✦ 𑁍 Chronicle Note: The Year Everything Changed 𑁍
Year: 1835 CE
Treaty of Kesarinagara: Expires.
Belligerents:
Attacking Coalition: East India Company (British), Nizam of Hyderabad, Portuguese Goa (quietly aiding British fleet).
Defending / Counter-attacking Power: Dakshina Confederated Kingdom (Rayalaseema–Andhra–Tamilakam–Karnataka–Kerala), plus allied forces from Mysore, Travancore, Cochin, and covert support from sympathetic elements elsewhere.
Outcome by year's end:
Defeat of coalition.
Conquest and annexation of: Hyderabad, Goa, much of Maharashtra's Deccan, the borders of Gujarat, and the entire Odisha coast, with advances into central provinces.
Halt and consolidation for stability.
I. The Day the Treaty Died
When the last day of the Treaty of Kesarinagara ended, no bells rang in London or Calcutta.
But in Kesarinagara, in the pre-dawn hush, a conch blew from the palace roof.
Narasimha stood in the eastern balcony, looking at a sky just beginning to pale.
Kaveri stood beside him, shawl wrapped tight. Behind them, Sri and Venkanna waited in silence.
A priest finished chanting the final mantras of a simple homa.
"The ten years of their promise are over," Sri said quietly. "From today, they are free—in their own minds—to call any move they make 'justified'."
Narasimha's jaw tightened.
"We were never free in their minds," he answered. "Only… postponed."
A runner entered, breathless, saluting.
"Mahārāja," he reported, "Rahasya Seva confirms:
Hyderabad forces are massing near the border passes.
British detachments have begun to move closer to Goa.
Ships flying Company colours have been sighted farther south than usual in the Arabian Sea."
Kaveri exhaled.
"So it begins," she murmured.
Narasimha turned toward the city.
"Have the drums sounded in all mandalas?" he asked.
Venkanna nodded.
"Every capital, every major fort," he said. "By noon, even the smallest village will know: the lion is going to war again."
Narasimha lifted his voice, not with a roar, but a quiet vow.
"Then let this be known," he said. "We do not fight to seize what is not ours.
We fight because:
they will not leave us to live,
they will not accept a Bharat where the south stands free.
So we will show them, once and for all, what their empire costs."
He glanced at a small doorway, where two pairs of eyes peered out.
Rudrama Devi and Rajendra, in simple cotton, had woken early.
"Nanna," Rudrama whispered, "are you going to fight the Firangis again?"
He smiled faintly.
"Yes," he said. "And you are going to study hard, so that one day, when men from other worlds arrive, you can stand in councils where no sword can reach."
Rajendra frowned.
"Come back," he demanded. "You promised to show me the big new map with all the trade routes."
Narasimha laughed softly.
"I fully intend to," he said. "If I do not, your mother will find me on the other side of Yama's gate and drag me back by the ear."
Kaveri sniffed.
"Don't joke too much," she scolded. "You still have paperwork to sign after war."
Even Venkanna smiled at that.
The lion turned from the balcony.
The last light of peace slipped behind him and did not return for many months.
II. Anvil Rises – The Hyderabad Offensive
The first blows came from the north.
1. March of the Nizam
The Nizam's banners moved like a dark wave over the Deccan plateau.
Under British guidance, Hyderabad's army:
marched south with muskets and cannons recently upgraded,
believed they would be supported from the sea,
hoped to reclaim prestige and lands.
In the war tents, British liaison officers pointed at maps.
"You push here," they told the Nizam's generals, "towards Kurnool and border forts.
We will keep his main forces occupied with naval operations and coastal distractions.
Once his army is split, we crush him between hammer and surf."
The generals nodded, some greed, some fear in their eyes.
None of them knew how deeply Trinetra already sat in their supply trains.
2. Simha Mudra – The Northern Paw
At the Rayalaseema frontier, fortresses of stone and earth watched the advancing host.
On the ramparts of a key pass, Narasimha stood in armour—lion-crested, simple, functional.
Beside him, Guru Gosayi Venkanna, older but still steady, held a rosary.
Below them, rows of Lion Legion and allied troops waited.
"How many?" Narasimha asked a scout.
"At least eighty thousand," came the answer. "Hyderabad's best. British advisers in their rear lines. Heavy artillery."
