Delhi – Prime Minister's Office, South Block
25th February 1948
The hum of purposeful activity in South Block was a stark contrast to the stunned silence that had gripped Rawalpindi just weeks prior. Victory had a distinct, invigorating scent, but for Arjun Mehra, it was merely the clearing of a construction site.
The mahogany desk in his office bore the weight of empire, intelligence reports from the designated "Reconstruction Zones" in the new territories and the diplomatic cables from world capitals still reeling from India's UNSC triumph.
Colonel Ravi Sharma stood before the vast map of the subcontinent, his uniform immaculate, his eyes betraying nothing of the grim necessities he had overseen. His briefing was clinical, devoid of emotion – a soldier's report delivered with machine-like precision.
"Prime Minister, the 'Special Administrative Measures' are fully in effect across all designated Reconstruction Zones." Sharma's pointer traced the newly expanded borders.
"In East Bengal, General Thimayya has established his headquarters in Dharavati(Dhaka). Civil order is being restored, though the logistics of food distribution and preventing localized unrest, particularly from former Razakar elements, remain considerable.
Intelligence suggests the Bengali populace is cautiously cooperative, but long-term integration will require delicate handling."
Arjun's fingers drummed once against the desk. "Their cultural identity must be respected even as we bring them into our fold. Infrastructure first, hearts and minds second. Continue."
"Lahore is secure under General Rajendrasinhji. The primary challenge is managing displaced populations and integrating occupied West Punjab territories.
Samudrapuri(Karachi) port is under Vice Admiral Katari's complete control – preliminary surveys for expansion as our key western naval hub have begun. The Sindh coastal strip is being pacified sector by sector."
"The buffer zone?"
Sharma's expression hardened slightly. "The 30-50 kilometer 'No Man's Land' along our new western frontier is taking shape. Constant aerial surveillance, intermittent ground patrols. We're systematically dismantling any structures that could provide cover, discouraging any potential settlements. Though, it is a bit challenging in the hilly regions."
Arjun's eyes gleamed. "Perfect. Remember, any infrastructure development – railways, strategic roads – stays inside our established border, but with rapid access routes to the buffer's edge.
We must be able to project force quickly across that zone, but the zone itself remains empty. A psychological deterrent as much as a physical one."
As if remembering something, Arjun asked, "And what about the population transfer?"
"Nearing completion. It mainly includes the Pakistani population that was sent back to Pakistan from the captured territories from the Western regions and those who voluntarily left East Bengal, along with India's own Muslim population that chose to go to Pakistan from urban and rural areas."
"According to rough estimates, Muslims now make up to 13% of our total population."
Arjun nodded with satisfaction.
He naturally intends to keep the majority at 85-90% of the total population of India.
"General Cariappa sends word that the first Border Security Force cadres are in intensive training. He's selecting the cream – regular army NCOs and the most battle-hardened PVC units. Static defense, patrol, rapid response along our extended frontiers.
First BSF battalions ready in six to eight weeks."
"Excellent." Arjun waved dismissively. "Ensure Cariappa has unlimited resources. The BSF is our first shield, but behind them, our regulars must be capable of swift, decisive counter-attack."
As Sharma departed with a crisp salute, the office settled into its familiar afternoon quiet.
Through the tall windows, Delhi sprawled in all directions – a capital city that would soon command an empire stretching from the Gandhara(Khyber Pakhtunkhwa) to Shwetagram(Chittagong), from Kashmir's peaks to the Arabian Sea.
The heavy oak door opened again, admitting Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel. The Iron Man moved with his characteristic measured gait, but there was something different in his bearing today.
Patel settled into the leather chair across from Arjun's desk, his weathered hands clasping the armrests. He had absorbed Sharma's briefing, understood the military consolidation proceeding with ruthless efficiency.
But it was the political architecture of this new India that demanded their attention now.
"The reports are satisfactory," Arjun began, his voice cutting through the office's quiet hum.
Those clear, intense eyes fixed on Patel's face. "Our borders are being secured, and our administration taking root."
A ghost of a smile touched Arjun's lips, the expression Patel had learned to associate with his most deep and unsettling strategic deliberations.
"Now that the borders are being secured, how about we discuss the composition of this Constituent Assembly, Sardar-ji? The framework for our new democracy?"
Patel leaned forward slightly. Here was the heart of it – the delicate mechanism that would transform military conquest into lasting political control.
"The existing Assembly is a relic, Arjun. Forged in a different struggle, populated by men whose ideals, however noble, are ill-suited for the realities we face."
"Precisely." Arjun's fingers steepled before him. "It needs reconstitution. We will expand it to include new voices – carefully vetted representatives from East Bengal, from our western territories.
Men whose loyalty belongs to this victorious India, who understand the imperative of strength and unity. Their inclusion provides broader representation for both domestic and international observers."
The confidential tone entered Arjun's voice, making Patel feel like an initiate into statecraft's deepest mysteries.
