Washington D.C., Oval Office, May 14th, 1949, Morning
The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the Oval Office, but the atmosphere inside was tense. President Truman was already having what could generously be called a rough day.
The Cold War was heating up, the Soviets were being their usual difficult selves, and the stack of diplomatic cables on his desk seemed to reproduce itself every time he looked away.
He was scanning through them with the practiced eye of someone who had learned to spot potential disasters before they became actual disasters.
Then an aide walked in and placed another cable on top of the already impressive pile. This one was marked "Urgent". It was from the Indian High Commission, forwarded through their Ambassador to the United States.
Truman picked it up, reading quickly. A formal request for an immediate, high level bilateral meeting between Prime Minister Mehra of India and himself. The language was diplomatic, carefully polite in that way diplomats had of saying important things without actually saying them directly. But underneath the politeness, there was an unmistakable sense of urgency. They wanted to discuss trade, finance, China, and vaguely referenced "other strategic topics of mutual concern."
And they wanted to do it now. Not next month. Not when convenient. Now.
Truman looked up at Secretary of State Dean Acheson, who was standing nearby looking like he was already three steps ahead in whatever chess game this was turning into.
"Acheson, what the hell is this from Delhi? They want an urgent meeting? Trade, finance, China, plus some mystery topics they are not naming? And they want it immediately?"
Acheson moved closer to the desk, his expression thoughtful in that way that usually meant he was putting together pieces of a puzzle nobody else had even noticed was incomplete. "Mr. President, the timing of this request is... interesting, to say the least. My gut tells me China is the real issue here. The rest might just be window dressing to make it look broader than it is. But here is what I cannot figure out. Does Mehra know something about China that we do not? Something that is about to happen?"
He paused, frowning slightly. "Our intelligence reports say the KMT is holding steady right now. Not great, but not terrible either. If anything, it is the communists who are supposed to be struggling more than before. So what does Mehra know that we do not?"
Before Truman could respond, another aide practically burst into the room. The poor kid looked like he had just run up several flights of stairs. "Mr. President, urgent message from London. Prime Minister Mehra just announced that India is withdrawing from the British Commonwealth. Effective immediately. He made the announcement during his address at the Commonwealth meeting. It is official."
For a moment, nobody said anything. Truman's eyes widened just a fraction. Acheson actually smiled, just a tiny bit, like someone who had just watched a particularly bold poker move.
"Well," Acheson said slowly, shaking his head. "Cannot say I am exactly surprised, but damn. They actually went and did it. Just walked right out."
Then something seemed to click in his mind. He glanced back down at the cable from India, the one requesting the urgent meeting.
"Mr. President, this meeting request," Acheson said, tapping the cable thoughtfully, "this is not just a coincidence. This is brilliant diplomatic maneuvering. Mehra anticipated exactly how we would react to his Commonwealth withdrawal.
He is making sure we do not respond with alarm or hostility. Instead, he is focusing our attention on our own bilateral interests with India, completely independent of whatever hurt feelings London might have about this."
Acheson's smile grew slightly wider. "He wants to control the narrative. He is cutting ties with Britain, but at the exact same moment, he is reaching out to us. Reminding us about all our economic deals, our shared concerns about communist expansion in Asia, our strategic partnerships. He is making absolutely certain that India's independence from the Commonwealth does not get interpreted as India turning hostile to American interests."
Truman leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he processed this. "Quite typical of him. He cuts his ties with London, probably gives them a heart attack in the process, but immediately reaches out to us with this meeting request.
He is ensuring that India's path, however independent it might be, does not turn antagonistic to what we care about. Especially when it comes to containing communism in Asia."
He paused, thinking. "But is it really just about containment? Or is there something else he is playing at here? Something bigger?"
The decision practically made itself. The United States would accept the meeting request. India's withdrawal from the Commonwealth was already done, a fait accompli as the French would say.
There was no point in making a fuss about it or trying to reverse it. What mattered now was engaging with India and understanding and ensuring that whatever Mehra was building, doesn't end up becoming the problem for them in the Cold War drama.
London, 10 Downing Street, May 14th, 1949, Afternoon
The chaos that had erupted after Arjun Mehra's declaration had eventually subsided into something quieter but far more dangerous. That tense, seething kind of resentment that bubbled just under the surface of polite British restraint.
The Commonwealth session had ended hours ago. The grand chamber that had hosted it was now empty except for scattered papers and the lingering sense that something historic and deeply uncomfortable had just happened.
The British delegation, led by Prime Minister Attlee along with Ernest Bevin and Stafford Cripps, had retreated to a private room. Away from witnesses. Away from cameras. Away from the need to maintain diplomatic faces.
They all looked grim. The weight of a monumental diplomatic defeat was heavy on their shoulders, and none of them were handling it particularly well.
"He humiliated us!" Bevin practically roared, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to make the teacups rattle.
"In our own house! In front of our own Commonwealth family! The absolute nerve of that man! To stand up there and announce India's withdrawal like he was reading the weather report, and then, then, to propose his own Conference of Sovereign Nations as if the Commonwealth was not good enough for him!
How much longer are we supposed to bear these humiliations from those Indians? Again and again and again!"
Cripps, who normally spent most of his time worrying about budgets and economic forecasts, looked genuinely stung by this. The wound went deeper than just numbers. "Prime Minister, the damage to our prestige is immense.