Ayyappa, checking his bowstring, grinned.
"So they really believed their own reports," he said. "They think we will stand here like fools and let them slam into us."
Narasimha's lips twisted.
"We will stand," he said. "But not alone—and not as their target, but as their mirror."
Signal flags rose.
From the flanks:
Tiger Corps units slipped into ravines, prepared to harass the supply lines.
Rotational reserve troops—including farmers who had completed training cycles—moved in staggered patterns, invisible until needed.
The first clash began with drumbeats and musket fire.
Hyderabad's vanguard advanced, confident.
Then the ground betrayed them.
Trinetra had not only gathered intelligence; it had:
sabotaged some cannon wheels so they cracked on rough stone,
slightly shifted signposts so that parts of the column entered narrower, more treacherous paths,
planted rumours among certain sub-commanders that "another route" would earn them more glory.
When the artillery tried to deploy, half of it was out of position.
When the cavalry tried to charge, hidden trenches scattered their horses.
And when their infantry pushed into the main pass, the Lion Legion's Simha Vyuha unfolded:
phalanx-like formations in the centre,
skirmishers on the sides,
rotating lines so no formation grew exhausted too quickly.
Narasimha entered the melee only when the centre threatened to waver.
His aura, usually restrained, flared.
For a heartbeat, even veteran Hyderabad soldiers felt a primal fear—as if some ancient predator had stepped onto the field.
"Rayalaseema soil is not for sale," he shouted, voice carrying over clash and thunder. "We are the ones who sweat for this land, bleed for this land.
The rain does not ask tax. The earth does not ask tax.
Who are you," he pointed his blade toward the Nizam's standard, "to march here as if our homes are your estate?"
The front ranks buckled.
The first day ended without a decisive breakthrough, but with Hyderabad's forces bleeding and confused.
3. The Night Turn
That night, Rahasya Seva and Trinetra worked together like twin surgeons.
Rahasya Seva spread rumours in Hyderabad's camp of betrayal among their commanders.
Trinetra quietly ensured certain food shipments were spoiled, certain gunpowder barrels were… more prone to dampness than others.
At dawn, when Hyderabad tried again, their volleys were weaker; their coordination frayed.
Narasimha ordered a counter-charge.
Lion Legion infantry surged forward, supported by:
Mysore cavalry,
tribal archers from Nallamala,
elephant units from old allies.
Hyderabad's centre collapsed.
By midday, the Nizam's army was retreating in disarray.
Narasimha did not pursue blindly.
"Let part of them flee," he said. "They will carry tales back of what we have become.
We will catch the rest when we go north."
The "anvil" had cracked.
III. Tide Breaks – The Battle for Goa and the Western Sea
While the north shook, the west boiled.
1. Fleets in the Dark
In the Arabian Sea, British and Portuguese ships rendezvoused under cloudy skies.
Admiral Harcourt of the Royal Navy—seconded to Company interests—stood on his flagship's deck.
"Reports say their navy has improved," he told his officers. "But we are British seamen. We have beaten French and Spanish fleets. We will not be intimidated by Indian upstarts and their toy ships."
Portuguese Captain Rodrigo, aboard a nearby vessel, watched warily.
"These are not the same Indians as before," he cautioned a subordinate. "They have been buying our cannons, our powder, our charts… and learning."
He suspected London underestimated the lion-king.
He did not yet know how much.
2. Garuda and Makara – The Western Paw Strikes
Dakshina's navy did not sit near its own coast, waiting.
Under cover of merchant routes and night manoeuvres, the Garuda Fleet and Makara Fleet had already spread out:
some vessels disguised as merchant ships,
others hugging less-patrolled currents.
Their admirals had orders from Narasimha:
"Do not line up neatly for them to shoot. Be the reef. Be the storm.
Hit them where they gather, not where they expect us to be."
The clash came just off waters legally claimed by Goa.
At dawn, British lookouts spotted sails—many more than expected.
"Impossible," Harcourt muttered. "Where did they—"
Signal flags flashed.
Within moments:
Garuda Fleet's faster ships cut across the wind, targeting supply and support vessels first.
Heavier Makara ships moved slowly but steadily, soaking more fire with thicker hulls.
Years of practice in signalling, drilled into sailors of Dakshina's navy, now paid off.
