Awakening of India - 1947

Delhi – Birla House – Afternoon, 20th April 1948

The silence in Birla House possessed a weight that pressed against the soul.

It had seeped into the very stones of the mansion, muffling Delhi's distant clamor and reducing the whispers of gathered dignitaries to barely audible murmurs.

For weeks now, the medical bulletins had grown progressively bleaker.

First from Willingdon Hospital, and then from the specially converted room where India's most revered son now lay helplessly.

The doctors, with their faces etched with exhaustion and defeat, had long abandoned hope days ago.

Mahatma Gandhi's life force was ebbing away like a water through cupped hands.

Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel stood motionless by the window, his frame casting a shadow across the room.

His shoulders, that where usually rigid with determination, had developed a subtle slump over the past couple hours.

He had watched the frail figure on the bed fight for each shallow breath, knowing this moment would come. He had even discussed it with Arjun.

Yet intellectual preparation proved painfully insufficient for witnessing the slow departure of the man who had embodied India's conscience for so long.

Gandhi's last lucid words still echoed in Patel's mind, the quiet whispered pleas for peace and forgiveness, even for his attackers.

The same message he had preached for decades, despite the Partition's violence and Pakistan's aggression, which has withered away thousands of innocent lives.

And also the same philosophy that Arjun Mehra had decisively set aside to save India. MyVirtualLibraryEmpire(M|V|LE1MPYR)thanksyouforreadingatthesource.

The bedroom door quietly opened. From inside, emerged the chief physician, with his grave expression and red-rimmed eyes that spoke of sleepless exhaustion.

His slight headshake carried the weight of finality.

A collective gasp rippled through the waiting rooms. Choked sobs broke the sacred silence.

It was finished. Mahatma Gandhi—the Father of the Nation, embodiment of non-violence, and the man whose suffering had been so publicly displayed on the world stage—had quietly passed away.

Patel closed his eyes as heavy sadness settled over his shoulders, heavier than any political calculations he had ever done.

The man who had once inspired a nation to freedom was gone.

This marked the end of an era, a final severance from the ideals that had birthed modern India, the closing of the long chapter of non-violent struggle.

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Arjun Mehra stood in his South Block office when the news arrived, a single, terse message delivered by a solemn aide.

He merely inclined his head, his expression betraying nothing. But internally, complex currents churned through him like opposing tides.

Part of him, the historian displaced in time, felt sad, sad for a man who was perhaps too innocent for this cruel world, and the same innocence that also costed lives of others.

The other part, strategist in him, felt a different emotion entirely. It was one of cold, sharp satisfaction.

The political complexities that Gandhi's continued and unpredictable presence would have introduced into his efficient India were now removed.

The living, questioning saint had been transformed into something far more useful, a symbol.

Gandhi the martyr would be infinitely more powerful than Gandhi the moral challenger.

His voice that could have been once an obstacle to Arjun's pragmatism, would now be a guiding whisper from beyond.

It would be interpreted and amplified to serve the new India's purposes.

Arjun approached his wall map where the new borders, bold and saffron, stretched before him.

India was now more Akhand than ever—geographically much more united, politically consolidating, industrially awakening.

And now, morally consecrated by this ultimate sacrifice.

He returned to his desk and lifted his pen. Time for grieving was a luxury he couldn't afford.

Thousands of details demanded attention: the state funeral, the careful transformation of public grief into national resolve, the statements to the world, the leveraging of this lasting moment for India's moral high ground.

He pressed his intercom. "Connect me with Sardar Patel. And prepare a national address for this evening.

Our people need to be aware of our profound loss of the Mahatma, and India's unwavering resolve to fulfil his legacy of a strong, unified, and prosperous Bharat."

The silence of Gandhi's passing settled over New Delhi like a shroud—a silence that would be filled within hours by the roar of renewed national purpose.

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All India Radio – 8:00 PM, 20th April 1948

"Mere pyaare bhaiyo aur behno..."

Arjun's voice carried across the nation, reaching from the crowded chawls of Bombay to the wheat fields of Punjab, from the tea gardens of Assam to the fishing villages of Kerala.

There was genuine exhaustion in his tone, the weariness of a man who had carried too much for too long.

"Today, I want to announce with a heavy heart that today we lost a light that had once illuminated our lives. Today, our beloved Bapu, has left us.

The man who taught us to fight without hatred, who showed us that truth could defeat the mightiest empire and who bound us together as one people—he is no more."

