Empire Ascension: The Rise of the Fated One-Chapter 203: Fall of Baloch Part-1

Balochistan, a semi-arid region located between the Safavid Empire and the Mughal Empire in the 16th century, was dominated by various tribes, each ruling distinct areas.

In the northwest, along the Safavid border, the Gichkis tribe held power. To the southwest, along the Makran coast, the Rind tribe was dominant. In the central plateau region around Kalat, the Khanates controlled the area. The Jamot tribe ruled the southeastern region, while the northeastern part of Balochistan was governed by the Kakar tribe, along with their smaller allies, the Marri and Bugti tribes. These northeastern tribes played a crucial role in controlling the Bolan Pass, where they collected tolls from those entering Balochistan.

It was a region that remained independent for centuries, not due to its strength, but because none of the empires found much interest in its low-fertility lands. Its value lay primarily as a buffer zone between larger powers.

However, in this parallel world, the status quo changed as both empires saw an opportunity. They sought to incorporate the region into their territories, recognizing the strategic advantage it offered and the potential to expand their influence.

With a twist of fate, while the Safavids still awaited fresh reinforcements along their eastern borders, the Pakistan Sultanate struck first, attacking the eastern territories.

The first blow of horror came crashing down on the settlement of Sibi, ruled by Khuda Baksh, a 50-year-old leader who had governed his lands for 26 years. Under his reign, Sibi had prospered as he forged alliances with the Kakar tribes, resolved disputes with the Marri, and even defeated the encroaching Rind tribe, whose descendants had been trying to establish a foothold in the northeast.

Over time, the population swelled to around 2,000-2,500, marking the rise of a booming town. Towering walls were erected to fortify the settlement, along with watchtowers to guard key outposts.

Never in their wildest dreams did the people of Sibi imagined that the Mughals, with whom they had maintained decades of peace and paid tribute, would suddenly launch an attack. Their walls trembled as Mughal cannons unleashed a relentless bombardment, shaking the very foundation of their settlement.

In the small mansion that served as the chief’s palace, Khuda Baksh paced the floor with anxious steps, his brow furrowed as the rumble of Mughal bombardments echoed through the walls. Subordinate leaders and their families present there in the scene huddled together. Their fear was evident in the quiet murmurs of the women and children who were clinging to one another as the walls trembled.

Suddenly, one of his men burst through the door who was breathless with urgency. "Chief! We’ve confirmed the attack is from the Mughals. Their numbers are no less than five hundred. The darkness has shrouded our vision, but they are well-prepared. "

A wave of murmurs filled the room, gasps escaping the lips of the families gathered inside. The tension thickened as fear spread like wildfire. Women tightened their hold on their children, and the air buzzed with unease.

"We should negotiate," one of the subordinates suggested, his voice barely audible over the growing anxiety.

"Negotiate?" another snapped in response. "They’re not here to negotiate! We must think of the safety of our people!"

A third man chimed in from nearby, his voice grim. "Once they breach the walls, there will be no mercy. Our past horrors are about to haunt us once again."

As the local leaders exchanged fearful glances, lamenting the future of their settlement, the heavy wooden doors creaked open, and Ghulam Haidar, Khuda Baksh’s right-hand man, strode in with his two wives and his only son, Aslam Baksh. The boy, just 15 years old, with a fire in his eyes brimmed with determination.

Approaching his father, he spoke with the courage of a warrior twice his age. "Father, let me lead the charge. We’ll show these Mughals who the true lions of this land are."

Khuda Baksh felt a surge of pride for his son. He placed a firm hand on Aslam’s shoulder, ruffling his hair affectionately, but his voice was heavy with sorrow. "Not this time, my son. There’s a more important task for you."

Confusion clouded Aslam’s face. "What could be more important in this moment than defending our homeland?"

Khuda Baksh’s gaze hardened as he spoke. "We all know what the Mughals would do to the women and children if they were captured. Your task is to lead our families out, to safety in the Machh region. While we fight to the last breath, you will ensure they survive."

Aslam’s expression faltered, the weight of the responsibility sinking in. He glanced around the room at the tear-streaked faces of the families gathered, subordinates nodding in solemn agreement to their chief’s command. With a heavy heart, he nodded. "Yes, Father. I will defend them with my life."

He gathered the women and children, along with a handful of soldiers, leading them toward the western gate. The influential households had already assembled near the rear exit, preparing for their escape. Yet, unbeknownst to them, ambushers lay hidden, in the very same direction waiting in the darkness.

Turning to Ghulam Haidar, Khuda Baksh inquired, "What is the status of our settlement?"

With regret etched into his features, Ghulam Haidar replied, "The situation is dire, Chief. More than 200 of our people have perished inside the walls, and many more are wounded from the bombardments. We’ve gathered all able-bodied men for defense."

Khuda Baksh nodded solemnly, gripping his talwar tightly. "Prepare for the ultimate sacrifice. Even if we die we must not falter and provide a path for our future generation so that they take revenge in our instead."

Soon, he rallied the remaining 450 soldiers and gathered them at the eastern gate, where the Mughal cannons had been relentlessly pounding the walls. The gate was shattered, and the walls were punctured with gaping holes. Despite this, Khuda Baksh’s strategy was clear: a charge on horseback across the plains, meeting the invaders head-on once the cannon fire ceased.

After what felt like an eternity, the bombardment suddenly stopped.

"Chief," one of the subordinates called out, "the cannons have stopped firing."