While British and Portuguese captains tried to read this unfamiliar style, the lion's fleets:
crippled two key ammunition ships,
set ablaze a supply vessel whose smoke blinded their line,
used smaller, more manoeuvrable craft to swarm and disable larger ships' rudders.
On one Dakshina flagship, an admiral shouted,
"Remember what the Maharaja said! We are not here to sink glory—we are here to sink their ability to keep fighting!"
British cannons roared.
Several Dakshina ships took heavy damage.
Men screamed, water rushed in, sails burned.
But the fleets did not break.
A turning point came when a Makara ship, battered and smouldering, steered straight at a British frigate that had been pounding others from a distance.
"Abandon?" the first mate asked.
The captain shook his head, eyes fierce.
"Not yet," he said. "We give them a story they will never forget."
They crashed into the frigate's side, grappling hooks flung, boarding ramps slammed down.
Dakshina marines—many from coastal families who had grown up on those waters—swarmed the deck.
"Tell your masters," one of them shouted in English learned at Simha Vidyapitha, "the sea does not belong to them alone!"
By midday, the coalition fleet was in chaos:
British command structure damaged,
Portuguese captains arguing about whether to stay or retreat,
supply lines in tatters.
The Dakshina admirals did not chase fleeing ships endlessly.
They turned their gaze to the shore.
"Goa," one murmured. "The tide that brought war to us… we will drag back onto our sand."
3. The Fall of Goa
On land, Narasimha had already moved a strike force along the coast:
elite Tiger Corps units,
allied local Goan families sympathetic to Dakshina,
support from Travancore and Cochin marines.
With the joint British-Portuguese fleet shattered or driven off, Goa's defence crumbled quickly.
Portuguese guns thundered from forts, but without naval support, their morale faltered.
Narasimha did not personally lead the assault—but he rode into Goa once resistance broke.
He dismounted near a church and a temple that stood within sight of each other.
Local Goans—Hindu and Christian—watched nervously.
A Portuguese officer, wounded but upright, refused to kneel.
"You have taken our port," he said hoarsely in accented Hindustani. "Will you drive out our people too?"
Narasimha looked at him for a long moment.
"If you stay," he said, "you will obey our laws.
No more slaving. No more secret deals that turn our coasts into someone else's playground.
Those who cannot accept that may leave with honour."
He raised the Lion Banner over Goa's main fort. Beside it, for now, an older banner of Goa fluttered half-mast.
To the world, the message was clear:
"The western tide has been broken. The lion has taken the shore."
IV. The March of the Lion – Hyderabad to the Deccan
With Hyderabad's first offensive defeated and Goa secured, Narasimha shifted from defence to relentless advance.
1. Into Hyderabad
He did not wait for the Nizam to rally.
In quick succession, coordinated columns of Lion Legion moved north:
one toward the Nizam's principal fortresses,
another sweeping wide to cut off retreat routes,
guerrilla bands harrying any remaining loyalist clusters.
Hyderabad's officials, already uneasy, saw the writing on the wall.
In one palace hall, frantic voices rose.
"Your Highness," a minister pleaded, "our army is shattered in the south. The British promised more troops, but their fleet…"
He trailed off, thinking of rumours from Goa.
The Nizam's knuckles whitened on his chair arms.
"The English told me he was just a clever bandit," he whispered. "That a show of force would put him back in his place."
A messenger burst in.
"Dakshina forces," he gasped, "are at the outer gates. They have not pillaged villages. They have offered terms to some of our nobles."
The Nizam looked at his son, at his court, at the gilded chandeliers.
He saw not splendour, but fragility.
"Open negotiations," he said shakily. "If we resist, Hyderabad will burn."
Narasimha entered the city not as a looter, but as a judge.
On the steps of Hyderabad's palace, he faced the Nizam under the gaze of crowds.
"You marched on our homes at foreign bidding," Narasimha said calmly. "You threatened our villages so that London could sleep easier.
By dharma and by blood, that cannot go unanswered."
The Nizam trembled.
"Will you… end my line?" he asked.
Narasimha's aura flared briefly—not wrathful, but implacable.
"The throne of Hyderabad," he declared, "shall no longer be a spear aimed at the south."
He laid out terms:
The Nizam would be stripped of military authority.
