The ‘Triumph’ of Panipat: Why Jitendra Awhad Gets It Wrong?

The Third Battle of Panipat was no lamentable defeat but a testament to Maratha courage that shaped India’s history.

It takes a spectacular degree of historical myopia to argue that the Third Battle of Panipat of 1761, in which the Marathas clashed with the forces of Afghan invader Ahmed Shah Durrani, was not a symbol of Maratha valour. Yet, in a season where historical distortions are running rampant, this is precisely the claim made by legislator Jitendra Awhad of the Nationalist Congress Party (Sharadchandra Pawar).

Awhad’s remarks made in the Assembly were a response to Chief Minister Devendra Fadnavis’s statement that land was being acquired in Haryana for a proposed Panipat memorial meant to commemorate the sacrifice of the Marathas. While the battle was undoubtedly a calamity for the Marathas in which a generation of statesmen and soldiers perished, Abdali’s victory turned out to be a pyrrhic one. Awhad’s assertion that Panipat was “neither a reminder of valour nor defeat but merely of loss” is an exercise in selective amnesia that betrays either monumental ignorance or political opportunism.

The 19th century British writer and soldier, Maj. Evans Bell described Panipat not as a defeat but as a “triumph and a glory” for the Marathas because even though they lost the battle, they ensured that Abdali, the foreign interloper, could never again interfere in India’s affairs.

“The battle of Panipat was a triumph and a glory for the Marathas. They fought in the cause of ‘India for the Indians’ while the great Muhammadan Princes of Delhi, of Oudh and the Deccan stood aside, intriguing and trimming. And though the Marathas were defeated, the victorious Afghans retired and never again interfered in the affairs of India,” says Maj. Bell.

In his foreword to Marathas and Panipat, edited by historian Hari Ram Gupta on the occasion of the bicentenary of the battle in 1961, stalwart Congressman KakasahebGadgil, the then Governor of Punjab, writes: “There is evidence to show that every call from imperial Delhi [the tottering Mughal empire] to come to its protection was helpfully responded by the Marathas from the south. It will be wrong to conclude that the Marathas came to north every time for the pleasure of loot or for the collection of Chauth.”

As historian G.S. Sardesai notes in his classic New History of the Marathas (1946-48), even after their devastating losses, the Marathas did not see themselves as vanquished. Sardesai writes that “[Sadashivrao] Bhau’s courage inspired every soul to supreme exertion, and even after the final rout, people wrote and spoke of the event as if they were heroes.”

It is a popular mistake of long standing to suppose that the third battle of Panipat destroyed the Maratha power in the north. The geopolitical aftermath of the battle speaks volumes. Abdali, despite his victory, did not consolidate his rule in India. Delhi remained vulnerable, and it was the Marathas, not Abdali, who would soon take charge of its destiny. Abdali’s attention was soon consumed by the growing power of the Sikhs in Punjab, who resisted his authority at every turn.

Equally, Awhad’s contention that “there is no memorial of defeat in the world” is not just historically inaccurate but philosophically hollow. The world is filled with monuments that commemorate battles lost but courage demonstrated - Thermopylae, the Alamo and Gallipoli to name but a few. A memorial at Panipat would not celebrate defeat but honour the unbreakable spirit of those who fought against overwhelming odds.

The battlefield itself tells a tale of extraordinary endurance. The Marathas - exhausted and mounted on half-starved horses - faced an army with the finest cavalry in Asia, equipped with superior artillery. Yet, they fought with such ferocity that Abdali himself, despite his victory, was compelled to send letters of reconciliation to the Peshwa, recognizing the Marathas’ strength and seeking peace.

Abdali himself thus wrote to the Peshwa, “There is no real reason why there should exist any ill-feeling between you and us. True, you have lost your son and brother in the unfortunate fight…However, we are deeply sorry for these losses. We readily leave to you the subject of the imperial management of Delhi, provided you allow us to hold the Punjab up to the river Sutlej... You must forget the regrettable events that have taken place and entertain a lasting friendship towards us, which we are anxiously soliciting.”

This is not the space to dissect the battle itself, but just read Sir Jadunath Sarkar’s admiring description of Sadashivrao’s bravery in the fatal hour after Vishwasrao’s death in vol. 2 of his classic Fall of the Mughal Empire (1932-50). Sarkar writes how, despite the battlefield collapsing around him, Bhau fought on, leading three counter-charges in face of lethal musket fire rained by Abdali’s ‘slave squadrons.’

“Bhau refused to acknowledge defeat He fought on for over an hour more, regardless of the tremendous odds now arrayed against him, and delivered three counter-charges with his rapidly thinning band of personal followers and himself headed the attack.”

This is not the behaviour of an army broken by defeat but of one that refused to accept it.

By dismissing the battle’s significance, Awhad’s statements are an affront to the remarkable courage displayed by the countless men of Panipat including Ibrahim Khan Gardi, the 18-year-old Vishwasrao, JankojiScindia, Shamsher Bahadur in one of the most consequential battles in Indian history. Nations do not build memorials to gloat over defeat but build them to honour sacrifice, to inspire future generations with stories of courage and to remind themselves of the price of freedom. Panipat is not a tragedy. It is a lesson. And that is why it deserves to be remembered, not dismissed by those who find history inconvenient.