Awakening of India - 1947

The French Mission to the UN, New York – Aftermath of the Meeting

The autumn wind whipped through Manhattan's concrete canyons as Arjun Mehra and V.K. Krishna Menon emerged from the French Mission. Neither spoke until they were safely inside their diplomatic car, the partition raised between them and the driver.

"Well, that was about as warm as a Himalayan winter," Menon muttered, loosening his tie. "Ambassador Parodi practically had icicles forming when you mentioned Pondicherry."

Arjun chuckled, surprising his companion. "Did you notice how he kept fidgeting with his fountain pen? Classic tell – he's more nervous than angry. The French aren't fools, Menon-ji. They know they're walking a tightrope."

"How so?"

"Think about it." Arjun gestured toward the passing storefronts, many still bearing signs in multiple languages – the face of a world in transition.

"France is rebuilding with American dollars. Every franc of Marshall Plan aid comes with Washington's blessing. They can posture and preen about la gloire française all they want, but at the end of the day, if Uncle Sam says 'play nice with India,' they'll play nice."

Menon raised an eyebrow. "You sound awfully confident for someone who just got the diplomatic equivalent of a cold shoulder."

"Because Parodi didn't slam the door, did he? He could have. Instead, he gave us the standard 'we'll consider it' routine. That's French for 'convince the Americans first, then we'll talk.'" Arjun's eyes gleamed.

"Which brings us to our next challenge. The Chinese are in a rather different position, wouldn't you say?"

The Chinese Mission to the UN, New York – Afternoon

The Chinese Mission occupied a stately building on the Upper East Side, its facade elegant but somehow melancholy, like a once-grand opera house fallen on hard times.

Inside, the contrast was even more stark – Ming dynasty vases sat alongside hastily packed crates, as if the entire mission might need to relocate at a moment's notice.

Dr. Tingfu Tsiang rose from behind an antique desk strewn with telegraph cables and newspaper clippings. The weight of his nation's struggle seemed to rest on his shoulders, aging him beyond his years. Yet his handshake was firm, his smile genuine.

"Prime Minister Mehra, this is indeed an honor." His English carried the precise cadence of Oxford education. "Please, sit. I've prepared some Longjing tea – green tea from the hills near Hangzhou. At least, from what we still control of Hangzhou."

The last comment hung in the air with bitter irony. Arjun settled into the offered chair, noting how Tsiang's hands trembled almost imperceptibly as he poured the tea. The porcelain was exquisite, probably worth more than most Americans made in a year.

"The tea is exceptional, Ambassador. Though I confess, the situation in your homeland weighs heavily on all our minds."

Tsiang's composure cracked slightly. "Prime Minister, I receive cables daily. Each one brings news of another city fallen, another province lost to the Communists. Sometimes I wonder if I'm representing a government or a ghost."

The raw honesty surprised Arjun. This wasn't diplomatic theater – this was a man watching his world collapse in real time.

"Ambassador, if I may..." Arjun leaned forward, his voice taking on a warmer tone. "I've long been fascinated by your nation's rich philosophical traditions.

The Mandate of Heaven – it's a profound concept, isn't it? The idea that legitimacy comes not just from power, but from the consent of the governed."

Tsiang's eyes sharpened. "You're suggesting our mandate is in question?"

"I'm suggesting," Arjun replied carefully, "that great nations sometimes must reinvent themselves to survive. India has learned this lesson repeatedly over the centuries. Sometimes the tiger must change its stripes to remain king of the jungle."

A long silence. Then Tsiang laughed – a sound somewhere between amusement and despair. "Do you know what the Americans call our President? 'Peanut.'

Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek, the man who led China through eight years of war against Japan, reduced to a nut because of his... shall we say, inflexibility."

"Stubborn men sometimes make the greatest leaders," Arjun offered diplomatically.

"And sometimes they make the greatest ruins." Tsiang sipped his tea, then looked directly at Arjun. "But you didn't come here to discuss Chinese philosophy or American nicknames. You want our support for India's Security Council bid."

"I want something more valuable than support, Ambassador. I want partnership."

This caught Tsiang off guard. "Partnership?"

Arjun set down his teacup and leaned back. "Picture this: two ancient Asian civilizations, both permanent members of the Security Council. China and India, working together to ensure that Asia finally has the voice it deserves in world affairs.

The days of being dictated to by London, Washington, or Moscow – over."

The vision clearly appealed to Tsiang, but wariness crept into his voice. "A beautiful dream, Prime Minister. But dreams require dreamers to be alive to see them realized."

