successfully rejoining their commander. However, Ismail Khan—the former Qutb Shahi grandee who had joined the Mughal cause—faced a much more perilous situation. Posted west of the fort, he had a significantly longer distance to travel, and his soldiers became dispersed while trying to evacuate their belongings and equipment.

When Ismail Khan finally began his withdrawal, it was already too late. The Marathas, coordinating brilliantly with their allies inside the fortress, intercepted the retreat. Despite offering brave resistance against overwhelming odds—fighting at ratios of ten to one—Ismail Khan was wounded and captured along with 500 horses and two elephants. Like Ali Mardan Khan before him, he was carried off as a prisoner to Gingee.

Maratha Administrative Triumph

The victorious Marathas immediately moved beyond military success to establish administrative control. They boldly proclaimed their authority over the Haidarabadi Karnatak—specifically “the Conjeveram and Kadapa countries”—appointing Keshava Ramana as their subahdar at the head of 1,000 horse and 4,000 foot in January 1693.

This appointment represented far more than symbolic victory; it demonstrated the Marathas’ ability to govern conquered territories and extract resources to sustain their military campaigns.

The Supply Crisis

The revival of Maratha dominance in the surrounding countryside had immediate and devastating consequences for the Mughal siege. The free and plentiful supply of grain that had reached the imperial camp via Poonamalai and Madras since the siege began was completely cut off. Even more critically, the flow of correspondence from Emperor Aurangzib’s court to the siege-camp ceased entirely, creating a communications blackout with calamitous results.

The besiegers had become the besieged—the Mughal army outside Gingee now found itself surrounded and its condition became extremely perilous.

Prince Kam Bakhsh: A Spoiled Child of Empire

The external military pressures were compounded by internal disputes that threatened to tear apart the Mughal command structure. At the center of this drama was Prince Kam Bakhsh, whom the court historian describes as “a foolish young man, the spoilt child of his father’s old age, untaught to bridle his passions, and ever swayed by his caprices and the counsels of young and worthless favourites.”

The prince had already managed to offend his guardian, the aged and influential wazir Asad Khan, through petty acts of mischief that demonstrated his fundamental lack of judgment. The court historian provides a telling example: “The Prince, in the intoxication of youth and under the influence of evil counsellors, made the entire long journey from Kadapa to Gingee on horseback, prolonging it still further by hunting and sight-seeing on the way.”

This seemingly innocent decision had serious consequences. Asad Khan, bound by court etiquette, was forced to ride alongside the prince despite his great weakness and the infirmities of old age. This unnecessary hardship embittered the wazir’s feelings toward his young charge, and malicious courtiers on both sides deliberately aggravated the growing quarrel through their interventions.

The Secret Correspondence

After reaching Gingee, Prince Kam Bakhsh’s behavior became even more reckless. Through intermediaries described as “some reckless and mad men,” he opened secret correspondence with Rajaram himself. This treasonous communication represented an unthinkable breach of loyalty that could have resulted in his immediate execution under normal circumstances.

The Marathas were naturally elated by securing such a valuable ally within the enemy camp. They skillfully flattered the prince’s vanity while mischievously encouraging him toward even more dangerous schemes. However, Zulfiqar Khan maintained an extensive intelligence network, “keeping watch in every direction and daily paying a thousand rupees to his spies within the fort.”

Through these sources, Zulfiqar soon discovered the prince’s secret negotiations. He immediately secured Emperor Aurangzib’s permission to place Kam Bakhsh under careful surveillance. Dalpat Rao, the general’s most trusted and devoted lieutenant, was assigned to maintain constant attendance at the prince’s camp.

A Prisoner in Silk

The restrictions imposed on Prince Kam Bakhsh were comprehensive and humiliating. He could not ride out, hold court, or admit or dismiss anyone from his encampment without Asad Khan’s explicit permission. In effect, he had become a powerless prisoner of state, and this internal quarrel within the Mughal camp became a matter of public knowledge and scandal.

Rumors of Imperial Death

While the prince fretted in his gilded cage and conspired with his worthless servants on various escape plans, the strategic horizon grew completely dark for the Mughals. The arrival of Santa Ghorparé and Dhana Jadav in December 1692 had created a perfect storm of military and logistical disasters.

The grain supply to the siege-camp was entirely severed, causing famine to rage among the vast assembled multitude. For several weeks, all communication with the Emperor’s court and the Mughal power base ceased completely—no courier could penetrate the tight cordon of Maratha cavalry that now surrounded Zulfiqar’s trapped forces.

Into this communications vacuum rushed alarming rumors that the Marathas eagerly spread and exaggerated. According to Khafi Khan, they may have even originated some of these stories deliberately. The most devastating rumor claimed that Emperor Aurangzib had died and that Shah Alam had ascended to the throne in Delhi.

The Prince’s Desperate Calculations

For Prince Kam Bakhsh, trapped and isolated, this rumor created a terrifying dilemma. If his father was indeed dead, he found himself in an extremely perilous position. Both Asad Khan and Zulfiqar Khan were now his declared enemies—they would naturally seek to win favor with any new emperor by delivering Kam Bakhsh to him in chains, leading to imprisonment, blinding, or even execution.

The prince’s military options appeared hopeless. Even if all the imperial forces before Gingee had been under his absolute command, defeating the Marathas, asserting supremacy, and proclaiming himself emperor seemed impossible given the current strategic situation.

The Midnight Escape Plot

The prince’s servants assured him that his only hope of survival lay in negotiating terms with Rajaram, escaping to the fortress under cover of darkness with his family, and then attempting to win the throne of Delhi with Maratha assistance—much as his brother Akbar had once tried to do during an earlier rebellion.

One fateful night, Prince Kam Bakhsh prepared to execute this desperate plan. He quietly assembled his elephants and palanquins for himself and his women, making all the necessary arrangements for a clandestine departure to the Maratha fortress.

However, the conspiracy was discovered at the crucial moment. Asad Khan received warning of the prince’s intentions and assembled his own forces, standing ready to offer armed resistance to any escape attempt. Faced with the prospect of immediate armed conflict with his own guardian, Prince Kam Bakhsh lost his nerve. He dismissed his assembled retinue and postponed the execution of his plan, though the fundamental tensions and desperate circumstances remained unchanged.

The Siege Transformed

By the end of 1692, the entire character of the Gingee campaign had been fundamentally transformed. What had begun as a confident imperial siege of a Maratha fortress had evolved into a complex three-way struggle involving military operations, political intrigue, and family drama at the highest levels of the Mughal Empire.

The arrival of 30,000 fresh Maratha cavalry had not only broken the military stalemate but had also exposed the deep fractures within the imperial command structure. The great fortress of Gingee remained unconquered, its three hills now sheltering not only defiant Marathas but also the secret hopes of a desperate Mughal prince who saw collaboration with his father’s enemies as his only path to survival.

The Council of Desperation

Every move Prince Kam Bakhsh made was being watched. Asad Khan’s spy network had infiltrated the prince’s inner circle so thoroughly that his guardian knew of each plot almost as soon as it was conceived. Faced with this treasonous division within their own ranks and the overwhelming enemy forces surrounding them, Asad Khan and Zulfiqar Khan convened an emergency council with the leading officers of the imperial army.

The verdict was unanimous: the prince must be strictly guarded, the siege trenches abandoned immediately, and the entire army concentrated in defensive positions around Asad Khan and the prince. After more than two years of costly siege operations, the Mughal Empire was about to admit defeat at Gingee.

Destroying the Great Guns

The withdrawal from the siege lines would not proceed unopposed—Zulfiqar Khan knew the Marathas would seize this moment of vulnerability to inflict maximum damage. In a desperate measure that spoke to the dire circumstances, he deliberately burst his big guns by firing excessive charges of powder, then abandoned the ruined artillery where it stood rather than allow it to fall into enemy hands.

This destruction of his own heavy weapons—the very tools that had been meant to breach Gingee’s walls—represented one of the most dramatic admissions of failure in Mughal military history.

The Gauntlet of Death

As Zulfiqar began his retreat from the trenches with his men drawn up in compact formation, carrying away whatever materials they could salvage, the exultant Marathas struck with devastating coordination. The Mughal position was nightmarishly exposed: the base-camp lay four miles behind them, while the fort walls loomed just half a mile ahead.

