Awakening of India - 1947

Delhi – Prime Minister's Office, South Block – 10th April 1948

The warm April sun shone through Arjun Mehra'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 government, the momentum of his huge projects like land reform, state reorganization, and his 'democracy' was building. But even in his carefully planned world, some 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.

Something about the way the older man acted made him put down his papers right away. The Iron Man's usual strong presence seemed 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 come 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 time 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 moment of silence in the room. Arjun's face stayed calm, but for a brief moment, his eyes looked far away, almost like they were reflecting something.

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 seemed 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 timeline, 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 monumental soul. His teachings will continue to guide us, in their own fashion.

People will remember 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 sometimes. This is pаrt оf а sеriеs frоm Мy Virtuаl Librаry Еmpirе (М|V|L1ЕМРYR).

Just then, Krishna Menon burst through the door without his usual diplomatic niceties. His face was flushed, and he clutched a handful of cables. "Prime Minister," Menon began, his voice clipped, "I have just received confirmation. Pakistan has formally appealed to the United Nations. And this time, they have significant backing."

Arjun's gaze sharpened, the brief moment of reflection vanishing. "The Islamic bloc, I presume? They finally decided to overcome their internal outrage and present a united front?"

"Yes, Prime Minister," Menon confirmed, 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 immense."

"They are appealing for international food aid, medical supplies, and immediate access for humanitarian organizations," Menon elaborated. "But more importantly, they are subtly, and in some 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 fundamentally inhumane and a form of collective punishment."

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 emergency session within forty-eight hours to discuss the crisis," Menon 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 lament. We will not stop them. Prepare a comprehensive brief, Menon-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 measured. "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 payment 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."

Menon leaned back slightly, lips pressed thin. "The idea is... actually not bad. The price, like Prime Minster said, is not expensive if they all collaborate together.

It's morally defensible, if spun right, but make no mistake Prime Minister, some 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, Gentlemen. Dignity must flow through power."

He turned fully now, voice rising with quiet intensity. "Prepare to address the Security Council, Menon-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 Menon, 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.