"Which brings me to my point." Arjun's tone became more intimate, almost conspiratorial. "A strong India on the Security Council isn't just good for India – it's a lifeline for Asian stability. When external forces try to destabilize our region, when foreign ideologies attempt to take root and spread..." He paused meaningfully.

"A permanent member has resources and influence that can make the difference between survival and extinction."

Tsiang's eyes widened slightly. This was more direct than typical diplomatic language. "You're suggesting India could...actively support...legitimate governments facing internal threats?"

"Not actively, after all, we have our 'non-aligned' status to maintain. I'm suggesting that India understands the Communist threat intimately. We've dealt with our own Communist insurgencies, our own challenges from Moscow-backed agitators."

Arjun leaned closer. "A grateful India, with veto power on the Security Council, would have significant leverage to provide meaningful assistance – Intelligence sharing and in future, economic aid that bypasses Western conditions, along with diplomatic cover when needed."

The implication was clear and powerful. Unlike the Americans, who were growing weary of the Chinese Civil War and had their own conditions for aid, India could offer support without the baggage of Western colonial attitudes or Cold War calculations.

"More importantly," Arjun continued, "an India with permanent Security Council status could ensure that when the Communists inevitably appeal to the UN for recognition, and they will, as their path won't be smooth. Veto power works both ways, Ambassador."

For the first time in months, Tsiang felt a flicker of genuine hope. This wasn't vague diplomatic sympathy – this was a concrete offer of partnership that could genuinely help the Republic of China survive.

Tsiang was quiet for a long moment, staring out the window at the Manhattan skyline. "You know, Prime Minister, there's an old Chinese saying: 'When the small fish are gone, the big fish eat each other.' Asia has been too fragmented, too willing to let others play us against one another."

"Exactly. Which is why this moment matters so much." Arjun pressed his advantage. "Your vote on India's membership isn't just about India – it's about whether Asia will finally stand together or continue to be divided and conquered."

"And if we support India's bid?"

"Then the Republic of China gains something invaluable – a true partner with real power to help." Arjun's voice carried conviction. "Not conditional aid with strings attached, not sympathy from a distance, but genuine partnership.

Intelligence sharing, diplomatic protection at the UN. And most crucially – when the time comes to rebuild and modernize China after this Communist nightmare ends, India will be your most reliable partner."

Arjun knew full well that no one could predict if the Communists would ever fall — but in diplomacy, conviction often mattered more than certainty. A well-placed promise, even if premature, could tip the scales.

Tsiang felt his pulse quicken. "You're talking about substantial commitments."

"I'm talking about survival, Ambassador. Your survival, and China's future." Arjun's eyes were intense. "The Americans are tired of this war. The British are focused on their own problems.

But India? India sees the Communist threat for what it is – an existential danger to all of Asia. We have the resources, the will, and soon, hopefully, the international standing to make a real difference."

Tsiang smiled – the first genuine smile of the meeting. "Prime Minister, you have a gift for making desperate situations sound like opportunities."

"Because they are, Ambassador. History's greatest partnerships have been forged in crisis, not comfort."

As they shook hands at the door, Tsiang held Arjun's grip a moment longer than necessary. "The Republic of China will give your proposal very serious consideration. And Prime Minister?"

"Yes?"

"In times like these, a man learns to distinguish between those who offer pretty words and those who offer practical solutions. You've offered the latter." His smile was weary but genuine. "That's worth remembering."

Outside the Chinese Mission

Back in the car, Menon was practically vibrating with curiosity. "Well? How did it go with our desperate friends?"

"Better than expected. Tsiang is a realist – he knows his government's time may be limited. But he also knows that China, in whatever form, will need friends in the region."

"So we have their support?"

Arjun considered this. "We have their desperation working for us. Tsiang knows his government is hemorrhaging support – corruption, incompetence, the whole edifice is crumbling. But that makes them more useful, not less."

"How so?"

"A corrupt regime clinging to power will make deals a principled government never would. They need us more than we need them, and they know it." Arjun's expression was matter-of-fact.

"Tsiang understood exactly what I was offering – a lifeline for the KMT's survival in exchange for their UN vote. No moral lectures, no conditions about reform. Just mutual benefit."

"Rather cynical, don't you think?"

"Realistic." Arjun checked his watch. "Eleven hours until the Security Council meeting. We've made concrete offers to everyone except the French, and they'll follow Washington's lead. The question now is whether desperation and self-interest will trump everything else."

The car pulled into traffic, carrying them toward their next appointment. In the back seat, Arjun allowed himself a small smile. Chess had always been his favorite game, and this was chess on a global scale.

The opening moves were complete – now came the middle game, where real strategy would determine victory or defeat.