The garrison chose this perfect moment to launch a massive sortie, pouring out of Gingee to join their allies under Dhana Jadav. The combined Maratha forces hemmed in the retreating Mughal army on all sides, creating a killing field where imperial soldiers found themselves trapped between hammer and anvil.

As one contemporary observer wrote: “The audacity of the infidels passed all bounds, and death stared the Muslims in the face.” The situation appeared hopeless—Zulfiqar had only 2,000 troopers with him, yet they faced what the sources describe as “a hundred thousand enemy horsemen and infantry.”

Fighting for Dear Life

What followed was one of the most desperate battles of the entire Gingee campaign. Zulfiqar Khan and his officers fought with the fury of men who knew that defeat meant death or capture. They had to cut their way through this ocean of enemy forces, and somehow they did exactly that.

In a moment of supreme tactical audacity, Zulfiqar launched a counter-attack, urging his war elephant directly toward the fort gate and driving away the Marathas positioned there. This bold assault caught the defenders off guard—they fled back within the walls and hastily shut the gate behind them, abandoning approximately a thousand infantry who were cut down in the melee.

The retreating Marathas also left behind about a thousand mares in their precipitous flight, providing valuable spoils for the hard-pressed Mughal forces. By the end of this chaotic engagement, Maratha casualties were reported at 3,000 foot soldiers and 300 cavalry—though these numbers, like most battle statistics from the period, should be viewed with appropriate skepticism.

The Price of Survival

The imperial forces paid heavily for their fighting retreat. They lost 400 troopers, 400 horses, and 8 elephants, with most casualties inflicted by Maratha artillery fire. Perhaps most tellingly, contemporary sources note that “few of them remained unwounded”—evidence of just how desperate the fighting had been.

As darkness fell, the battered remnants of Zulfiqar’s force finally reached the safety of Asad Khan’s camp, having successfully extracted themselves from what had appeared to be certain annihilation.

The Prince’s Final Plot

While Zulfiqar Khan had been fighting for his life during the daylong retreat, Prince Kam Bakhsh had been exulting in his tent as danger thickened around the two generals he now considered his greatest enemies. His reckless optimism had led him to plot yet another scheme—this time planning to arrest both Asad Khan and Zulfiqar Khan at their next visit to him, then seize supreme command of the entire army.

This fantasy demonstrated just how completely disconnected from reality the prince had become. Even if he could have successfully detained the two most powerful military commanders in the camp, he had no realistic plan for dealing with the overwhelming Maratha forces that surrounded them all.

The Plot Exposed

Like all of Prince Kam Bakhsh’s conspiracies, this latest scheme had been immediately discovered by the extensive spy network monitoring his every move. When Zulfiqar Khan finally reached his adoptive father’s side that night, exhausted from the day’s fighting and consumed with anxiety about their strategic position, he learned of this new betrayal.

The two leaders quickly reached a fateful decision: the safety of the entire army and the preservation of Emperor Aurangzib’s prestige both demanded that the prince be permanently deprived of his power to create further mischief. They would have to take the extraordinary step of arresting a son of the emperor.

The Arrest of a Prince

The operation unfolded with military precision. Asad Khan and Zulfiqar Khan rode their elephants directly through the outer canvas wall of the prince’s compound and knocked down the screens of his audience hall—a deliberate act of disrespect that signaled the complete breakdown of normal court protocols.

Tellingly, the other nobles present chose to remain idle spectators during this unprecedented scene, preferring to leave the full responsibility and potential blame for arresting their master’s son to rest solely on these two leaders. Their passive behavior revealed the extent to which Prince Kam Bakhsh had alienated even his potential supporters.

The prince’s servants responded with futile resistance, discharging bullets and arrows while raising what contemporary sources describe as “a vain uproar and tumult.” But Asad Khan’s overwhelming force and swift movements quickly crushed this token opposition.

A Barefoot Captive

Faced with the reality of his situation, Prince Kam Bakhsh’s courage completely abandoned him. In utter distraction, he emerged from his harem through the main gate—perhaps hoping to negotiate or appeal to family bonds. He had advanced only a few steps when Asad Khan’s musketeers seized both his arms and dragged him barefoot to face his guardian.

Rao Dalpat, ever alert to his commanders’ needs, saw the prince’s humiliating capture and immediately drove his elephant forward. With remarkable agility, he lifted the prince up onto his howdah, positioned himself behind Kam Bakhsh as his keeper, and transported the royal prisoner to Asad Khan.

The Wazir’s Fury

Asad Khan’s rage had been building for months, and now it erupted in a torrent of abuse that would have been unthinkable under normal circumstances. He severely rebuked the prince with language of extraordinary harshness, calling him “a dancing-girl’s son”—an insult that questioned not only his legitimacy but his very fitness to belong to the imperial family.

The wazir continued his tirade, declaring the prince “unworthy to rule over men or to command in war.” These words, spoken by one of the most powerful figures in the empire, effectively ended any possibility of Prince Kam Bakhsh playing a meaningful role in imperial politics for the foreseeable future.

Celebration in the Ruins

Paradoxically, the arrest of an imperial prince was met with widespread celebration throughout the Mughal camp. As the historian Bhimsen observed, “life came back to our bodies”—the removal of this treacherous element restored hope and unity to forces that had been on the brink of disintegration.

Officers organized festivities including the playing of victory drums, dance performances, and the distribution of alms in celebration of what they viewed as the Emperor’s safety. The irony was profound: a military disaster and the arrest of Aurangzib’s own son were being celebrated as victories because they had prevented an even greater catastrophe.

Strategic Withdrawal to Wandiwash

With the immediate crisis resolved, Zulfiqar Khan led his battered forces to Wandiwash, where they established camp for four months from February through May 1693. This represented a complete abandonment of the attack on Gingee—at least for the present.

The general faced two pressing needs: he had to await Emperor Aurangzib’s orders regarding the fate of Prince Kam Bakhsh, and he desperately needed time to replenish both his depleted army and his empty military treasury. The long siege had consumed enormous resources while achieving nothing beyond the capture of a few outlying positions.

The End of an Era

The retreat from Gingee marked the end of one of the most ambitious military campaigns of Aurangzib’s reign. What had begun with such confidence in 1690 had devolved into internal betrayal, military disaster, and the unprecedented arrest of an imperial prince. The three hills of Gingee remained unconquered, their stone walls having witnessed the limits of even the mighty Mughal war machine.

The great fortress had not merely survived the siege—it had broken the siege, transforming the besiegers into the besieged and ultimately forcing one of the most powerful armies in the world to admit defeat and withdraw. For the Marathas, it represented vindication of their strategic vision and proof that determined resistance in well-chosen positions could humble even imperial might.

Terror in the Imperial Camp

The officers of the Karnatak army lay in mortal dread as they awaited Emperor Aurangzib’s reaction to the unprecedented arrest of his favorite son. Asad Khan and Zulfiqar Khan, despite their desperate circumstances, had taken an enormous gamble by detaining Prince Kam Bakhsh—and now they faced the terrifying prospect of imperial wrath.

Wild rumors circulated through the camp at Wandiwash, each more alarming than the last. One particularly persistent story claimed that Asad Khan, upon being sentenced to disgrace by the Emperor, had poisoned himself rather than face public humiliation. The anxiety was so intense that seasoned military commanders—men who had faced enemy armies without flinching—found themselves trembling at the thought of their sovereign’s displeasure.

The Emperor’s Measured Response

Aurangzib’s initial orders revealed the careful calculation of an experienced ruler. He commanded that the prince be brought to his presence under Asad Khan’s guard, and that fresh equipment and furniture be provided to replace what had been abandoned or looted at Gingee. Notably, however, no orders were issued regarding Zulfiqar Khan and his officers—a silence that left their fate hanging in agonizing uncertainty.

Meanwhile, the Emperor moved to secure the strategic situation by posting Prince Azam to the Kadapa district with orders to support the Gingee army from the rear. Azam established his camp at Saddam on the southern frontier of his jurisdiction, and when Qasim Khan arrived at Wandiwash, the Mughal line of communication from the Eastern Karnatak to the Emperor’s court was finally restored after months of dangerous isolation.

A Father’s Strategy

When the wazir Asad Khan reached Sagar on his journey to the imperial court, he received new orders that revealed Aurangzib’s shrewd understanding of palace politics. The Emperor commanded Asad Khan to halt there and send Prince Kam Bakhsh alone to face his father at Galgala.