Khuda Baksh pondered for a moment, realizing the cannons might have overheated. His eyes narrowed with resolve. "We will fight to the end." Unsheathing his talwar on horseback, he bellowed, "For land, water, and respect!"

"For land, water, and respect!" his men roared, following him atop their horses as they unsheathed their talwars. Their steel gleaming in the dim light, they gathered behind their leader, preparing for one final, desperate charge.

With Khuda Baksh at the forefront, they surged out of the shattered gates, thundering toward the Mughal invaders with unyielding fury.

The ground trembled beneath the weight of the galloping horses as they charged into the unknown, determined to protect their land, their people, and their honor, no matter the cost.

The Mughals stand far in the distance, seemingly idle. No movements. No sign of preparation for an immediate counter-attack. Their cannons, once roaring, are now eerily silent.

Khuda Baksh urges his horse faster, his riders following. They’ve made it halfway across the field now, emboldened by the stillness of their enemies. Perhaps the cannons really did overheat. The thought fills him with a flicker of hope.

’Bang!’

Then, like a crack of lightning, the first cannon fires.

It tore through their ranks leaving a long trail of destruction, falling riders that came under its wake. Before they can react, the sky erupts in a golden storm of artillery. Cannonballs rain down upon the charging horsemen.

Screams of men and horses pierce the air as the front lines are obliterated. Horses tumble, crushed under the weight of falling cannon fire, and riders are thrown like rag dolls. Some manage to stay mounted, but others scramble for their lives, caught in the chaos.

The riders hesitate, torn between retreat and continuing the charge. More cannons fire, and another line of horsemen is decimated. Panic begins to set in as Khuda Baksh, who remains unscathed for now, realizes that they’ve been tricked. The Mughals, safe behind their cannons, stand ready with their lances poised for attack, waiting for the right moment to sweep in and finish what the artillery began.

Desperation grips Khuda Baksh, but there is no going back. His men are caught in the open, with nowhere to hide. As the artillery barrage continues, his half force is already decimated but with his sheer will power he rallied his remnant forces to reach their rivals and atlast bleed them before they finally perish.

Soon, the cannon bombardment stopped for real at 100 meters apart, and Zahid Khan ordered, ’Charge!’

The Mughal cavalry descended like a storm despite the late charge. The disarrayed, ill-armored cavalry of Sibi town stood no chance.

The first wave fell quickly, overwhelmed by the sheer might of the Mughals. Those who survived the initial charge sought refuge within the settlement, only to be hunted down and slaughtered. Soon, the town itself was set ablaze, its walls crumbling under the weight of defeat.

Khuda Baksh fought valiantly, his talwar clashing with the enemy’s, but the battle was merciless.

A Mughal lancer, swift and deadly, drove his lance through Khuda Baksh’s chest, leaving a gaping wound. He collapsed in the dust, completely exhausted and in agony. As his consciousness faded, he held onto the hope that at least his descendants had survived. Little did he know, fate had other plans.

As Aslam and his few remaining guards led the women and children westward, toward the vast harvested fields, they were met with horror.

Faujdar Naseem, under orders of his commander, had anticipated their retreat. He had already divided his forces into multiple raiding parties in unit of 50, scouring the fields for any fleeing survivors.

The faint torchlight guiding Aslam’s group quickly caught their attention. The Mughal horns sounded, marking the prey and signaling the hunt.

The children cried out in terror as the Mughal cavalry closed in. Aslam Baksh’s voice rang out, firm but desperate. "To shields! Protect them!" he ordered.

The 20 soldiers covered the 30 trembling women and children, forming a weak shield with their talwars, but that was all they could do.

Faujdar Naseem’s eyes gleamed with greed and lust as he observed the scene from atop his horse. His subordinate, riding beside him, couldn’t help but comment. "Hazur, must we really kill them all? It would be a waste, especially with so many women."

Naseem tightened his grip on the reins, a cold grin spreading across his face. "We take no one alive," he said darkly. "But not before we’ve had our fun. First, deal with those who dare to resist. Then, the spoils are ours."

With a bellowing war cry, the Mughals charged, intent on encircling Aslam’s small band. Aslam, filled with youthful fury, slashed at the first rider to approach him, but he was knocked unconscious before he could land another blow. His guard captain, a loyal veteran, struck him on the head with the hilt of his sword. "Forgive me, prince.. ," the guard whispered, "but this fight is not yours. Stay alive."

The remaining soldiers stood their ground, but they were quickly overwhelmed. Outnumbered and outmatched, they were surrounded, hacked down by Mughal blades from all sides. The defensive line crumbled, their efforts in vain.

Faujdar Naseem’s predatory gaze fell upon a woman of striking beauty. With a malicious grin, he dismounted and torn her fabric revealing her white assets. She struggled to flee but he took her by the hair, dragging her toward the nearby bushes.

Once he was gone, the others jumped on those who were alive and took what they liked. To them, they weren’t humans but soft meat to be shared for celebration. Not only women but even children weren’t spared. Those who resisted faced the worst fate, being overpowered by dozens.

The rest of the soldiers looked on with twisted smiles, awaiting their turn as the screams of the defeated echoed .

After a few hours, Aslam opened his eyes with his head bleeding. He was horrified by the sight before him. Deemed dead in the clash, he was the only one spared and allowed to survive.

All he knew were there laid raped and butchered bodies, while his town burned.

"Noooo!"

He cried hard, but no one was there to sympathize with him except the wind and the stillness of the night.