A long pause. When he continued, his voice was steadier.

"I know many of you are asking—what now? Where do we go from here? Bapu always said the strength of India lies not in any one man, but in the unity of our people.

Today, more than ever, we must hold fast to that unity. We must not let those who would divide us—whether from within or without—succeed in breaking what Bapu helped us build."

He spoke for fifteen minutes, his words simple, direct. No grand rhetoric about destiny or empire.

Instead, he spoke of completing the work Gandhi had started, of ensuring that the independence so many had died for would not be squandered through division or weakness.

"Bapu believed in an India where every child could read, where every farmer could feed his family, where we need not bow before any nation.

This is the India we will build—not through hatred, but through our own strength and determination."

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The news of Mahatma Gandhi's assassination rippled across the globe with unprecedented speed, carried by radio waves and telegraph cables to every corner of the world.

Within hours, the international response began to pour into Delhi—a remarkable testament to the moral authority Gandhi had commanded far beyond India's borders.

Many Western countries expressed their grief, with the leaders like Attlee and Truman addressing their citizens about a soul that was the torchbearer of non-violence in these turbulent times.

Even the Soviets, whose ideology doesn't align with Gandhi's, gave their condolences and portrayed Gandhi as the symbol of anti-imperialism.

Perhaps nowhere was the mourning deeper than in South Africa, the country where Gandhi had developed his early philosophy of Satyagraha.

South African newspapers covered the assassination extensively, with the Cape Times running a special supplement titled "The Mahatma's South African Years."

On 21st April, United Nations flags flew at half-mast on orders from Secretary-General Trygve Lie, marking the first time the world body had honored a non-governmental figure in such a manner.

The UN Security Council observed a minute of silence, with even the Soviet representative participating.

Similarly, many South-Asian nations carried out the marches to give respect to the person that had become the living embodiment of non-violence at the time when death and violence loomed large.

Delhi – Various Locations

In the bazaars of Delhi, people huddled around radio sets, wiping away tears. An elderly cloth merchant shook his head sadly.

"Bapu-ji is gone, but at least our Prime Minister sounds strong. These are dangerous times."

At Delhi University, students gathered in small groups. "Did you notice how he spoke about unity?" one whispered. "He's preparing us for something."

In the diplomatic quarter, foreign correspondents scribbled notes furiously.

The Times correspondent cabled London: "Mehra's response suggests remarkable political maturity. Gandhi's death appears to have strengthened rather than weakened the government."

Three Days Later, 24th April

The funeral had been magnificent—a million people lining the streets of Delhi, world leaders sending representatives, Gandhi's body carried on a gun carriage draped in the tricolor.

Arjun had walked behind the cortege for five miles, his head bowed, saying nothing.

Now, in the quiet of his office, he read the intelligence summaries. No riots. No communal violence.

No political challenges. The transition had been seamless.

Patel entered without knocking, as was his habit. "The last of the condolence messages have been acknowledged."

Arjun nodded. "What of our friends abroad?"

"Same, they all have expressed grief and gave their condolences." Patel sat down heavily.

Through the window, Delhi carried on its business. The great machine of government continued to turn, perhaps more smoothly than before.

In the absence of the one voice that could have questioned everything, all other voices seemed to be falling in line.

The silence of the Mahatma was becoming the foundation of a new kind of strength.

But, one particular nation was in shock and panic, not because of they were gloomy about the Gandhi's death, but rather because their own people had started the riots against their government.

The country was none other than Pakistan.

People were well aware that it was the agent of Pakistani government that had attempted to assassinate Gandhi, after which the India had resumed the all-out war against Pakistan, the war that was paused after the pressure from UN and other countries.

And this made the Pakistani government the sole actor that was responsible for their current circumstances.

By the time the violent riots were controlled, severe damage had already been inflicted.

Several police workers and army personals had been killed or injured. And nearly a hundred protestors were killed in the retaliation by the police.

Perhaps the most damaging was the attack on the aid convoy, as a result, the aid materials were either looted or were set on fire by the protestors.

And while this chaos was happening, all Pakistani leadership could do was curse Gandhi, who couldn't let them rest even after his demise.

Back in India, as temple bells began their mournful toll across the city, the transformation was subtly complete.

The age of moral questioning was ending and the era of pragmatic dominance had finally begun.

And across the world, in the quiet corridors of power, diplomats and statesmen understood that Mahatma Gandhi's greatest victory might have been his final one—in death, he had inadvertently freed India to become the power it was destined to be.