Possibly irreparable. Every other member state is going to start questioning their own ties to the Commonwealth now. Canada, Australia, the African nations, all of them. They are going to be wondering if they should follow India's example.
He has not just left the Commonwealth. He has tried to dismantle the entire bloody institution from the inside."
Cripps paused, then added, "We need to handle this delicately. One wrong move and we could lose half the Commonwealth in a domino effect."
Attlee sat there, his face a carefully maintained mask of weary fury.
He nodded slowly, like a man acknowledging an unpleasant truth he had been trying to avoid. "This was his plan all along. Every single thing he has done over the last two years, every policy, every speech or diplomatic move, they were all steps leading to this final, symbolic act of defiance.
He has been systematically stripping away every last vestige of our influence, every thread of our shared history."
He looked at the others. "And this Conference of Sovereign Nations idea? It is brilliantly conceived, I will give him that. It offers a platform for other former colonies to interact without needing the British throne at the center.
Giving everyone equal status, nobody bowing to anyone else. It is a direct challenge to the fundamental structure of how the Commonwealth works.
But at the same time, it offers a palatable alternative that many nations seeking true independence will find very appealing."
Attlee's expression darkened. "He says we are invited to join as equals, of course. But symbolically? We would just become the circus clown while all our former colonies laugh at us. The empire reduced to just another member nation."
He looked at both ministers seriously. "Gentlemen, this was one of the two outcomes we desperately wanted to avoid. And it happened anyway.
Maybe, just maybe, we can still convince Mehra to re-consider if we offer significant reforms to how the Commonwealth operates. Though honestly, the possibility of that working is extremely slim at this point."
Attlee sighed heavily. "Remember, any public condemnation of this will only make us look like the bitter, clinging imperial power that Mehra wants to portray us as. No matter what happens, no matter how angry we are, we have to accept this publicly.
We have to find a way to minimize the damage."
Bevin was still fuming, but the cold logic was starting to penetrate his anger. "Fine. We issue a statement. Something about regretting India's decision but respecting their sovereignty as a nation.
We emphasize that the Commonwealth remains important and valuable. We take the high road publicly."
He paused, then his expression turned calculating. "But quietly? Quietly we work to discourage other nations from joining his Conference of Sovereign Nations. We need to frame it as unnecessary duplication. A divisive act that serves no real purpose except Mehra's ego."
Then his eyes lit up with a new idea. "But we could also ask the Americans to apply some pressure. Think about it. The United States is doing massive investments in India right now. Factories, infrastructure, and might even technology transfers in future.
No matter how much Mehra likes to act like a lone wolf who needs nobody, he needs that American money. He has little choice in the matter. Maybe Washington can remind him of that."
Both Attlee and Cripps looked intrigued by this suggestion. It was definitely what you might call a bastard move, the kind of underhanded diplomatic pressure that nobody would ever admit to publicly.
But then again, geopolitics had never been a noble or clean business. And for once, it would be satisfying to see India on the receiving end of diplomatic pressure instead of always dishing it out.
Finally, Attlee nodded. "Do it then. Contact the Americans. See what they can do. Quietly."
As both Cripps and Bevin left the room to begin implementing their damage control plans, Attlee remained alone. He sat there in the silence, letting out a deep, weary sigh that seemed to come from somewhere very deep inside.
The empire was crumbling. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
London, India House, May 14th, 1949, Evening
Evening in London brought no sense of peace or relaxation for Arjun. After the absolute storm of the Commonwealth conference, he and Krishna Menon had returned to India House while the diplomatic chaos continued swirling around 10 Downing Street like a hurricane.
Menon had left a little while ago to start preparing for what was going to be an absolute deluge of international inquiries, questions, demands for clarification.
Arjun sat by the window, watching the city lights begin to twinkle as dusk settled over London. He felt something he had not felt in a long time. A profound sense of closure. Completion.
The last thread of colonial legacy had been severed. Cut cleanly. India was now truly, irrevocably, completely its own master. No more pretending. No more halfway measures. No more symbolic ties to a throne on the other side of the world.
The Conference of Sovereign Nations, his counter proposal, was both a subtle dig at Britain and a necessary strategic move.
It would ensure India's symbolic leadership in a genuinely non-aligned world, even though the CSN itself would have no official leadership position. Everyone will be equal.
A soft knock came at the door, pulling him from his thoughts. An aide entered, his voice deliberately hushed. "Prime Minister, the gentleman you were expecting has arrived. He is waiting for you in the drawing room downstairs."
Arjun's eyes, which had been distant and contemplative, snapped back to sharp focus. A faint smile touched his lips. Almost imperceptible, but definitely there.
This was the other reason he had come to London. The final piece of this trip. A personal mission that had nothing to do with the Commonwealth and everything to do with India's technological future. The future that nobody else could even imagine yet.
"Excellent," Arjun said, rising from his chair smoothly. "Send him up. And ensure absolute privacy. Nobody disturbs us. Nobody listens in. Clear?"
"Yes, Prime Minister."
As the aide left, Arjun walked toward the drawing room, his mind already shifting gears completely. Goodbye Commonwealth politics. Hello technological revolution.
Hans Multhopp. The German genius who was about to change everything.