The prince arrived on June 11th and was presented to Aurangzib in the harem through the intercession of his sister, Zinat-un-nisa. This careful staging—using a trusted daughter as intermediary and conducting the meeting in the private family quarters rather than in formal court—demonstrated the Emperor’s desire to handle this delicate family matter away from public scrutiny.

The Prince’s Desperate Defense

The spoiled prince, still lacking wisdom despite his harrowing experiences, attempted to justify his treasonous conduct by launching accusations against Zulfiqar Khan. He charged the general with treachery and claimed that the prolonged siege of Gingee was a deliberate collusion designed to enrich Zulfiqar at the Empire’s expense.

This pathetic attempt at deflection revealed Kam Bakhsh’s complete failure to understand either military realities or his father’s character. Aurangzib, with decades of military experience and an unmatched ability to judge men’s character, was far too seasoned to credit his son’s self-serving accusations. The Emperor recognized the desperate lies of a young man trying to escape responsibility for his own failures.

Restoring Order in the Karnatak

While the imperial family drama played out at court, Zulfiqar Khan used the reinforcements brought by Qasim Khan to reassert Mughal authority throughout the region and replenish his depleted treasury. His disastrous retreat from Gingee’s walls had served as a signal for numerous petty zamindars throughout the Karnatak to rise in rebellion and embrace lawlessness.

These local chieftains had seized the moment of Mughal weakness to plunder grain-carrying banjaras bound for the imperial camp and to capture various forts for their own purposes. Zulfiqar now methodically chastised these rebels, exacted substantial fines as punishment, and returned to his base at Wandiwash with both his authority and his financial resources restored.

The Three-Way Struggle for the Eastern Karnatak

The political situation in the Eastern Karnatak—stretching from the latitude of Madras south to Porto Novo—had become extraordinarily complex by 1693. Three distinct sets of authorities vied for control, often in violent conflict with one another, creating a chaotic patchwork of competing loyalties and shifting alliances.

The first group consisted of representatives of the old Hindu local chieftains and Vijayanagar viceroys whom the conquering armies of the Bijapur and Golkonda Sultans had never completely subdued. These traditional rulers maintained claims to legitimacy based on centuries of local dominance.

The second category included officers of the recently overthrown Bijapur and Golkonda governments who remained reluctant to recognize their new Mughal overlords. Having served the Deccan Sultanates for generations, they found it difficult to transfer their loyalties to the northern empire that had destroyed their former masters.

The third faction comprised the Maratha intruders representing the rival houses of Shivaji and Vyankoji, who had arrived as conquerors seeking to carve out new territories from the chaos of imperial transition.

Yachapa Nayak: A Case Study in Shifting Loyalties

The career of Yachapa Nayak perfectly illustrated the complex loyalties and rapidly changing allegiances that characterized this period. His ancestors claimed Rajput heritage from Qanauj and had obtained the strategic fort of Satgarh—located 26 miles west of Vellore—from the ministers of Rajah Pratap Rudra of Warangal centuries earlier.

The Qutb Shahi government had recognized his position by appointing him commander of their local levies (sehbandi), giving him official status within the Golkonda administrative system. After the fall of Golkonda, he initially resisted the Mughal conquest of the Kadapa district alongside Muhammad Sadiq, demonstrating his loyalty to the old order.

However, imperial pressure and inducements eventually won him over to the Mughal side. In early 1690, he was dispatched with a considerable force to expel the Maratha plundering bands that were infesting the Conjeveram district—a mission that aligned with both Mughal interests and his own desire to maintain local stability.

This imperial alliance proved temporary. Soon afterward, both Yachapa and Muhammad Sadiq revolted from the imperial side, and Yachapa brazenly usurped control of territory extending all the way to the Madras coast. When Rajaram arrived at Gingee, Yachapa joined the Maratha king and lived in the fortress for some time as his chief military supporter.

The Arrival of New Players

January 1693 brought a dramatic shift in the balance of power with the arrival of the celebrated generals Dhana Singh Jadav and Santa Ghorparé with their 30,000 cavalry. These experienced commanders from Western India immediately overshadowed local leaders like Yachapa Nayak, pushing him into the background despite his previous prominence in Rajaram’s councils.

Faced with this marginalization, Yachapa made yet another strategic pivot in March 1693. He abandoned Rajaram, recovered his ancestral stronghold of Satgarh, and began fighting for his own independent interests rather than serving any larger cause.

The Vellore Conflict

Yachapa’s attempt to extend his territory eastward toward Vellore inevitably brought him into direct conflict with Rajaram in June 1693. This confrontation between former allies demonstrated how quickly the political landscape could shift as ambitious leaders pursued their own territorial ambitions.

By the year’s end, however, Zulfiqar Khan had successfully negotiated Yachapa’s return to the Mughal fold through a combination of military pressure and generous inducements. The wayward chieftain was granted a prestigious mansab of 6-hazari and a valuable jagir worth 3 lakhs of hun in the Karnatak—rewards substantial enough to secure his loyalty, at least temporarily.

The Loyalists and the Opportunists

While figures like Yachapa Nayak represented the volatile nature of local allegiances, others demonstrated more consistent loyalty to the Mughal cause. Ismail Khan Maka, an ex-general of Golkonda and local zamindar, joined the imperial forces wholeheartedly despite his previous service to the defeated Sultanate.

Similarly, the sons of Sher Khan Lodi, who had served as the Adil Shahi governor of Valikandapuram, chose to align themselves completely with the new Mughal order rather than resist the inevitable.

Maratha Expansion and Success

The temporary eclipse of Muhammadan power at the beginning of 1693 provided the Marathas with golden opportunities to expand their influence throughout South India. Santaji Ghorparé launched a siege of Trichinopoly in March, demonstrating the Marathas’ ability to threaten major urban centers far from their original strongholds.

Rajaram himself arrived at Trichinopoly soon after the siege began, lending royal prestige to the military campaign. On April 10th, the Nayak of Trichinopoly made peace with the Maratha king—a diplomatic triumph that secured another important ally and established Maratha influence in one of South India’s most significant commercial centers.

Royal Diplomacy and Family Bonds

Following his success at Trichinopoly, Rajaram traveled to visit his first cousin and ally, Shahji II, at Tanjore in May 1693. This family connection had proven invaluable throughout the Gingee siege, providing the Maratha king with consistent support in men, money, and provisions when other potential allies had failed to materialize.

The meeting between the two cousins represented more than mere family courtesy—it was a strategic conference between allied rulers who were reshaping the political map of South India through their coordinated resistance to Mughal expansion.

Discord in the Maratha Ranks

Even success could not prevent internal conflicts within the Maratha leadership. A serious quarrel broke out in the Maratha ranks when Santaji Ghorparé’s famously difficult temperament finally proved intolerable to his colleagues. The celebrated general left for Maharashtra in anger, creating a leadership vacuum that needed immediate attention.

Dhanaji Jadav was appointed Senapati in Santaji’s place, representing a significant shift in Maratha military leadership. While different sources provide varying explanations for Santaji’s anger and departure, the result was clear: one of the most successful Maratha generals had removed himself from the South Indian theater at a crucial moment.

The Continuing Complexity

By the end of 1693, the political situation in the Eastern Karnatak remained as complex as ever. Despite Zulfiqar Khan’s efforts to restore Mughal authority, the region continued to be contested by multiple factions, each pursuing their own vision of legitimate rule.

The great fortress of Gingee remained unconquered, serving as both a symbol of Maratha defiance and a practical base for continued resistance. The arrest and disgrace of Prince Kam Bakhsh had resolved the immediate crisis of treachery within the imperial ranks, but the underlying strategic challenges remained as daunting as ever.

The intricate web of shifting alliances, competing legitimacies, and personal ambitions that characterized this period would continue to complicate Mughal efforts to establish stable control over this strategically vital region.

The Tanjore Campaign: How Zulfiqar Khan Turned the Tide in 1694

Learning from Past Mistakes

Zulfiqar Khan had made a critical strategic error when he first began the siege of Gingee—rushing to attack the fortress without first securing control of the surrounding countryside. This rash decision had left his army perpetually at risk of destruction in hostile territory, surrounded by enemies who could cut supply lines and coordinate attacks with the besieged garrison.

Now, strengthened by the adhesion of influential local leaders like Yachapa Nayak, Zulfiqar was determined to correct this fundamental mistake. In February 1694, he launched a systematic campaign to conquer the South Arcot district, aiming to create a secure zone of Mughal control around his primary objective.