Hyderabad would become a vassal-turned-absorbed province of Dakshina Rajya over time.
The former ruler's family would receive pensions, be confined to ceremonial roles, heavily watched by Rahasya Seva and Trinetra.
To the people, he proclaimed:
"From this day, you are no longer a sword rented by others.
You are part of a realm that:
builds schools,
trains armies for its own defence,
answers not to London, but to Bharat."
Hyderabad fell without massive bloodshed.
That mercy made Narasimha more terrifying in London than any massacre would have.
2. The Deccan Opens
With Hyderabad secure behind him, Narasimha looked northwest.
Central India lay beyond:
Marathwada,
Berar,
the Deccan regions that once thrummed under Maratha hooves.
British garrisons and residual princely states dotted the land.
Company officers debated:
"Do we commit more troops south," one asked in a Nagpur cantonment, "or hold and hope this storm stops at Hyderabad?"
The order from Calcutta was cautious:
"Avoid open pitched battle with Narasimha's main forces.
Delay. Harass. Protect key routes.
We cannot afford another Madras."
But war, once unleashed, does not always follow cautious orders.
Narasimha's columns moved like a fan:
one pushing toward Nagpur,
another arcing toward Berar,
smaller units securing key passes and river crossings.
In one engagement near a central river, British-led sepoy regiments tried to stand their ground.
Their commander shouted,
"Remember, you fight for law and order!"
A sepoy, remembering what "order" had cost his village in taxes, hesitated.
Across the field, Narasimha rode forward enough for his voice to carry.
"This is not just Rayalaseema now," he called. "This is your Deccan.
You plough it. You bury your dead in it.
Why should some foreign board of directors decide how much blood it owes per year?"
The words rippled through the ranks.
When Lion Legion infantry advanced, some of the Company's Indian soldiers broke and fled, others surrendering rather than dying for men whose names they did not know.
By year's end:
much of eastern Maharashtra's Deccan plateau was under Dakshina control,
Dakshina banners fluttered near the borders of Gujarat, halted prudently at lines Narasimha did not wish to cross—yet,
Company outposts retreated inward, focusing on their core territories.
In each new district, Narasimha left behind:
transition councils,
combined administrations of local leaders and his own officials,
Rahasya Seva watchers,
to prevent chaos.
He did not want an empire of smoking ruins.
He wanted a coherent realm.
V. Eastward to Kalinga – The Odisha Campaign
While western and central fronts advanced, an eastern arm of Dakshina's forces moved along the Bay of Bengal.
1. The March Along the Coast
From Andhra's northern ports, convoys of troops and supplies hugged the shoreline:
some marching inland,
others transported by coastal vessels.
Their target: Odisha—ancient Kalinga—now dotted with Company stations and local rulers under British pressure.
A Rahasya Seva dossier lay on a campaign table:
British garrisons at certain coastal towns,
dense forests inland,
memories of Ashoka's ancient conquest of Kalinga and his regret.
Narasimha's eastern commander, a thoughtful general named Ajay Varma, spoke quietly to his officers.
"Remember," he said, "Kalinga has seen enough of empires stamping on its soil.
We are not here to repeat Ashoka's mistake.
We are here to break the Company's grasp and offer an alternative."
Battles along the coast were swift and sharp.
In one port, Company officers woke to find:
their sepoys had deserted,
fishing boats had blocked their ships' escape,
Dakshina troops already controlling the warehouses.
In another, they tried to make a stand.
British cannons struck, but a combination of:
superior local knowledge,
sabotage of key artillery pieces,
and well-coordinated assaults from land and sea
broke them.
2. The Flag at Kalinga
The symbolic moment came when Dakshina forces raised the Lion Banner near an ancient stupa that local people said had seen Ashoka's remorse.
Ajay Varma stood there, mud on his boots, salt on his face.
"We do this differently," he murmured, almost to the stones.
"We expand not for personal glory.
We expand to:
push back a foreign empire,
link our coasts,
strengthen Bharat against storms to come."
He sent a message to Kesarinagara:
"Odisha's coast is ours. Inland will take more time, but the Company's hold is broken.
The sea from Kanyakumari to the frontiers of Bengal now sees one main banner."