"More critically, the core drafting committees – those who actually pen this constitution – must be populated by pragmatists. Not just patriots, but men who understand we're not writing a legal document but forging an instrument of enduring national power.
We need architects of a strong state, not authors of utopian manifestos."
Patel understood this, it bore resemblance to the language he'd used to bring the princely states into line. Careful personnel selection, ideological alignment in pivotal roles – this was familiar territory, just scaled up to encompass an entire nation's political future.
"And the ruling party within this new Assembly?" Patel inquired. "Congress as it stands now, is fractured and its old leadership either dead or discredited."
"The Congress name carries considerable legitimacy," Arjun mused, rising to pace behind his desk. "A legacy of the freedom struggle we can't discard. But it will be Congress reborn, remade in this new India's image.
Your task, Sardar-ji, is identifying and consolidating elements from the old guard who are fiercely nationalist, like C. Rajagopalachari, Purushottam Das Tandon and other like them who believe in strong, centralized governance.
Perhaps those with more pronounced Hindu conservative worldviews who felt constrained by past leadership's secular, socialist idealism."
He paused before the great map, India's expanded borders seeming to pulse with possibility. "These men form our unwavering core. They'll champion national reconstruction, industrial development, our assertive global role. I'll be leading them, naturally."
Then came that thin smile again, the expression that always made Patel's pulse quicken.
"But truly convincing democratic theater – one satisfying Washington and London while providing controlled outlets for domestic political energies – requires more than a strong ruling party. It requires credible, responsible opposition."
The words hung in the air like incense in a temple, heavy with implication. Patel's expression remained carefully neutral, but his mind raced. "Opposition," he said quietly, tasting the word.
"Managed opposition. Loyal not necessarily to specific government policies, but to the fundamental idea of strong, united Akhand Bharat." Arjun turned back to face him, eyes gleaming with strategic fervor.
"Opposition championing national pride from different ideological perspectives. Traditional values, cultural heritage, even more assertive nationalism.
They'll provide vigorous parliamentary debate, criticize specific policies on education or social reform or industrialization pace. They may even win well-publicized procedural battles."
Patel stroked his chin, political machinery grinding into motion. "And from where do we conjure such patriotic opposition?"
"We don't conjure from thin air. They already exists." Arjun returned to his chair, leaning forward conspiratorially.
"Pragmatic and patriotic individuals from Hindu Mahasabha and similar nationalist groups. Many followers deeply committed to Bharat Mata. We will channel their energy constructively, into this new Opposition party."
The office seemed to contract around them, containing secrets that could reshape a subcontinent.
"We won't use old party labels – too much historical baggage, too many associations with pre-war factionalism. We encourage formation of a new entity. Perhaps 'Bharatiya Jana Dal' – the Indian People's Party. Evoking both ancient heritage and popular mandate."
Arjun's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Their platform coalesces around conservative, culturally assertive, fiercely nationalist ethos.
Natural voice for those who might be feeling that the ruling party is too centrist, too focused on economic development at tradition's expense, and too accommodating internationally."
"A manufactured counterweight." Patel's words carried no judgment, only acknowledgment of the breathtaking scope of Arjun's political engineering.
"Exactly." The smile was serene now, almost beatific – an artist seeing his masterpiece take shape.
"You'd be their discreet shepherd. Identify potential leaders, men of standing who feel overlooked by current Congress reconfiguration. Ensure they have initial resources to organize, articulate platforms, appear genuinely independent and robust."
He leaned back, fingers once again steepled. "But they need to understand the ultimate non-negotiable boundaries. While they offer critical voice, as a part of democratic tapestry, they'll never be a genuine threat to fundamental stability and strategic direction of the Indian state we're forging."
The silence stretched between them, full with the weight of empire. Outside, Delhi's evening sounds filtered through thick walls – vendors calling their wares, bicycle bells, along with the distant rumble of military convoys.
Inside this oak-paneled sanctuary, two men contemplated the architecture of absolute power disguised as perfect democracy.
Finally, Patel spoke, "You do know that international consequences if this entire thing was discovered, right?"
Arjun Mehra's expression was calm. Victory in war had been merely the opening movement; this was the symphony's true beginning.
"A nation's destiny isn't left to chance, Sardar-ji. It's forged by will, by design, by unshakeable commitment to singular vision. India has been promised its tryst with destiny. We're merely ensuring that destiny proves as glorious as our sacrifices have earned us the right to expect."
The Iron Man of India studied the young man who was radically shaping the country's future, this leader who seemed to carry centuries' weight yet moved with the present's fierce urgency.
The path that he was taking was morally ambiguous and fraught with perils, both seen and unseen. But the vision...the vision of mighty, unassailable Akhand Bharat... it was a siren song few true Indian nationalists could resist.
Patel straightened his shoulders. The loom of power was set. Arjun Mehra, him along with other cabinet members, would begin to weave the story of a new India that would dominate the subcontinent for generations to come, thread by thread.
Outside, night was falling over Delhi, but inside South Block, the work of reshaping a nation's soul had only just begun.