The Storm of Perumukkal Fort

The campaign began with a dramatic demonstration of imperial military power. The fort of Perumukkal, perched strategically on top of a steep hill 300 feet above the plain and located 18 miles north of Pondicherry and 6 miles east of Tindivanam, presented a formidable challenge to any attacking force.

Under Zulfiqar’s direct observation, Dalpat Rao’s Bundela warriors stormed this seemingly impregnable position, showcasing the skill and courage that had made them legendary throughout the Mughal Empire. The successful assault on Peru-mukkal sent a clear message to other regional strongholds: resistance to the imperial forces would be met with overwhelming military response.

A General’s First Glimpse of the Ocean

Following this victory, Zulfiqar made a personal journey that reveals something of the man behind the military commander. He traveled to the beach to gaze upon the ocean for the first time in his life—a moment of wonder that humanizes this otherwise relentlessly focused military leader. For a man born in the continental heartland of the Mughal Empire, the sight of the vast Indian Ocean must have been both awesome and symbolic of the empire’s reach to the very edges of the known world.

The Coastal Campaign

From the coast, Zulfiqar launched a methodical advance down the East Coast toward Tanjore. His route took him past Pondicherry and other European factories, demonstrating his awareness of the complex international dynamics that influenced regional politics. The Mughal army systematically captured numerous forts throughout the South Arcot district, with Yachapa Nayak providing valuable cooperation as a local ally.

By the end of February, the imperial forces were skirting Cuddalore, having established Mughal control over a substantial stretch of the eastern seaboard. This systematic approach represented a marked contrast to the hasty advance on Gingee four years earlier.

The Tanjore Dilemma

When Zulfiqar arrived near Tanjore in March 1694 with his victorious army, Maharajah Shahji II found himself facing an impossible strategic situation. The Maratha ruler had been Rajaram’s most consistent ally throughout the Gingee siege, providing crucial support that had enabled the fortress to withstand years of Mughal pressure.

Now, however, resistance appeared utterly futile. Even worse for Shahji, his traditional enemy, the Nayak of Trichinopoly, had opportunistically joined the Mughals. This regional rival not only provided men and money to the imperial cause but actively encouraged the Mughals to recover forts and districts that Tanjore had previously seized from Trichinopoly.

The imperialists readily agreed to this request, using their military superiority to settle old scores between their new ally and their target. This cynical but effective diplomacy demonstrated how the Mughals could exploit local rivalries to achieve their broader strategic objectives.

The Invasion of Tanjore

With the groundwork laid, Zulfiqar launched his invasion of Tanjore itself. Rajaram, recognizing the mortal danger facing his most important ally, dispatched Baharji Ghorparé—the younger brother of the celebrated Santa Ghorparé—to assist his constant friend Shahji. However, this reinforcement proved inadequate against Zulfiqar’s now-irresistible military machine.

The campaign’s outcome was never truly in doubt. Strengthened by local allies, flush with recent victories, and commanding seasoned troops, Zulfiqar possessed overwhelming advantages that no amount of Maratha courage could overcome.

The Humiliating Surrender

Faced with inevitable defeat, Shahji II had no choice but to yield. On May 22nd, he signed a comprehensive letter of submission that effectively reduced the once-proud Tanjore kingdom to a Mughal vassal state. The terms were both punitive and strategically crucial for the imperial cause.

Shahji promised to obey the Emperor’s orders like a faithful vassal in the future—a formal acknowledgment of Mughal suzerainty over his kingdom. More importantly for the ongoing siege of Gingee, he agreed to cease all assistance to Rajaram, including the critical supply of provisions that had been smuggled into the fortress through the Vetavalam wood.

The financial terms were staggering: Tanjore would pay an annual tribute of 30 lakhs of rupees to the Mughal government. Of this enormous sum, 20 lakhs were to be paid immediately in cash, jewels, and elephants, while the remaining 10 lakhs would be due the following year.

Territorial Concessions

The treaty also involved substantial territorial cessions that permanently weakened Tanjore while strengthening Mughal control over the region. Shahji was forced to surrender the strategically important forts of Palamkota, Sittanur, and Tunganur along with their dependent districts. Additionally, he had to cede Kul-Manargudi, Shri-mushnam, Tittagudi, Trinnanur, Elavanasore, Kalakurchi, and Pandalum—territories that had been mortgaged to him by Rajaram during the earlier phases of the Maratha struggle.

This territorial cession was explicitly designed to replace the military contingent of 1,000 horse and 4,000 foot that Shahji had originally agreed to supply for the Emperor’s service. The Mughals had decided that direct control of strategic territories was preferable to relying on potentially unreliable allied troops.

Imperial Clemency and Guarantees

In exchange for these harsh terms, Zulfiqar Khan granted Shahji II a qaulnama—a formal letter of assurance—that accepted the agreed terms and promised to secure an imperial farman from Emperor Aurangzib. This document would officially pardon Shahji’s previous offenses and recognize his continuing title and kingdom, providing the legal framework for Tanjore’s transformation from enemy to vassal.

Beyond the formal treaty terms, Shahji made additional large gifts to Zulfiqar Khan and his officers—personal inducements that helped smooth the transition from war to peace. Out of the stipulated tribute, 17 lakhs were paid immediately, with the remaining 3 lakhs promised once the invading forces withdrew beyond the Kolerun River.

Rajaram’s Counterstrike

The Maratha king was not prepared to accept the loss of his most important ally without a fight. Learning that Palamkota—which he had mortgaged to Vyankoji—was to be surrendered to the Mughals, Rajaram dispatched 2,000 to 3,000 horsemen to seize the fort for himself.

This bold stroke created an immediate crisis when Zulfiqar’s army appeared before Palamkota in mid-June, only to be refused admission by Rajaram’s garrison. The Mughal commander found himself forced to lay siege to a fortress that he had expected to occupy peacefully as part of the Tanjore settlement.

The Siege of Palamkota

The siege that followed demonstrated both the continuing effectiveness of Mughal military tactics and the persistent courage of Maratha resistance. After six days of systematic trench warfare, Dalpat Rao launched one of his characteristic charges against the fortified village (petta) that protected the fort’s main gate.

The assault succeeded, but at considerable cost—150 of Dalpat Rao’s elite Rajput warriors were killed or wounded in the fighting. This casualty rate, while acceptable by the military standards of the time, showed that even victories against relatively small Maratha forces required significant sacrifices.

Faced with the fall of the outer defenses, the garrison chose to capitulate rather than endure a final assault on the main fortress. However, they managed to escape under cover of darkness through the postern gate on the night of June 23rd, 1694—a final act of defiance that preserved their honor while acknowledging military reality.

Return to Gingee

With the Palamkota operation concluded, the Mughal army returned to its base at Wandiwash via Tiru-vadi, having successfully completed the most productive campaign of the entire Gingee conflict. The systematic conquest of South Arcot, the reduction of Tanjore to vassal status, and the capture of key fortresses had fundamentally altered the strategic balance in the region.

In September, Zulfiqar launched another attack on Gingee itself—but this time with crucial advantages that had been absent during previous attempts. Most importantly, he planted outposts throughout the Vetavalam forest, the critical supply route through which provisions had previously entered the fortress unimpeded.

The Terrible Fate of Yachapa Nayak

The month also witnessed a shocking demonstration of Mughal justice and the dangerous nature of collaboration with imperial forces. In September, Zulfiqar suddenly arrested Yachapa Nayak during a formal darbar, accusing him of treason with the Emperor’s prior authorization.

The local chieftain who had switched sides multiple times throughout the conflict was immediately beheaded, ending his career of opportunistic allegiance-switching in the most dramatic way possible. The execution sent a chilling message to other regional leaders about the ultimate fate that awaited those who betrayed Mughal trust.

The aftermath was equally horrific: contemporary sources report that “of the Nayak’s family then with him all slew one another, and his property was looted by the camp.” This mass suicide and looting represented the complete destruction of one of the region’s most prominent local dynasties—a stark reminder of the personal costs of the broader imperial struggle.

The Campaign’s Strategic Impact

The 1694 campaign represented a fundamental turning point in the long struggle for control of the Eastern Karnatak. Zulfiqar Khan had finally corrected his initial strategic error by securing the countryside before attempting to complete the conquest of Gingee itself. The reduction of Tanjore eliminated Rajaram’s most important ally and cut his primary supply line, while the systematic conquest of regional forts created a secure zone of Mughal control.

