CHAPTER 67: CHAPTER 60: THE GRAND ILLUSION

Delhi – Ramlila Maidan – 1st November 1948

The November air in Delhi felt crisp and clean, a relief after months of sticky heat. But today, something else filled the air, the electric buzz of thousands of people gathered for a political rally.

It had been months since India’s big victory at the UN Security Council, months spent quietly building industries and strengthening the country. Now, Prime Minister Arjun’s carefully planned "democracy" was ready to show itself to the world.

Ramlila Maidan stretched out like a sea of people. This wasn’t where the ruling Congress party usually held its rallies. Instead, it belonged to something new – the Bharatiya Jana Dal, or BJD.

This party had been created in the shadows of government offices, designed to look like the voice of national pride and strong traditional values. On paper, it was supposed to be the opposite of Congress’s more moderate approach.

The stage looked impressive, decorated with saffron cloth and the BJD’s new symbol – a stylized wheel that represented dharma. The speakers were familiar faces from politics. Some were old Congress members who had grown tired of Nehru’s liberal ideas.

Others were nationalist leaders from the Hindu Mahasabha whom Sardar Patel had personally chosen and guided.

The crowd roared when Veer Savarkar stepped forward. Though aged, his voice still carried the fire that had inspired a generation of revolutionaries. He gripped the microphone with both hands, his eyes scanning the sea of faces before him.

"My fellow Indians," he began, his voice rising above the crowd’s cheers, "for too long we have been told to be ashamed of our strength, to apologize for our victories.

But look around you! Look at what we have achieved! We have taken our rightful place among the great nations of the world."

The crowd erupted in applause. Savarkar raised his hand for silence.

"Some say we have been too harsh, too unforgiving. But I ask you, when the wolf attacks the sheep, does the shepherd negotiate? When enemies threaten our children, do we offer them tea and sympathy?" His voice grew stronger.

"No! We defend what is ours with the strength of our ancestors, with the courage of our warriors, with the determination of those who built this great civilization!"

The crowd was on its feet now, chanting his name. Savarkar smiled, knowing his words had found their mark. After all, it wasn’t just the general populous, but them as well, who had kept these emotions suppressed for so long.

"This is not the time for weakness. This is not the time for doubt. India have shown the world that we are not a nation of beggars, but a nation of lions. And now, when it’s up to us to ensure that our culture, which is our pride, is not lost to unchecked development."

The crowd’s response was thunderous. The government’s publicity department made sure the newspapers and radio covered everything widely, presenting the rally as proof that India’s democracy was alive and thriving, just as Arjun had promised at the UN.

The crowd was a mix of true believers and curious citizens wanting to see what this new political force was all about.

But the real shock came near the end of the rally. A figure walked onto the stage who wasn’t supposed to be there. Dressed in a simple white sari, her face showing quiet dignity that hid her sharp intelligence, Indira Priyadarshini Nehru stepped up to the microphone.

The crowd fell silent, then started whispering in amazement. The daughter of the recently killed Pandit Nehru, who was a secularist icon, joining the conservative opposition? Impossible!

Her voice rang out clear and strong across the grounds. She talked about her father’s dream of a strong India, about the need for national unity, about the sacrifices that had been made.

She didn’t criticize Prime Minister Mehra directly or condemn the recent war. Instead, she spoke of the BJD as a party committed to making sure India’s new strength stayed rooted in traditional values.

She said the country’s modernization shouldn’t destroy its soul, and that all patriots deserved to be heard in the new democratic system.

It was a subtle but brilliant move. She aligned herself with the BJD’s nationalist message while her very presence gave the party a legitimacy that no amount of planning could have created.

New Delhi – Prime Minister’s Office, South Block – Later that Evening

The news of Indira’s surprise move reached Arjun Mehra almost immediately. He was in his office, looking over reports about the new steel plants being built with Soviet help.

Sardar Patel, who had been at the rally behind the scene, came to deliver the stunning news personally.

"She joined them, Arjun," Patel said, his voice low and rumbling, mixing surprise with a bit of admiration for Indira’s bold move.

"Indira. She actually walked onto the stage and spoke. And the crowd... they didn’t opposed it. It gives the Bharatiya Jana Dal a legitimacy that no amount of our planning could have bought."

Arjun’s hand, which had been holding a blueprint, stopped moving.

He had once dismissed her casually, well, not casually, but someone who can’t really do any real damage, given his surveillance on her. She might have been called Iron Lady in original timeline, but in this, she had no means to get anywhere nearly close to it.

Now that seemed like a huge mistake. He had not planned for her to go ahead and join BJD.

He closed his eyes for a moment, genuine shock flickering across his face. He understood immediately why she had done this. It wasn’t because she had suddenly become a conservative. She wasn’t a cultural traditionalist at heart.

This was a calculated, cold political move. She had nowhere else to go. The Congress party, now being rebuilt by Arjun’s supporters, offered her no independent power. The old guard was either gone or following orders.

But the BJD was new and visible, a chance to rebuild a political identity, gather followers, and eventually challenge him from within the very system he was building. She saw the puppet strings, and she meant to pull them herself.

A bitter smile touched Arjun’s lips. He picked up his pen and began tapping it against his desk.

’If the liberals from my original time could see this,’ Arjun thought, filled with dark irony, ’they would be devastated. The daughter of the great Pandit Nehru, champion of secularism and non-alignment, aligning with what is basically a Hindu nationalist party.

The sheer opportunism of it would break their secular hearts.’

Patel watched him think. He knew Arjun wasn’t truly shocked by her opportunism, but perhaps by how brilliant her move was, and the unexpected challenge it created for his carefully constructed political theater.

"She means to stand against you, Arjun," Patel said, cutting to the point. "Not right away, perhaps. But eventually. She’s using the BJD as a stepping stone.

A temporary vehicle to rebuild her own power base, find like-minded people, and ultimately form her own party when the time is right. She sees the strings you pull, and she means to cut them."

Arjun’s smile disappeared, replaced by a cold, calculating look. "Indeed, Sardar-ji. She is a woman of exceptional political instincts. She learns quickly. She adapts. She understands power in a way her father never quite did."

He paused, then gave his next order, his voice crisp and regaining its usual unshakeable command. "Monitor her. Closely but quietly. Every meeting, every speech, every contact. Let her speak. Let her organize. Let her believe she is building her future.

We have given her a stage, Sardar-ji. Now, we must make sure she performs according to our script, even as she thinks she’s writing her own. The illusion of democratic choice must be maintained, but the outcome must ultimately serve the nation’s purpose.

And once she slips, I’ll strike, and I’ll strike hard."

Patel nodded, letting out a deep sigh. The complexities of this entire thing were growing every day. Indira Gandhi had just entered the grand theater of Arjun’s new India, a player in his game, but with her own hidden script. But was it really that hidden? Who knows.

[A/N: Except me, of course]

The challenge was enormous, but for Arjun, it was simply the next test of his ultimate control. After all, if things got too difficult, he could always just get rid of her.

The game was becoming more complex, but Arjun had never backed down from complexity. If Indira wanted to play politics at this level, he would show her exactly how the game was really played.

The question was whether she understood just how dangerous it was to challenge someone who had already proven he would do anything to maintain power.