20th March, Delhi
The March morning had arrived with an unusual stillness, as if Delhi itself was holding its breath. In his office at South Block, the reports from London, Washington, and Moscow sat neatly stacked on Arjun's desk, each bound in different colored folders.
The industrial agreements were now only waiting for the shipments of required machinery, in the estimated month of July or August, 1948. And after that, foreign capital would soon flow like monsoon rivers into India's waiting infrastructure projects.
But Arjun's attention had already moved beyond the international stage to something far more fundamental: the soil beneath his feet and the people who worked it.
He had summoned two men whose expertise would prove crucial in the months ahead. The first was Rafi Ahmed Kidwai, the newly appointed head of Minister of Agriculture and Rural Development, a man whose understanding of India's agricultural complexities ran as deep as the Ganga.
The second was K.N. Goyal, the newly appointed head of the Land Settlement Authority under Ministry of Agriculture and Rural Development —a former district collector whose reputation for efficiency had earned him the nickname "The Bulldozer" among his colleagues.
Both men entered the office carrying briefcases heavy with surveys, census data, and preliminary reports that they were asked to bring. The weight of impending transformation hung in the air like an incense.
"Gentlemen," Arjun began, his voice carrying none of its usual diplomatic nuance, "In the month of August, foreign machinery and capital will begin arriving in unprecedented quantities.
But no amount of steel or technology can build a modern nation on the foundation of medieval land relations."
Kidwai shifted slightly in his chair. He can guess where this was going. As someone who had witnessed countless failed attempts at agricultural reform, he understood the magnitude of what was being proposed.
"Prime Minister, if you're talking about the agricultural reforms then, given the entrenched interests...the resistance could be substantial. There is a reason why similar efforts were failed so many times before."
"Resistance," Arjun replied, "is the natural response of a dying system. Our task is to ensure it dies quickly and completely."
He moved to the large map mounted on the wall—a detailed survey of landholding patterns across the subcontinent, marked with red zones indicating areas of extreme concentration.
Some districts showed single landlords controlling territories larger than European principalities.
"The Zamindari system ends," he announced with the finality of a judge pronouncing sentence.
"Every intermediary between the state and the actual cultivator will be eliminated. No exceptions, no gradualism, no compromise with feudal remnants masquerading as economic necessity."
Goyal looked up from his notes, his pen paused mid-sentence. "The princely states as well? Even those that integrated...cooperatively?"
"Everyone, Goyal-ji." Arjun's finger traced the boundaries of former princely territories on the map.
"The princes understood the terms of their survival. Their personal properties remain secure, their dignity intact. But their control over peasant lives ends with their political sovereignty."
He returned to his desk, pulling out a leather portfolio containing detailed redistribution plans.
"All land above a carefully calculated ceiling—enough for genuine self-cultivation but not feudal exploitation—will be acquired by the state.
That land will then be redistributed to those who actually work it: landless laborers, sharecroppers, tenant farmers who've lived at the mercy of absentee landlords for generations."
Kidwai leaned forward, his weathered face reflecting decades of agricultural policy debates.
"The administrative challenges alone...Prime Minister, we're talking about surveying and redistributing millions of acres, dealing with countless ownership disputes, managing the transition without disrupting food production..."
"Which is exactly why we're acting now, before industrial development accelerates." Arjun's response was immediate, as if he'd anticipated every objection.
"The Citizen Reserve Corps will be utilized for this. They will handle the initial surveys and implementation after receiving the basic instructions from the Ministry.
Their discipline and numbers will ensure rapid, systematic execution. The Intelligence Bureau will monitor for any attempts at violent resistance or sabotage."
He paused, allowing the implications to settle. "Any landlord who chooses violence over acceptance will see that the new India has little patience for feudal tantrums. Swift justice, and exemplary consequences will what they receive."
"Also, ensure that Ministry of Public Integrity & Administrative Oversight is keeping an eye for any corrupt practice, through CBI."
The room fell quiet except for the distant hum of Delhi traffic and the scratch of Goyal's pen capturing every detail.
Both ministers understood they were witnessing the birth of something new—not gradual reform but revolutionary transformation disguised as administrative efficiency.
"Agricultural cooperatives," Arjun continued, "are to provide the support systems these new landowners need.
Seeds, tools, credit, irrigation access, technical guidance. We're not creating a class of struggling subsistence farmers—we're building the agricultural foundation for industrial modernization."
Kidwai nodded slowly. He went through the specifics of the reform.
"The productivity gains alone makes this reform quiet important. Small farmers with secure ownership typically yield more per acre than tenant laborers. The food security benefits could be substantial", he said, his policy expertise already working through the practical implications.
"Precisely", Arjun nodded.
At that moment, Sardar Patel entered the office.
"You've arrived at just the right time, Sardar-ji," Arjun said. "We were in the middle of a discussion on land and state reforms — the latter will need your direct involvement."
Patel's eyebrow arched slightly. These were among the most delicate and politically charged subjects, matters that, if ever addressed, had always moved at a glacial pace.
"The Land reform is only half the equation." Arjun moved to another map, this one showing provincial boundaries marked with proposed reorganization lines. "These colonial administrative divisions serve no one's interests except those who profit from confusion and fragmentation."
The proposed changes were dramatic. New states carved along linguistic lines, economic zones redrawn for administrative efficiency, along with boundaries that had divided communities for over a century finally rationalized.
"Linguistic reorganization," Arjun explained, his finger tracing the new borders, "will give our people cultural coherence while maintaining central authority.
Telugu speakers united in Andhra, Kannada speakers in Karnataka, Gujarati speakers in Gujarat. Local identity respected, national unity preserved."
Patel looked at the newly drawn borders. "What about the societal implications...every linguistic group will have expectations, demands for their own recognition."
"Expectations can be managed," Arjun replied with that slight smile that had become his trademark.
"The process will be carefully phased, strategically implemented. Priority goes to regions where reorganization offers immediate administrative benefits or defuses existing tensions.
Any group that mistakes cultural recognition for political autonomy will receive swift education about the limits of both."
"East Bengal and other new territories?" Patel asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"They will be broken down into smaller provinces. The Bengali-speaking population deserves administrative unity, but under firm central guidance.
Similarly, all the newly occupied territories will be divided into smaller multiple provinces except Jammu Kashmir and Gandhara (Khyber), they remain under direct central control—their strategic importance leaves no room for ambiguity."
The conversation continued for another hour, diving into implementation details, timeline considerations, and contingency planning. As the meeting wound down, Kidwai and Goyal gathered their papers with the systematic care.
"I hope that the scope of these reforms," Goyal sighed as he closed his briefcase, "will have much needed positive effect in India for generations to come."
Arjun remained seated as his ministers prepared to leave, his gaze fixed on the maps that covered his walls like battle plans. "That's the point, Goyal-ji. We're not governing an existing nation—we're creating the nation that should have existed all along."
After they left, Arjun sat alone with Patel, surrounded by the documentary evidence of India's feudal past and the carefully drafted plans of its 'democratic' future.
Outside his windows, Delhi pulsed with the energy of a capital city, but his mind was already in the villages where landless farmers would soon own the soil they'd worked their entire lives.
In the new state capitals where linguistic communities would finally govern themselves while remaining loyal to the center.
"You need to be prepared, Arjun. Few people are certain to give their all to resist these changes", Patel spoke quietly.
Arjun just smiled. "That's why your Ministry of Home Affairs will personally spearhead these changes in state boundaries, Sardar-ji."
The change is coming, and those who are smart enough, will know when to change.