Most importantly, the campaign demonstrated that when properly conducted with adequate preparation and local support, Mughal military superiority could still achieve decisive results even against determined Maratha resistance. The three hills of Gingee remained unconquered, but they were now isolated in a sea of imperial territory—a very different situation from the hostile environment that had nearly destroyed Zulfiqar’s forces in previous years.

The General Who Betrayed His Empire: Zulfiqar Khan’s Secret Alliance

A Siege Built on Deception

Toward the close of 1694, Zulfiqar Khan renewed his siege of Gingee—but this time, it was nothing more than an elaborate charade designed to deceive Emperor Aurangzib. The reality of his treasonable collusion with the very Marathas he was supposed to be conquering had become notorious throughout the region, transforming one of the empire’s most trusted generals into its most dangerous traitor.

The evidence of this betrayal came from multiple sources across the political spectrum. François Martin, the founder of Pondicherry, maintained close and constant contact with the court of Gingee and was perfectly positioned to observe the true dynamics of the conflict. In his letters and memoirs, Martin “frequently expressed the opinion that Zulfiqar Khan had, during the course and particularly at the end of the siege of Gingee, an understanding with Rajaram.”

The General’s Grand Ambition

Martin’s analysis revealed the strategic thinking behind Zulfiqar’s treachery. The French observer believed that Zulfiqar, “in expectation of the death of the very old Aurangzib and the civil wars that would fatally follow among his sons, had conceived the ambition of carving out for himself an independent principality, and with that object he wished to placate the Marathas.”

This was not mere opportunism—it was a calculated long-term strategy based on the realistic expectation that the aging emperor’s death would plunge the empire into succession warfare. Rather than remain loyal to an uncertain future, Zulfiqar had chosen to position himself as a potential independent ruler with Maratha support.

English Merchants Confirm the Betrayal

The English merchants of Madras, with their own extensive intelligence networks and commercial interests in regional stability, independently reached the same conclusion. On November 5, 1696, they recorded their damning assessment: “Zulfiqar Khan has been frequently ordered to take Gingee, and it has been in his power to do so and destroy all the Marathas in the country. But instead of that it appears plain that he hath joined council with them.”

This English observation was particularly significant because it confirmed that Zulfiqar possessed the military capability to complete his mission but had deliberately chosen not to do so. The siege’s continuation was not due to Maratha strength or imperial weakness, but to the commanding general’s secret alliance with the enemy.

Betrayal from Within

Perhaps most damaging of all was the testimony of Bhimsen, who served as the right-hand man to Dalpat Rao, Zulfiqar’s own most trusted lieutenant. Even this insider, despite his position within the imperial hierarchy, could not conceal his commander’s treasonable conduct.

Bhimsen’s accusations were devastatingly specific: “If he had wished it, he could have captured the fort on the very day that he reached Gingee. But it is the practice of generals to prolong operations for their own profit and ease.” When pressed to explain Zulfiqar’s mysterious strategic decisions, Bhimsen could only conclude: “God alone knows what policy he adopted.”

The Italian adventurer Manucci, with his extensive experience of Mughal court politics and military affairs, corroborated these accounts, adding another voice to the chorus of contemporary observers who recognized the general’s betrayal.

The Charade at Changamon

In October 1694, Zulfiqar suddenly marched out of Wandiwash and established his camp north of the Changam fort and pass, located 42 miles west of Gingee. What followed perfectly illustrated the bizarre nature of his arrangement with the Marathas—a carefully choreographed conflict that maintained the appearance of warfare while avoiding any decisive engagement.

The Marathas hovered around his position, making daily incursions into the Mughal camp and carrying off horses in raids that seemed designed more for show than strategic effect. The Mughal cavalry responded in kind, harassing and plundering the surrounding countryside while carrying away both people and goods. This reciprocal harassment created the appearance of active hostilities while serving both sides’ interests in maintaining the fiction of continued conflict.

The local population, caught between these supposedly hostile forces, fled in terror. The people of Wandiwash sought refuge on Changamon hill, demonstrating how ordinary civilians bore the costs of this elaborate deception.

Internal Rebellion

The strain of maintaining this treacherous double game began to tell on Zulfiqar’s command structure. Serious disagreements erupted between the general and his chief officers, particularly Daud Khan Pani, Kishore Singh Hada, and Dalpat Rao Bundela. These experienced commanders, perhaps more loyal to the empire than to their immediate superior, found themselves in an impossible position.

Public rumors, possibly spread deliberately by those who suspected the truth, credited these officers with a design to seize Zulfiqar and send him in chains to the Emperor—a plan that would have represented their duty as loyal imperial servants, but which also demonstrates the dangerous divisions within the Mughal command structure.

The Intercepted Gold

One particularly telling incident involved ten camels laden with rupees that Zulfiqar had allegedly sent for Rajaram—direct financial support from an imperial general to his supposed enemy. According to reports, Daud Khan intercepted this treasure convoy, preventing the transfer of imperial resources to the Maratha cause. Whether this represented Daud Khan’s loyalty to the empire or his own desire to control such valuable assets remains unclear, but the incident reveals the depth of corruption within the campaign.

Psychological Warfare

The Marathas, whether acting in coordination with Zulfiqar or independently, employed increasingly sophisticated tactics against the imperial forces. Reports circulated that they had poisoned water sources and mixed “milk-hedges” into tank supplies, killing large numbers of people. These acts of environmental warfare created terror and confusion while avoiding direct military confrontation—perfectly suited to the strange dynamics of this shadow conflict.

Token Victories and Imperial Gold

To maintain appearances, Zulfiqar occasionally captured two or three small forts from the Marathas—victories significant enough to report to the emperor but insufficient to alter the strategic balance. When he received three lakhs of rupees sent from the imperial court at the end of December 1694, the general marched to Saddam, continuing his elaborate dance of apparent activity and actual stagnation.

Command Structure Collapses

By April 1695, the contradictions within Zulfiqar’s command had become unsustainable. Sarafraz Khan, one of his chief officers, quarrelled with his commander and marched away to the imperial court without permission—a dramatic act of insubordination that revealed the breakdown of military discipline within the expeditionary force.

Court newsletters began reporting additional desertions from the army as other officers chose loyalty to the empire over complicity in their general’s treasonous schemes. The expeditionary force that had once represented the pinnacle of Mughal military might was dissolving from within.

A Year of Futility

The year 1695 passed without any meaningful Mughal achievements, despite the enormous resources committed to the Eastern Karnatak campaign. Even more damaging to imperial prestige and practical capabilities was the severe scarcity of grain that raged throughout the entire year, intensifying the sufferings of soldiers who were already demoralized by their commanders’ inexplicable strategies.

The Failed Siege of Vellore

In October 1695, Zulfiqar laid siege to Vellore—perhaps hoping that success against a secondary target might deflect attention from his failures at Gingee. However, even this more modest objective proved beyond his capabilities or genuine intentions. The fortress held out not just for months, but for many years, becoming another symbol of Mughal impotence in the region.

The Return of the Storm

Early in December 1695, alarming news reached the demoralized imperial forces that vindicated the fears of those who had questioned Zulfiqar’s strategies. A large Maratha army of 15,000 men under the dreaded generals Santa Ghorparé and Dhana Singh Jadav was marching toward the Eastern Karnatak, bringing with them a proven track record of devastating imperial forces.

Even more ominous was the report that these experienced commanders had already crushed Qasim Khan, the Mughal governor of the uplands of Mysore with his capital at Sera. This victory demonstrated that the Marathas possessed not just the capability to resist imperial attacks, but the strength to launch successful offensives against established Mughal positions.

Imperial Terror

Upon hearing this disastrous news, the imperial forces reacted with panic rather than determination. Officers began preparing to decamp entirely, while many chose to send their families to secure locations like Madras for protection under English guns. This flight mentality among supposedly elite imperial troops revealed how completely Zulfiqar’s treacherous leadership had undermined both military capability and morale.

The great Mughal war machine, which had once inspired terror throughout the Deccan, had been reduced to a demoralized and divided force whose commanders planned retreat before their enemies had even arrived on the battlefield.

The Consequences of Betrayal

Zulfiqar Khan’s treacherous alliance with Rajaram had achieved exactly the opposite of what imperial policy required. Instead of crushing Maratha resistance and establishing stable Mughal control over the Eastern Karnatak, his secret collaboration had allowed the enemy to grow stronger while the imperial position deteriorated.

