Awakening of India - 1947

Moscow – The Kremlin – October 1947

The thick windows of Stalin's office muffled the sounds of Moscow's streets, but they couldn't keep out the whispers of distant conflict.

Vyacheslav Molotov stood before the oak desk, a leather portfolio tucked under his arm, waiting for the Georgian to finish reading the latest intelligence reports from the subcontinent.

Stalin's pipe smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling, filling the sparse office with the heavy scent of Georgian tobacco.

For a man who ruled a quarter of the world's landmass, his personal space was remarkably austere, a simple desk, a few chairs, and walls lined with maps marked by red pins tracking the advance of communist influence across the globe.

"So..." Stalin rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of mountains, "the British have finally done what we always knew they would do, make a complete mess of things and then run away."

Molotov cleared his throat, opening his portfolio with practiced precision.

"The partition of India, Comrade General Secretary, appears to have been executed with typical British efficiency." His tone carried just enough dryness to make Stalin's weathered face crack into something resembling a smile.

"Tell me about this Kashmir business," Stalin said, leaning back in his chair. "Two new countries, barely born, already at each other's throats. It's almost poetic."

"Indeed. The Pakistanis have sent in tribal irregulars, lashkars, they call them. Quite effective, actually. They've taken a significant portion of the territory. The Indians responded with an airlift to Srinagar, very well executed. A Professional military operation."

Stalin's yellow eyes sharpened. Those eyes had seen the rise and fall of empires, had stared down Hitler himself. Now they were studying a map of a region most Russians couldn't even locate. "And the leaders? What manner of men are we dealing with?"

"Nehru is predictable. An intellectual, educated at Cambridge, full of high-minded ideals about non-alignment and peaceful coexistence. The sort of man who believes the world can be improved through earnest speeches and good intentions."

[A/N: They think Nehru was also involved in the India's action against Pakistan aggression]

"Ah, one of those." Stalin's tone suggested he'd met the type before and hadn't been impressed. "And Pakistan?"

"Jinnah is dying, Tuberculosis, our sources suggest. Unlikely to see another year. The real power seems to be with their military and this Prime Minister, Liaquat Ali Khan. Capable enough, but they're struggling with the basic mechanics of running a country."

Stalin nodded slowly, processing the information like a chess grandmaster studying a new opening. "There's something else, isn't there? I can hear it in your voice, Molotov."

"There's a new figure in the Indian government. Someone who wasn't in our files six months ago. Arjun Mehra, he's been made Prime Minister, replacing Nehru in the day-to-day running of the government."

"A historian, according to our preliminary reports. Yet he's been handling the military side of this Kashmir operation with remarkable skill." Molotov paused, consulting his notes.

"Our intelligence suggests he's been planning this intervention for months, possibly longer. This wasn't a panicked reaction to Pakistani aggression, it was a carefully orchestrated operation."

Stalin's pipe had gone out, but he continued to draw on it thoughtfully.

"Interesting. So we have an intellectual idealist in Nehru, and a pragmatic strategist in Mehra. The eternal tension between conscience and necessity." He looked up at Molotov. "Which one is really running India?"

"That, Comrade General Secretary, is what we're trying to determine."

Moscow – The Kremlin – January 1948

The snow was falling heavier now, blanketing Red Square in pristine white. Inside the Kremlin, however, the atmosphere was anything but peaceful. The morning's intelligence briefing had brought news that sent ripples of shock through even the most hardened Soviet officials.

Stalin sat behind his desk, but his usual composure had been replaced by something more alert, more predatory. The thin file on Arjun Mehra had grown into a thick dossier, and the contents were... troubling. Or fascinating, depending on one's perspective.

"Gandhi is still alive," Molotov reported, his voice carefully neutral. "But barely. The doctors say anything can happen, with most believing that Gandhi won't survive for too long. The entire world is holding its breath."

"And the others?"

"Nehru and Azad are dead. Ghaffar Khan is in critical condition. The assassin, supposedly a Pakistani Major General named Akbar Khan, was killed at the scene." Molotov paused, his diplomat's instincts warring with his growing suspicion. "The timing is... remarkable."

Stalin's laugh was like the rumble of distant thunder. "Remarkable. Yes, that's one word for it." He stood up, moving to the window that overlooked the snow-covered courtyard. "Tell me, Molotov, what do you make of this convenient assassination?"

"The official story is that Pakistan, desperate over their failures in Kashmir, resorted to terrorism. The evidence seems compelling, Pakistani weapons, Pakistani identification, perfect operational knowledge of Indian security procedures."

"Too perfect?"

Molotov hesitated. In Stalin's presence, one chose words carefully.

"The beneficiary of this tragedy is undoubtedly clear. Mehra has consolidated power completely. Nehru's leadership is gone. The moderate voices of other nations have been silenced. And the international community has rallied behind India with unprecedented unity."

Stalin turned from the window, his eyes glittering with something that might have been admiration. "Show me the military situation."

