Delhi – Pri Minister’s Office, South Block – 10th April 1948
The warm April sun shone through Arjun hra’s office window, bringing to life the dust motes that were floating in the air and illuminating the new map of India that hung on his walls.
Underneath the calm surface of the governnt, the montum of his huge projects like land reform, state reorganization, and his ’democracy’ was building. But even in his carefully planned world, so things still stubbornly stayed out of his direct control.
While Arjun was looking over the budget, Sardar Patel knocked softly before coming in. Normally, Arjun wouldn’t have paid much attention to the process for more than a second, but today was different.
Sothing about the way the older man acted made him put down his papers right away. The Iron Man’s usual strong presence seed heavy, as if he was carrying an unspoken worry.
"Arjun," Patel began, his voice a low rumble, devoid of its usual energy. "I’ve just co from Willingdon Hospital. Badshah Khan sahib will be discharged soon. He is recovering well, considering everything.
He talked about the future, about retiring from the politics, and even about his ti in jail with the British, comparing it to his current situation in a more philosophical way."
Patel stopped and a grim line appeared on his lips. "But for Bapu, the doctors say he doesn’t have long. It’s a matter of days, if not sooner."
There was a mont of silence in the room. Arjun’s face stayed calm, but for a brief mont, his eyes looked far away, almost like they were reflecting sothing.
The bitter irony of it all. He had changed the history, fought a quick and brutal war to reshape India’s future, gotten rid of ideological opponents, and laid the groundwork for a new, strong nation.
And yet, the one man whose ideas he had rejected and whose pain he had so cynically used for the good of the country was still going to die. Gandhi’s fate seed to be set, no matter how much he knew or how many changes he made in the original events.
He had thought a lot about the weight of inevitability in his previous life as a historian. These were the currents of history that even the most powerful people could not change. Gandhi’s death in this tiline, which is very close to the original, was a clear sign of those limits.
But it also made his actions even more necessary. It would have been hard to figure out the ways Gandhi’s continued presence would have affected things. His eventual death as a martyr would make India’s story of being a victim of injustice and having power even stronger.
"He lived a life of unwavering principle, Sardar-ji," Arjun said, his voice surprisingly gentle, offering a comfort that was perhaps more for himself than for Patel. "He was a monuntal soul. His teachings will continue to guide us, in their own fashion.
People will rember him. And his final sacrifice will only further consecrate the birth of this new Bharat."
If his previous self would have seen him right now, he would been scornful at his hypocrisy and manipulation tactics.
Patel nodded slowly, accepting the words, though his gaze remained troubled. He knew Arjun saw the strategic implications of everything, even in death. He respected the cold pragmatism, even when it made him uncomfortable sotis.
Just then, Krishna non burst through the door without his usual diplomatic niceties. His face was flushed, and he clutched a handful of cables. "Pri Minister," non began, his voice clipped, "I have just received confirmation. Pakistan has formally appealed to the United Nations. And this ti, they have significant backing."
Arjun’s gaze sharpened, the brief mont of reflection vanishing. "The Islamic bloc, I presu? They finally decided to overco their internal outrage and present a united front?"
"Yes, Pri Minister," non confird, laying the cables on the desk.
"Their plea is rooted in the worsening humanitarian and food crisis within what remains of West Pakistan.
Reports of widespread starvation, disease, and the general destitution of their populace, including millions of newly displaced refugees, have finally brough the Islamic states together to support Pakistan.
Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Iran, even Turkey, are publicly expressing their concerns for the dire conditions and calling for urgent international intervention.
They are framing it as a humanitarian catastrophe of unprecedented scale, directly attributable to the consequences of the war and the harsh peace terms."
Patel interjected, his voice grim. "Our intelligence reports confirm the severity of the situation, Arjun. The famine is real.
Our rapid military operations, including the capture of their agricultural heartlands in Punjab, their ports, and the disruption of all their internal supply chains...it has been devastating for their civilian population.
A quarter of their population is staring at death. Even with our waived reparations, and the monetary deal, the scale of the crisis is imnse."
"They are appealing for international food aid, dical supplies, and imdiate access for humanitarian organizations," non elaborated. "But more importantly, they are subtly, and in so cases, not so subtly, linking the humanitarian crisis to the territorial changes.
They are implying that our terms, even though it was legally agreed upon, are fundantally inhumane and a form of collective punishnt."
Arjun listened, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk. He had expected this. A landlocked and economically crippled Pakistan, devoid of its agricultural breadbasket and its port, was bound to end up like this.
It was a core part of his strategy to ensure its perpetual weakness. But a full-blown famine, a public humanitarian disaster on such a scale, risked undermining his carefully constructed narrative of Indian generosity and responsibility on the world stage.
"The UN Security Council is expected to convene an ergency session within forty-eight hours to discuss the crisis," non continued.
"The pressure from the Islamic states is intense. Even our Western partners, who supported us on the UNSC seat, are expressing ’deep concern’ and urging a swift ’humanitarian response.’
They will not want a massive starvation event on their hands, it provides too much ammunition for their ideological rivals, especially the Soviets."
Arjun rose and walked to the wall map. His eyes swept across the new, firmly defined Indian borders, then across the shrunken, isolated territory of Pakistan. Even though it was a minor inconvenience, the humanitarian crisis, it also represented an opportunity.
"Fine," Arjun said, his voice decisive. "Let them convene and lant. We will not stop them. Prepare a comprehensive brief, non-ji. We will present a plan."
Patel frowned. "A plan? To aid them, Arjun? After everything?"
"Not aid, Sardar-ji," Arjun corrected, turning slowly toward them, a cold glint in his eye. "Not a charity. This will be a show of India’s responsibility - no, India’s right, as the dominant regional power. A planned humanitarian response, but on our terms."
He placed the folder gently on the desk and continued, voice asured. "Send word to the Khan of Kalat. Inform him that they are to permit a safe humanitarian corridor through Balochistan. Naval and army logistical support will be extended to escort the convoys, under our supervision."
Then, with a faint smile, he added, "And since this corridor runs through a sovereign territory and demands material security, those sending aid must cover its cost. And the paynt is to be made in gold bullion, specifically, 15 kilograms for every hundred tonnes of aid."
Patel’s eyes widened, brow furrowed. "You expect the Arabs to just hand over gold for feeding Pakistan?" he asked, the scepticism in his voice barely concealed.
Arjun just waved his hand and dismissed his worries, "15 kilogram per 100 tonnes is not that expensive, Sardar-ji."
non leaned back slightly, lips pressed thin. "The idea is... actually not bad. The price, like Pri Minster said, is not expensive if they all collaborate together.
It’s morally defensible, if spun right, but make no mistake Pri Minister, so countries are certain to call it profiteering, and even lack of human empathy."
Arjun’s gaze swept across them, unshaken. "They may. But they will pay, because they must. The world sees a humanitarian crisis, and we see a chance to define the new order. This isn’t exploitation, Gentlen. Dignity must flow through power."
He turned fully now, voice rising with quiet intensity. "Prepare to address the Security Council, non-ji. Not to plead, but to declare. We shall dictate the terms of relief. And in doing so, we shall set the example, that even in compassion, the lion does not bow."
A heavy silence followed. Only the slow creak of Patel’s chair broke it, as he exchanged a glance with non, wary, but acknowledging what had shifted.
Outside, the whispers of Gandhi’s fading light cast a long shadow across the political landscape. But within these walls, Arjun saw clarity, a chance not only to steady the nation, but to bend history in its favor.
Reviews
All reviews (0)