The general’s personal ambitions for an independent principality had transformed him from the empire’s sword into its most dangerous internal enemy. His betrayal would have consequences that extended far beyond the immediate military situation, contributing to the broader decline of Mughal power in South India and the rise of regional forces that would ultimately fragment the empire itself.

The Storm Arrives at Vellore

The dreaded moment finally came at the end of December 1695 when Dhana Singh Jadav arrived near Vellore with his formidable Maratha force. The psychological impact was immediate and devastating—Zulfiqar Khan, who had been maintaining the pretense of besieging the fortress, immediately abandoned the operation entirely.

His actions revealed the true state of imperial morale and capability. Rather than standing to fight for a position he had been attacking for months, Zulfiqar hastily sent his camp baggage and family to the safety of Arcot and began preparing for what he clearly expected to be a desperate defensive campaign.

The great Mughal siege of Vellore, which had consumed enormous resources and manpower, was abandoned at the first sign of serious Maratha opposition—a humiliating admission that the imperial forces were no longer capable of maintaining offensive operations against determined resistance.

The Southern Diversion

Dhana Jadav’s initial movements demonstrated the strategic sophistication that had made Maratha cavalry so effective throughout the Deccan wars. Rather than attacking Zulfiqar’s main force directly, the Maratha general turned aside toward Gingee—perhaps to coordinate with Rajaram or simply to keep his options open.

From there, Dhana continued roving further south, eventually besieging the Mughal faujdar stationed at Tiru-vadi. This aggressive move threatened to cut imperial communications and demonstrated that the Marathas were no longer content to remain on the defensive—they were actively hunting isolated Mughal positions throughout the region.

Zulfiqar’s Tactical Response

Despite his broader strategic failures and treacherous dealings, Zulfiqar still retained enough military competence to respond effectively to immediate tactical challenges. Coming up promptly in pursuit of Dhana’s forces, he successfully relieved the besieged outpost at Tiru-vadi and drove the Maratha general away from his target.

However, this tactical success only highlighted the empire’s broader strategic weakness. After achieving this limited victory, Zulfiqar immediately fell back on Arcot rather than pressing his advantage or attempting to bring the Marathas to a decisive battle. The pattern of retreat after every engagement, regardless of its immediate outcome, had become the defining characteristic of Mughal operations in the region.

Santa’s Arrival Changes Everything

The precarious balance that had allowed for these limited Mughal successes shattered completely in March 1696 with the arrival of Santa Ghorparé on the scene. The legendary Maratha commander brought not just additional forces, but the kind of aggressive leadership that could coordinate multiple bands across vast distances while maintaining relentless pressure on imperial positions.

The arrival of this second major Maratha general transformed the entire strategic equation. Maratha bands now spread across several parts of the country simultaneously, creating a security nightmare for the imperialsts. With their already depleted numbers, the Mughals found it impossible to defend the multiple scattered positions that were now under simultaneous threat.

Faced with this impossible situation, Zulfiqar made the only sensible tactical decision available to him—he wisely concentrated his forces rather than attempting to hold every position and risk losing everything through dispersal. This consolidation represented sound military thinking, but it also meant effectively ceding control of large areas to the Marathas.

The Financial Crisis

Throughout 1696, Zulfiqar’s military problems were compounded by a crippling financial crisis that severely hampered all his operations. Contemporary sources note that he “received no supply from the Emperor”—a situation that left him unable to pay his troops, purchase supplies, or maintain the logistical infrastructure necessary for effective military operations.

The desperate nature of his financial situation became public knowledge when he approached the English merchants of Madras with an extraordinary request for a loan of one lakh of hun. In exchange for this desperately needed funding, he offered to mortgage any part of the country under his control to the East India Company.

This remarkable offer revealed just how completely the imperial position had deteriorated. A general representing the mighty Mughal Empire was reduced to pawning territories to foreign merchants in exchange for the basic funds needed to continue military operations.

English Refusal and Imperial Threats

The English merchants, displaying their characteristic commercial prudence, persistently refused Zulfiqar’s loan requests. They clearly recognized that lending money to a general whose military position was collapsing and whose loyalty to his own empire was questionable represented an unacceptable business risk.

By October, Zulfiqar’s frustration with these repeated refusals had reached the breaking point. In a display of the kind of desperate anger that characterized his entire command during this period, he threatened to attack Madras itself—an extraordinary threat from an imperial general against neutral European merchants who had generally maintained cordial relations with Mughal authorities.

This threat represented not just personal frustration, but a fundamental breakdown in the diplomatic relationships that had traditionally characterized Mughal dealings with European trading companies. The fact that Zulfiqar would even consider attacking Madras demonstrated how far imperial prestige and strategic thinking had declined under his leadership.

A Pyrrhic Victory at Arni

In April 1696, Zulfiqar managed to achieve one of his few clear tactical successes of the year when he beat back Santaji Ghorparé near Arni. This engagement demonstrated that when forced to fight, the imperial forces could still achieve local victories against even experienced Maratha commanders.

However, the aftermath of this success perfectly illustrated the deeper problems plaguing the Mughal position. Rather than exploiting his victory or attempting to build upon this rare success, Zulfiqar immediately confined himself to a purely defensive posture within the fort of Arcot. The psychological impact of months of retreat and strategic failure had apparently made him incapable of recognizing or exploiting opportunities for offensive action.

The Death of a Loyal Officer

Zulfiqar’s defensive mindset was reinforced by a personal tragedy that struck his command structure in April—the death of Rajah Kishore Singh Hada, one of his most capable captains. Kishore Singh had been among the officers who had reportedly disagreed with Zulfiqar’s mysterious strategies and may have represented a voice of traditional imperial loyalty within the fractured command structure.

His death further weakened the imperial forces at a time when every experienced officer was desperately needed. More importantly, it removed one of the few figures who might have been able to challenge Zulfiqar’s treacherous policies or provide alternative leadership if the general’s betrayal had been exposed.

The Dance of Mutual Deception

With Zulfiqar confined to Arcot and the main Maratha forces operating in the surrounding countryside, an extraordinary military situation developed that perfectly illustrated the secret understanding between the supposedly hostile forces. Contemporary sources note that “the Marathas, as usual, hovered round him, there being a secret understanding between the two sides to spare each other.”

This mutual restraint created a bizarre spectacle of warfare in which both sides maintained the appearance of active hostilities while carefully avoiding any engagement that might result in serious casualties or decisive outcomes. The Marathas maintained their siege lines and made threatening gestures, while Zulfiqar remained safely within his walls, both sides content to continue this elaborate charade indefinitely.

The Treasure Hunt

In November 1696, reports reached both armies that treasure sent by Emperor Aurangzib for Zulfiqar had reached Kadapa—a desperately needed financial lifeline that could potentially alter the balance of power in the region. Santa Ghorparé immediately demonstrated the aggressive opportunism that made Maratha cavalry so effective by marching directly toward Kadapa to intercept this imperial treasure.

Zulfiqar’s response revealed the continuing contradictions in his position. He set out after Santa, presumably to protect the imperial treasure and ensure it reached its intended destination. This pursuit suggested either a genuine desire to fulfill his imperial duties or, more cynically, a determination to prevent the treasure from falling into hands other than his own.

The Great Game of Cat and Mouse

What followed was a perfect example of the complex strategic chess game that Maratha commanders had mastered throughout their long struggle against imperial forces. Santa changed his plan as soon as he realized Zulfiqar was pursuing him—a tactical flexibility that had always given Maratha cavalry decisive advantages over the more rigid imperial military system.

After just three marches, Zulfiqar fell back on Arcot, having apparently decided that the pursuit was either too dangerous or unnecessary. Santa, meanwhile, entered the Bijapur uplands of Central Mysore, opening an entirely new theater of operations and forcing the Mughals to respond to threats across an ever-widening geographical area.

Imperial Coordination and Unity

The Emperor’s response to this new Maratha offensive demonstrated both the continuing reach of imperial authority and Aurangzib’s determination to coordinate multiple forces against the elusive enemy. Under direct imperial orders, Zulfiqar was commanded to pursue Santa into the Central Mysore region and cooperate with Prince Bidar Bakht, who had been dispatched from the northwest specifically to expel the Marathas from beyond the Tungabhadra River.

