[ Baji and the band of 300 Marathas ] It was a dark, dismal night. A mournful wind was howling through the narrow pass known as Ghodkhind. Even the pouring rain could not wash away the caked blood from the exhausted, gaunt faces of the handful of Bandal warriors still fighting. Corpses littered the stony ground. He fought with two swords, moving with the agility of a leopard, charging at the enemy with the naked fury of an injured tiger.