Trilogy - Part 2
CROWNED IN FIRE: THE LION OF THE SAHYADRI
A boy was born where dust ran deep,
Where silence taught the land to weep.
The throne was foreign, gold unclean,
And tyrants ruled the hills unseen.
A mother’s tale, a sword, a vow—
The child had fire behind his brow.
While sultans fed on stolen bread,
He dreamed of lands the brave had bled.
No court had marked him, none had named—
But still, within, a fury flamed.
He studied earth, and shadowed skies,
And learned where power slinks and lies.
Not loud, but patient, sharp and still—
He rose by thought, and moved by will.
Through broken forts and jungle stone,
He carved a kingdom of his own.
He bowed to none, he bent no knee,
To thrones that bled his people free.
Where tax was theft and rule was chain,
He built a crown from grit and pain.
Let no invader write our laws,
Let no unjust sword find applause.
He said, “This soil is not for sale—
Its roots are oath, its wind is tale.”
No wealth could turn his heart from flame,
No siege could strip the Maratha name.
He rode through storm, he struck through night,
With fewer men, but fiercer right.
And when the empire’s drums grew near,
He whispered not of death—but spear.
For every mountain, blood had sung,
Of Shivaji—the lion young.
He did not reign by greed or birth,
But by the weight his word was worth.
And when he passed, the earth still stirred—
His name remained, a blazing word:
Hindavi Swarajya.
Copyright © Saankhya Tare | Year Posted 2025
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