This coordination of forces from multiple directions represented sound strategic thinking—the kind of systematic approach that had built the Mughal Empire. The plan called for the two imperial armies to unite near Penu-konda, located 75 miles north of Bangalore, and then launch a coordinated offensive that would trap the Marathas between converging forces.

The Phantom Enemy

The union of the two Mughal forces near Penu-konda created what appeared to be an overwhelming imperial advantage—experienced commanders leading substantial armies in a coordinated operation backed by direct imperial authority. However, the Marathas had no intention of accepting battle on terms favorable to their enemies.

Demonstrating the tactical brilliance that had characterized their operations throughout the Deccan wars, the elusive Marathas simply disappeared without offering the decisive battle that the imperial forces had hoped to force upon them. This withdrawal was not retreat in any traditional sense—it was a strategic refusal to be pinned down by superior numbers in an unfavorable position.

The Maratha ability to vanish when faced with overwhelming odds, then reappear elsewhere to threaten different imperial positions, had become their most effective weapon against the larger but less mobile Mughal armies.

Return to Stalemate

Faced with an enemy who refused to fight on imperial terms, Zulfiqar had no choice but to return to Arcot in February 1697, having achieved nothing despite the elaborate coordination of multiple imperial forces. The year 1696 thus ended exactly as it had begun—with Zulfiqar confined to defensive positions while Maratha forces roamed freely throughout the surrounding countryside.

The campaign had demonstrated both the continuing theoretical power of imperial coordination and its practical limitations when facing an enemy who refused to accept conventional military logic. The Marathas had successfully avoided destruction while maintaining their ability to threaten imperial positions throughout the region.

The Broader Implications

The events of 1696 revealed the fundamental transformation that had occurred in the balance of power between the Mughal Empire and its Maratha opponents. What had begun as a confident imperial siege of a single fortress had evolved into a complex regional struggle in which the supposed besiegers found themselves unable to control the countryside around their own defensive positions.

Zulfiqar’s financial desperation, his threats against neutral European merchants, and his inability to exploit tactical victories all pointed to the deeper crisis facing imperial authority in South India. The great Mughal war machine was running out of both resources and strategic options, while its enemies had successfully adapted their tactics to neutralize imperial advantages in firepower and formal military organization.

The dance of shadows between Zulfiqar and the Maratha commanders would continue, but the initiative had clearly passed to the forces of Rajaram and his brilliant generals who had learned how to fight an empire to a standstill.

The Fall of Gingee: How the Eight-Year Siege Finally Ended

The Endless Money Troubles

Despite his tactical maneuvers and political machinations, Zulfiqar Khan’s financial difficulties remained as crushing as ever in 1697. Desperate for funds to maintain his army and continue the pretense of active campaigning, he once again left Arcot to collect tribute from Tanjore and other southern territories that had previously submitted to Mughal authority.

However, this traditional source of military funding was rapidly becoming exhausted. Contemporary accounts note that “he spent all this money in a short time, but could not clear the arrears of his soldiers’ pay”—a damning indictment of both the scale of his financial crisis and his inability to manage even the limited resources at his disposal.

The situation had become so desperate that even successful tribute collection could no longer sustain basic military operations. Unpaid soldiers represented not just a logistical problem but a fundamental threat to military discipline and effectiveness.

Strategic Withdrawal to Wandiwash

By way of Trikolur and Trinomali, Zulfiqar returned to his established base at Wandiwash to establish winter quarters for the rainy season. This retreat to familiar territory represented both tactical prudence and strategic admission that his forces lacked the resources for sustained offensive operations.

The choice of Wandiwash as his base camp had become almost symbolic of the entire campaign’s limitations—close enough to Gingee to maintain the fiction of an active siege, yet far enough away to avoid the risks of actual sustained combat with the fortress’s defenders.

Maratha Civil War: A Golden Opportunity

Fortune finally smiled upon the imperial cause, though not through any strategic brilliance on Zulfiqar’s part. The Maratha forces, which had proven so resilient and effective throughout the long siege, were suddenly and severely weakened by internal strife that threatened to tear apart their entire command structure.

A bitter and final rupture erupted between Dhana Singh Jadav and Santaji Ghorparé, the two most capable Maratha generals who had been rivals for the crucial post of commander-in-chief. This was not merely a personal disagreement but a fundamental conflict over strategy, tactics, and leadership that went to the heart of Maratha military organization.

When Rajaram sided with Dhana Singh Jadav in this dispute, the conflict escalated into what contemporary sources describe as an “internecine war” that raged among the Marathas with devastating consequences. The disciplined coordination that had made Maratha cavalry so effective against imperial forces dissolved into factional fighting that served only Mughal interests.

The climax came in May 1697 when Dhana was decisively defeated by his rival Santaji and driven back to Maharashtra, removing one of the most experienced and successful commanders from the South Indian theater at a crucial moment.

The Collapse of Maratha Unity

The broader impact of this leadership crisis extended far beyond the loss of individual commanders. Contemporary observers noted that “among the Marathas not much union was seen. Every one called himself a sardar and went out to plunder on his own account”—a description that perfectly captured the breakdown of the centralized authority that had previously made Maratha resistance so effective.

This fragmentation transformed the Maratha threat from a coordinated military challenge into a series of unconnected raiding parties, each pursuing its own interests rather than serving any larger strategic purpose. For Zulfiqar Khan, this development represented the kind of opportunity that his own strategic incompetence had previously made impossible to exploit.

Rajaram’s Peace Overture

The financial pressures that plagued the Mughal forces were equally severe on the Maratha side. Rajaram found himself as desperately short of money as his imperial opponents, leading him to make an extraordinary diplomatic gesture in August 1697 that revealed the extent of his difficulties.

The Maratha king sent his natural son Karna to Zulfiqar Khan through the mediation of Ram Singh Hada, offering to negotiate peace on certain unspecified conditions. This unprecedented initiative represented a dramatic shift from the defiant resistance that had characterized Rajaram’s previous stance throughout the siege.

The very fact that Rajaram was willing to send his own son as an emissary demonstrated both his desperation and his recognition that the military stalemate was unsustainable for both sides. However, this diplomatic opening would ultimately founder on the inflexibility of imperial policy.

Aurangzib’s Inexorable Will

Emperor Aurangzib’s response to these peace overtures revealed the uncompromising determination that had characterized his entire approach to the Maratha problem. The aging emperor was inexorable in his rejection of Rajaram’s terms, regardless of their specific content or the practical advantages that peace might have offered to both sides.

More significantly, Aurangzib issued peremptory orders to Zulfiqar Khan to capture Gingee without further delay—a direct imperial command that left no room for the kind of strategic evasion that had characterized the general’s previous conduct of the siege.

This ultimatum forced Zulfiqar into an impossible position. He could no longer maintain his secret understanding with Rajaram while simultaneously satisfying his imperial master’s demands for decisive military action.

The End of Diplomatic Hope

In the middle of October 1697, Zulfiqar sent Karna back to his father, effectively ending the brief diplomatic interlude that had promised a negotiated resolution to the long conflict. The failure of these peace negotiations ensured that the siege would continue until one side achieved complete military victory.

Early in November 1697, Zulfiqar Khan finally renewed the siege of Gingee “in right earnest”—a telling phrase that implicitly acknowledged that previous siege operations had been something less than genuine attempts to capture the fortress.

The Final Siege Formation

The deployment of imperial forces for this ultimate assault revealed both careful planning and the lessons learned from eight years of costly experience. Zulfiqar positioned himself opposite the northern gate toward Singhavaram hill, placing the supreme commander at the point where he could exercise direct control over the most critical approach to the fortress complex.

Ram Singh Hada was stationed west of the fort, facing the notorious postern gate known as Shaitandari—the “Port du Diable” that had allowed the garrison to maintain supply lines throughout previous siege attempts. This positioning was clearly intended to seal off the escape route that had previously allowed Maratha forces to come and go at will.

Daud Khan Pani was assigned the challenging task of assaulting Chikkali-durg, located a mile south of Gingee proper. Though his division lacked artillery and proper siege materials, Daud Khan compensated for these deficiencies with aggressive tactics and personal courage.

The Lightning Capture of Chikkali-durg

Daud Khan’s assault on Chikkali-durg demonstrated the kind of military effectiveness that the imperial forces had always possessed but rarely employed with such decisive results. Despite lacking proper siege equipment, he captured the stronghold in a single day through what contemporary sources describe as “a reckless assault at close quarters.”