The map that Molotov unrolled told a story of devastation. Red arrows showed Indian advances on multiple fronts. East Pakistan was completely overrun.

The western front was collapsing. Naval operations had severed Pakistan's supply lines. It wasn't just a military victory, it was a systematic dismantling of an entire nation.

"Three months," Stalin mused, tracing the Indian advances with his finger. "In three months, this Mehra has taken apart Pakistan like a watchmaker disassembling a clock. And the world is cheering him on because of four bullets in Delhi."

"The efficiency is...impressive," Molotov admitted. "Our military analysts are calling it a textbook example of coordinated multi-front warfare. Better than anything we saw from the Germans in the early war years."

Stalin returned to his chair, but his movements were those of a man energized rather than tired. "Tell me about the international reaction. Leave nothing out."

"Catastrophic for Pakistan. The Americans have suspended all aid. The British are making angry noises but doing nothing substantial, apparently Mehra has been very clever about leveraging their war debts.

The Arab states have abandoned Pakistan entirely. Even Saudi Arabia is condemning the attack on Gandhi."

"And toward India?"

"Sympathy. Admiration. Churchill called Mehra's military campaign 'brilliant and necessary.' The Americans are torn, they don't like his methods, but they're terrified of communist infiltration in South Asia. A strong, anti-communist India is starting to look attractive to Washington."

Stalin leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. "And what do our intelligence people think really happened in Delhi?"

Molotov glanced around the room, though they both knew it was secure.

"Beria's assessment is interesting. He believes the operation was planned and executed by Indian intelligence, using a carefully prepared Pakistani asset. The level of coordination with the broader military campaign suggests months of preparation."

"Months," Stalin repeated. "So while Nehru was making speeches about non-violence and peaceful coexistence, his new Prime Minister was planning the most ruthless consolidation of power since... well, since us."

The comparison hung in the air between them. Stalin's rise to power had involved the elimination of rivals, the manipulation of circumstances, the careful orchestration of events to justify necessary actions.

If Mehra had indeed orchestrated the assassination of his own colleagues to consolidate power and justify a war of conquest...it showed a level of Machiavellian skill that Stalin could appreciate.

"What does this mean for us?" Stalin asked.

"It's complicated. Mehra is bourgeois, capitalist, everything we officially oppose. But his actions are profoundly anti-imperialist. He's destroyed a pro-Western state, defied the British, and created a power vacuum that disrupts American plans for the region."

"An enemy of my enemy," Stalin mused. "Even if he's not exactly a friend."

"Gromyko thinks we should initiate talks with India," Molotov continued. "Quietly, carefully. Not as ideological allies, but as pragmatic partners in disrupting the Western order."

Stalin stood again, this time moving to a different window that looked out over the Moscow River. The ice was thick enough to walk on, but beneath it, the water still flowed. A useful metaphor, he thought.

"Here's what we're going to do," he said finally. "We maintain official neutrality. We express no condemnation of India's actions, but we offer no support for Pakistan's collapse. Let the Americans and British deal with the mess they've created."

"And Mehra?"

"We watch. We learn. We prepare." Stalin turned back to Molotov, his expression intense.

"This man has shown a level of strategic thinking that deserves respect. He's eliminated his rivals, justified a war of conquest, and gained international sympathy all in one stroke. Whether he's friend or foe, he's dangerous."

"Should we reach out?"

"Not yet. Let him consolidate his victory. Let him see how the world reacts to his new India. Then, when the dust settles, we'll see if there's room for...practical cooperation."

Stalin moved back to his desk, where the intelligence reports lay scattered like fallen leaves.

"You know what I find most interesting about this Mehra? He understands something that Nehru never did, that power unused is power lost. That sometimes, to create something new, you must be willing to destroy what came before."

"A dangerous philosophy."

"All effective philosophies are dangerous." Stalin's smile was sharp as winter wind.

"The question is whether they're dangerous to us or to our enemies. This Mehra has shown he's willing to sacrifice anyone, colleagues, friends, even moral principles, to achieve his goals. Such men can be valuable allies or terrible enemies."

"And if he becomes an enemy?"

Stalin's laugh was genuinely amused this time. "Then we'll deal with him the way we've always dealt with threats to the Soviet Union. But for now, he's doing excellent work dismantling the Western order in South Asia. Why should we interfere with that?"

The meeting ended with Stalin returning to his maps, studying the red pins that marked Soviet influence around the world.

Soon, he thought, there might be new pins to add, not red ones, perhaps, but pins marking the territories of useful non-aligned powers who could serve as buffers against Western expansion.

The bear was watching from the shadows, and what it saw was intriguing. Arjun Mehra's India was a new piece on the global chessboard, one that played by its own rules. Whether that made it friend or foe, still remained to be seen.

But Stalin had learned long ago that the most dangerous enemies were often the most valuable allies. Time would tell which category this new Indian strongman would fall into.

For now, the bear was content to watch, to wait, and to prepare for whatever came next.