Awakening of India - 1947

United Nations Headquarters, Lake Success

The Security Council chamber felt like a powder keg with a lit fuse.

Arjun's words still echoed in the air—that stunning promise of democracy by year's end, delivered with the very man who had conquered more than half of the Pakistan in just three months.

The press gallery buzzed like an overturned beehive, journalists scribbling frantically as cables flew across continents carrying news that would rewrite tomorrow's headlines from Delhi to London to Moscow.

During the chaotic twenty-minute recess, the real drama had unfolded in whispered huddles and frantic phone calls. Ambassadors clustered like conspirators, their careful diplomatic masks slipping as they processed what had just happened.

This wasn't the theoretical discussion they'd planned for—this was a moment that would define the next century of global politics.

The Council President—a normally unflappable Australian diplomat—watched everything with calm face, though a hint of anticipation in his eyes betrayed his tranquil attitude. His hands moved slightly as he called the session back to order.

"Distinguished delegates," he began, his voice catching just barely, "we have heard Prime Minister Mehra's remarkable address. The proposal for India's permanent membership now requires our immediate consideration."

The chamber fell silent. Every eye turned to the Permanent Five.

Sir Alexander Cadogan rose first, and you could almost see the weight of the British Empire's twilight pressing down on his shoulders. The man who had once governed a quarter of the world now represented a nation drowning in debt, saved only by the very colonies it had once exploited.

Arjun's casual mention of those £1.5 billion sterling balances, and his equally casual offer to help settle them, had hit like a cricket bat to the skull.

"Mr. President," Cadogan started, "Prime Minister Mehra has presented a compelling case. His public commitment to full constitutional democracy is most welcome news to His Majesty's Government."

He paused, the silence stretching like a taut wire.

"Given this solemn assurance, and India's undeniable importance to Asian stability, the United Kingdom will not oppose India's aspiration for permanent membership.

Indeed, we view it with constructive anticipation."

A collective intake of breath swept the chamber. Not quite an endorsement, but from the lips of the empire that had ruled India for two centuries, it was nothing short of revolutionary.

Warren Austin was next. The American ambassador had been furiously scribbling notes from a cable that had arrived moments before—clearly, Washington had been burning up the wires.

Truman and Marshall had obviously done their math. A democratic India as a helpful partner against communist expansion was worth more than their apprehensions of this newly established dominion.

Especially, the promise of quiet support regarding the situation in China and the trade deal that could bring vast profits to American companies.

Austin stood with the bearing of a man who'd made his decision and was comfortable with it.

"Mr. President, the United States takes Prime Minister Mehra at his word. His pledge to establish a fully democratic, constitutional India by year's end is a commitment we will monitor with great interest and sincere hope."

His voice grew stronger, more confident. "A democratic India contributing to Asian stability serves vital American interests and those of the free world.

Therefore, contingent upon the faithful fulfillment of this democratic commitment, the United States will support India's permanent membership on this Council."

The murmurs were louder now, more excited. Two Western powers down, three to go.

Andrei Gromyko rose like a bear—deliberate and utterly calm. The Soviet ambassador's poker face was legendary, but those who knew him well might have caught the slight glint in his eye.

Stalin's industrial appetite was enormous, and India had just offered to feed it with the steel plants that would be established, and perhaps even coal, and iron ore would be on the plate in future.

"Mr. President," Gromyko's accent cut through the chamber like a blade, "the Soviet Union has consistently advocated for a Security Council reflecting global realities, not imperial nostalgia.

Prime Minister Mehra has outlined a path emphasizing national sovereignty and independent foreign policy—principles that we support."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "The Soviet Union will not oppose India's inclusion and looks forward to productive cooperation with an independent India playing its proper role on the world stage."

Three down. The momentum had become a landslide.

Dr. Tingfu Tsiang of KMT China rose slowly, a man representing a government that might not exist to see the next year. Chiang Kai-shek's forces were crumbling before Mao's armies, and everyone in the room knew it.

Arjun's appeal to Asian brotherhood, laced with subtle undertones of strategic support, compelled his government to take notice.

"Mr. President," Tsiang's voice carried the weary dignity of a crumbling empire, "the Republic of China has long believed in the importance of strong, sovereign Asian nations guiding our continent's destiny.

Prime Minister Mehra has articulated a powerful vision, and his commitment to democratic principles is most welcome."

He straightened slightly, finding strength in the moment. "China sees in India a fellow ancient civilization poised to play a vital role. We will cast our vote in favor of India's permanent membership."

Four for four. All eyes turned to Alexandre Parodi.

The French ambassador looked like a man trapped in a burning building with only one exit.

To veto now would be to stand alone against the entire world, to mark France as a petty obstructionist clinging to colonial fantasies while other powers had already adapted to this new reality.

Parodi rose with the careful dignity of a man walking to his own execution. "Mr. President," he began, his voice steady despite the circumstances.

"France has listened with great attention to Prime Minister Mehra's eloquent address and his significant commitments regarding India's democratic future."

The pause stretched like eternity. In the press gallery, photographers held their breath, fingers poised over camera triggers.

"While we maintain that any alteration to this Council's permanent structure requires the most deliberation in light of the assurances given, and the emerging consensus of other permanent members..." Another pause, the diplomatic equivalent of a drumroll.

"France will not oppose India's inclusion as a permanent member of this Security Council."

The chamber erupted. Not in cheers—this was the UN, after all—but in a wave of excited murmurs, the rustle of papers, the scratch of pens. History had just been made, and everyone knew it.

In the observer section, Arjun Mehra sat motionless as a statue, his face betraying nothing. But Krishna Menon, seated beside him, caught the almost imperceptible relaxation in his shoulders, the slight unclenching of his jaw.

The formal vote was pure theater now—the P5 had spoken, and the rest of world had listened.

When the President announced the result, making India the sixth permanent member of the UN Security Council, Arjun merely inclined his head slightly. No triumph, no celebration, just the quiet satisfaction of a chess master who had seen checkmate twenty moves ahead.

Menon leaned over, his whisper barely audible above the chamber's buzz. "Prime Minister...you've just redrawn the geopolitical landscape of the world."

Arjun's eyes remained fixed on the Council President, but his response was quiet, almost casual. "This is just the key to the room, Menon-ji. The real work, is about furnishing it, making sure India's voice matters, that starts now.

And our democratic clock..." He tapped his watch. "It's ticking."

Around them, the world's most powerful diplomats were already recalculating everything they thought they knew about global politics. The underdog had just clawed its way to the top—and been formally invited to stay there.

And somewhere in the back of every mind in that chamber was the same thought, 'What has Prime Minister Mehra promised, and what will it cost if he can't deliver?'

[A/N: There you go, that's how it should have happened.]