Narasimha read it in his field tent, exhaustion in his bones, and felt something like the turning of a wheel.
From the Arabian Sea to the Bay of Bengal, the south and much of central India were now under his shield.
VI. London & Calcutta – Shock, Denial, and Fear
When the first complete reports arrived in London, the Company board met in near-panic.
Maps were unfurled again, new colours painted:
Hyderabad – no longer a friendly native state, but absorbed into the southern lion's realm.
Goa – effectively under Dakshina control.
Deccan provinces – heavily marked as contested or lost influence.
Odisha coast – marked with an ominous new symbol.
One director slammed his fist on the table.
"This is outrageous!" he shouted. "We cannot allow—"
"That phrase," another interrupted coldly, "has served us poorly so far.
Tell me, which part of this map do you think cares about what we 'allow'?"
The Governor-General's dispatch from Calcutta was grim.
"We misjudged the scale of Narasimha Reddy's preparations.
His realm's military, naval, economic, and educational base has matured far beyond what was assessed.
Combined British-Portuguese operations in the west were decisively defeated.
Hyderabad, our key ally and buffer, has effectively fallen under his control.
Our position in southern and central India is now tenuous at best."
A silence that might have been fear—or mourning—settled over the board.
In private clubs, politicians whispered:
"A native empire, modernising, expanding…"
"And we thought Tipu was dangerous."
"What if this spreads north? What of Punjab? What of Bengal?"
In Calcutta, Company officers watched the Hooghly with hollow eyes.
One muttered to another,
"If he pushes further… this city will be within reach in a decade."
His friend answered,
"If he pushes further, there may not be enough of our empire left for us to worry about careers."
VII. Europe, America, and North India – The World Reacts 1. Paris
In Paris, a foreign ministry official read the latest from Pondicherry.
"So," he mused, "the English have lost not only Madras, but now Hyderabad and Goa to this lion king.
Remarkable."
His superior smiled thinly.
"Good," he said. "Let them feel on their flesh what it means to overextend.
We will continue courting this Dakshina Rajya with trade.
We may not love a strong India—but we love a humiliated England more."
2. Lisbon
In Lisbon, Portugal's government grappled with humiliation.
Goa—pride of its eastern possessions—was essentially gone.
Some wanted to protest, demand its return.
Others knew their navy and coffers were shadows of what they had been.
In the end, they sent:
stiff letters,
quiet pleas for compensation,
and, under the table, exploratory messages to Kesarinagara, testing whether some face-saving arrangement was possible.
Narasimha's response was cool and clear:
"We will not hand Goa back.
Those who stay will live under our law.
Those who leave may do so peacefully.
But the days of European fortresses deciding our coasts are over."
Portugal learned to swallow bitterness.
3. Istanbul & Washington
In Istanbul, the Ottomans recalculated.
"This Narasimha," the Grand Vizier said, "has taken more of India from the English than we ever dreamed.
We continue to trade with both—but with an eye to the future.
If English power wanes, we must be ready for new patterns of pilgrimage and commerce."
In Washington, American officials updated their maps.
"One region of India," a report stated, "is clearly not under British control, and is expanding.
Their ports may offer us access to Indian trade without dealing exclusively through London."
The seeds of future US–Dakshina relations—commercial, later strategic—were being sown, though neither side yet knew how deeply cosmic the world would become.
4. Lahore, Satara, Rajputana
In Lahore, Maharaja Ranjit Singh read the news, one eye gleaming.
"So," he smiled, "the southern lion did not stop at his cave.
He has taken an entire flank of the subcontinent."
An advisor asked,
"Does this threaten us, Maharaj?"
Ranjit Singh shook his head slowly.
"For now," he said, "it threatens the English. That suits me well.
If one day his reach crosses into the Gangetic plains, then we will reassess.
Until then, we drink to the fact that it is not only our swords that scare the Firangi."
In Satara, an aging Maratha sardar sat under a tree, letter trembling in his hands.
"He did it," he whispered. "He did what we dreamed.
Not only held the south—but carried Maratha fire further, in the name of a united Bharat, not just one clan."
Tears glinted.
"Maybe," he murmured, "our defeat was a prelude, not the end."
In Rajputana, a prince studying reports smiled grimly.
"The board is changing," he said. "Bharat will not forever be carved like a carcass between foreign knives.