This rapid success provided crucial momentum for the broader assault while eliminating a potential refuge for defenders fleeing from the main fortress complex. After securing Chikkali-durg, Daud Khan immediately moved his forces to Gingee itself and entrenched his division opposite Chandrayan-garh, the southern component of the three-hill fortress system.

Zulfiqar’s Final Betrayal

Even with imperial forces positioned for what appeared to be a decisive assault, Zulfiqar Khan’s treacherous instincts remained unchanged. Contemporary sources provide damning evidence that “if Zulfiqar had wished it, he could have taken the entire fort the next day”—but his secret policy remained focused on prolonging the siege to serve his personal interests rather than achieving imperial objectives.

The general’s motivations had not changed: he sought to keep his army together, enjoy his emoluments, and escape the hardships that would accompany reassignment to some new and potentially more dangerous expedition. His comfort and personal advantage continued to take precedence over imperial victory and military honor.

Most scandalously, Zulfiqar “let the Marathas know that his attacks were for show only, and that he would give Rajaram sufficient notice to escape before he captured the fort.” This explicit coordination with the enemy represented the ultimate betrayal of imperial trust and military duty.

The Collapse of the Deception

For two additional months, this elaborate charade continued as both sides maintained the fiction of serious military operations while carefully avoiding any outcome that would force a genuine resolution to the conflict. However, external pressures finally made this “sham warfare” impossible to sustain any longer.

The combination of imperial pressure from Delhi and growing skepticism from subordinate officers meant that Zulfiqar could no longer avoid taking genuine military action if he wished to prevent disgrace and punishment by his imperial master. The moment of truth had finally arrived after years of deception and strategic betrayal.

Rajaram’s Escape and the Final Assault

True to his secret arrangement, Zulfiqar provided Rajaram with timely warning of the impending genuine assault. The Maratha king escaped to Vellore with his chief officers, though he was forced to leave his family behind in the fortress—a decision that would have tragic consequences for those who remained.

Only after ensuring Rajaram’s safe departure did Zulfiqar give the order for the actual assault on Gingee. The attack that followed demonstrated both the military competence that imperial forces had always possessed and the tragic waste of the previous eight years during which such decisive action could have been taken at any time.

The Brilliant Tactical Deception

The final assault showcased sophisticated military planning that coordinated multiple simultaneous attacks while employing tactical deception to confuse and divide the defenders. While Daud Khan noisily explored potential scaling routes up Chandrayan-garh from the south, drawing the garrison’s attention and defensive resources to that threatened sector, the real assault was being prepared elsewhere.

Dalpat Rao, demonstrating the skill and courage that had made him legendary throughout the imperial army, scaled the northern walls of Krishnagiri and captured the outer fort after severe fighting. This achievement required not just personal bravery but careful coordination with the diversionary operations that kept defenders focused on the wrong sector.

The Domino Effect

Once Dalpat Rao had established his foothold on Krishnagiri, the entire defensive system began to collapse with remarkable speed. The garrison retreated to an inner stronghold called Kalakot, but Dalpat’s Bundela warriors followed so closely that they entered the fortification “pell-mell” with the fleeing defenders and immediately occupied this supposedly secure position.

The surviving Marathas had no choice but to take refuge in Rajgiri, the highest and strongest of the three forts within the Gingee complex. However, this final retreat only delayed the inevitable rather than providing any realistic hope of successful resistance.

Daud Khan’s Coordinated Success

Meanwhile, Daud Khan had successfully fought his way into Chandrayan-garh and was advancing through the city located in the low inner plain of Gingee toward Krishnagiri. This coordinated advance from multiple directions created exactly the kind of overwhelming pressure that the defenders could not resist.

The civilian inhabitants fled toward the supposed safety of Krishnagiri’s heights, but finding no genuine security there, they chose capitulation over continued resistance. This surrender of the civilian population marked the effective end of organized Maratha resistance within the fortress complex.

The imperial forces found themselves in possession of “a vast amount of booty in horses, camels and things”—tangible evidence of both the wealth that had sustained the long defense and the complete collapse of Maratha resistance.

The Final Siege of Rajgiri

Rajaram’s family was now trapped in Rajgiri, the highest and most defensible position within the entire fortress complex. However, their situation was strategically hopeless despite the apparent strength of their final refuge. The imperial forces had systematically occupied every approach and eliminated every potential escape route.

Dalpat Rao controlled the gate of Kalakot, sealing off one potential avenue of retreat. Zulfiqar, having entered through the northern gate, held the main entrance to Rajgiri fort itself. Most critically, Ram Singh Hada had successfully made his way to the summit of Rajgiri by crossing the famous chasm at its foot using a wooden gangway—the same narrow bridge that contemporary sources had claimed could be held by ten men against ten thousand.

The Royal Family’s Surrender

Faced with this impossible situation, the Maratha royal family chose negotiated surrender over futile resistance or tragic suicide. They begged for guarantees of personal safety, which were formally promised by the imperial commanders. Palanquins were sent to facilitate their dignified surrender, acknowledging their royal status even in defeat.

Four wives, three sons, and two daughters of Rajaram emerged from the citadel and were placed in what contemporary sources describe as “honourable captivity”—treatment that reflected both imperial magnanimity in victory and recognition of their high birth.

A Queen’s Ultimate Defiance

However, not all of Rajaram’s family chose surrender over death. One of his wives rejected the offered terms and chose instead to make a final gesture of defiance that would be remembered long after the military details of the siege were forgotten.

In a moment of tragic heroism, she flung herself from the summit of the fortress into the sheer depths below—a leap that ended her life instantly when her head struck a projecting rock. Her mangled corpse was caught in the branches of a tree on the hillside at an inaccessible location, where it remained without proper funeral rites as a haunting symbol of Maratha resistance carried to its ultimate conclusion.

The Human Cost

The capture of the fortress revealed the true scale of the community that had sustained the eight-year defense. Nearly 4,000 men, women, and children were found within the fort complex, though contemporary sources note that very few of these were actual combatants.

This population represented the civilian foundation that had made the long resistance possible—the artisans, suppliers, servants, and family members whose labor and sacrifice had enabled a relatively small military garrison to defy the Mughal Empire for nearly a decade.

Securing the Victory

Zulfiqar Khan personally supervised the systematic collection and secure storage of all property and war materials found within the captured fortress. This careful attention to detail ensured that the imperial treasury would receive maximum benefit from the victory while preventing any resources from falling into the hands of remaining Maratha sympathizers.

The general also ordered the execution of many Maratha officers who had fought against imperial forces throughout the siege. This harsh treatment represented both punishment for resistance and a practical measure to eliminate potential leaders of future rebellions.

Fortress Restoration and Defense

The extensive damage caused by eight years of siege warfare required immediate attention to ensure that Gingee could serve as an effective imperial stronghold. Zulfiqar supervised the repair of ravages made to the fort walls during the long conflict, restoring the defensive capabilities that had made the fortress so formidable.

All the foot-tracks and scaling routes that had been used during the final assault were systematically closed to prevent any future attackers from exploiting the same approaches. The fortress was stocked with rockets and gunpowder manufactured at St. Thome, ensuring that it would be well-supplied for defensive operations against any Maratha attempts to recapture their former stronghold.

The Pursuit of Rajaram

From Gingee, Zulfiqar returned to his established base at Wandiwash before launching pursuit of the escaped Maratha king. Rajaram had fled from Vellore to Garamkonda, attempting to establish a new center of resistance that could continue the struggle against imperial authority.

However, this pursuit ultimately proved futile. The Maratha king had gained sufficient head start to reach the safety of Vishalgarh in February, successfully evading capture and preserving the leadership that would be essential for continued Maratha resistance.

The Bitter Reality of Victory

The successful capture of Gingee represented a major military achievement that had eluded imperial forces for eight costly years. However, the escape of Rajaram meant that “the entire work of the Emperor’s long siege of Gingee was undone. The bird had flown away.”

This sobering assessment captured the fundamental limitation of purely military solutions to the Maratha challenge. While the Mughal Empire could capture fortresses and win battles, it had proven unable to eliminate the leadership and ideological foundations that sustained Maratha resistance throughout the Deccan.

The fall of Gingee marked the end of one chapter in the long Mughal-Maratha conflict, but Rajaram’s escape ensured that new chapters would follow as the struggle continued in different locations with undiminished intensity.

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