We must be ready, or we will be footnotes in someone else's story."
VIII. The Halt and the Weight
By late 1835, Narasimha's commanders pressed him.
"We can keep going," one urged. "Pursue them further north. Push the Company to the Ganga itself."
His war tent was quieter now.
Maps showed:
extended borders,
long supply lines,
newly acquired regions in central India, Maharashtra, Odisha.
Narasimha studied them, exhausted.
"If we overreach now," he said, "we will become exactly what we hate in them:
distant rulers,
unable to administer what we seize,
resented by those we claim to protect.
No.
We halt."
A general protested.
"But, Maharaja—"
Narasimha cut him off gently.
"We have:
secured the south,
broken their sea grip,
absorbed Hyderabad and Goa,
linked coasts from Malabar to Kalinga,
created a Deccan shield in central India.
If we rush north now, leaving chaos behind, we will hand them an opportunity.
They specialise in exploiting chaos."
He tapped a map.
"We consolidate:
bring schools and councils to new provinces,
root out lingering Company agents,
win over local elites who can be won and neutralise those who can't,
embed our systems deeper.
We turn this expansion from a sword-thrust into new flesh… into a bone of Bharat."
The council reluctantly agreed.
The Lion Banner's forward motion paused.
Behind it, millions of lives shifted:
new administrators arrived,
new tax codes replaced exploitative ones,
new schools began planning in freshly annexed towns.
War had redrawn the map.
Now peace had to colour it in.
IX. Night on the Battlefield
After the last major battle of the year, Narasimha walked alone among the smouldering remains of a Deccan field.
Bodies lay under sheets.
Some sang with bandages and fever in nearby tents.
The air smelled of smoke and iron.
He knelt by one covered form.
A soldier from a small village—maybe one who had rotated through training, then answered the call when war came.
His face, when Narasimha lifted the sheet, was young.
Too young.
"I gave you a realm that would not kneel," Narasimha murmured, voice rough. "And in return, you gave me years you should have spent with your grandchildren."
He closed the eyes gently.
From somewhere beyond this world, a watching deity whispered to another,
"See why we chose him?" Saraswati said softly. "His victories do not intoxicate him. They burden him."
Lakshmi nodded.
"And yet," she added, "he does not refuse that burden. He carries it because he knows:
if he sets it down, others will pick it up who care less, and Bharat will pay more."
Maheshwara's gaze was distant, seeing future wars yet to come—some with men, some with things from beyond the stars.
"This campaign," he intoned, "does more than change maps.
It changes the probability lines:
of how strong India stands when Captain America wakes,
of what kind of ally Wakanda finds in the east,
of how Hydra's tentacles curl—or break—on this subcontinent."
Vishnu smiled faintly.
"And when an organisation like S.H.I.E.L.D. emerges," he said, "it will find that Bharat already has traditions of:
Trinetra,
Rahasya Seva,
Mandalas of allies.
They will not be operating alone."
Far below, Narasimha stood, shoulders bowed, immortal heart aching in a very human way.
In the distance, fires burned on captured British supply wagons.
Closer, men sang low songs for the fallen.
In his mind, he saw:
Rudrama Devi, older in the years to come, standing over maps in a council chamber.
Rajendra, leaning over dockyard rails, watching newer, more powerful ships take shape.
Their children, generations down the line, looking up at alien craft and saying, "We have our own guardians."
He took a breath.
"Let this be enough—for now," he whispered to the night. "Let this ring of lion's land hold, so that when greater storms come, Bharat does not stand naked."
The wind stirred.
Somewhere far away, in London, a director wrote in a despairing hand:
"We have lost the south. Our project in India must be reconsidered from the root."
The chapter of 1835 closed:
with Goa under a new banner,
Hyderabad under new laws,
central and eastern India partially freed from Company chains,
a lion-king choosing to halt not from weakness, but from discipline.
The war had been costly.
But in its embers, a new shape of India glowed.
Not the British Raj.
Not the fractured pre-colonial patchwork.
Something else.
Something that, in time, the Marvel cosmos would have to reckon with:
A Bharat that remembered its gods… and had learned to build fleets and spy networks that even empires from other worlds would find… interesting.
✦ End of Chapter 48 – "When the Lion Devoured the Anvil" ✦