"The third action will take ti," Vikram acknowledged. "But the first two can be executed within days."
Patel studied the docunts. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes — those analytical, x-ray eyes — were sharp.
"This direct intervention with Mountbatten," he said. "You think I should approach him alone? Without Nehru's knowledge?"
"With Nehru's knowledge ideally. But if Nehru opposes the eting, do it anyway. The stakes are too high for procedural caution."
"That will create friction with Jawaharlal."
"Friction now is better than catastrophe later, sir."
Patel was silent for a long mont. Then he turned to non. "V.P., your assessnt?"
"Vikram is right, Sardar sahab. Mountbatten is moving fast. If we don't present an alternative now — a credible, detailed alternative — we lose the chance forever. The Bengal proposal is the strongest counterargunt we have, but Mountbatten doesn't yet know it exists. We need to put it in front of him."
"And if Mountbatten dismisses it?"
"Then we know the British position is firmly committed to partition, and we adjust our strategy accordingly. But at least we'll know."
Patel nodded slowly. "Arrange the eting with Mountbatten. I'll request it personally. Vikram, I want you in the room."
Vikram blinked. "Sir, I'm not sure that's wise. The Viceroy eting with a junior advisor would be unusual—"
"You will be there as my technical expert on the constitutional and economic provisions of the proposal. If Mountbatten asks questions about details, I want soone present who can answer them with authority. Fra it however you like, but you will be there."
The decision was final. Vikram saw the wisdom of it — having him in the room would give him direct insight into Mountbatten's thinking and reactions, invaluable for calibrating future strategy.
But it also ant exposure. Mountbatten would see his face, hear his voice, perhaps rember him later.
And anything Mountbatten knew, his intelligence services would eventually know.
"Yes, Sardar sahab," Vikram said.
"Good. non, draft the request for a eting. Make it polite but urgent. Vikram, prepare comprehensive briefing materials. Kao..." Patel turned to the silent intelligence officer. "What do you need from ?"
"Authorization to expand The RAW, Sardar sahab. We currently have seven personnel."
"To run the operations Vikram has outlined plus the new requirents erging from the Mountbatten situation, we need at least twenty within the next month."
"How much will it cost?"
"Approximately fifteen thousand rupees per month for salaries, safe houses, operational expenses, and equipnt."
"That's a lot of money."
"It's a tiny fraction of what one bad strategic decision could cost India."
Patel almost smiled — almost. "You and Rathore are very alike. You both think in terms of strategic value rather than nominal cost." He nodded.
"Authorization granted. I'll arrange the funding through discretionary channels. No paper trail leading back to ."
"Understood."
"And gentlen..." Patel stood, indicating the eting was over.
"We are now operating under ergency conditions. Every day matters. Every hour, possibly. Don't sleep more than is absolutely necessary. Don't waste ti on procedural niceties. The next four weeks will determine whether India is born whole or whether it's mutilated at birth. Act accordingly."
Three days later, Vikram sat in a leather chair in the Viceroy's study at Rashtrapati Bhavan — though it was still called Viceroy's House in 1947 — facing Lord Louis Mountbatten across a vast mahogany desk.
The room was magnificent in the way that only colonial architecture could be magnificent — high ceilings, polished marble floors, chandeliers, paintings of British administrators in heavy gold fras.
Through the windows, the gardens of the Viceregal estate stretched into the distance, immaculately maintained even in the heat of an Indian April.
Mountbatten himself was every bit the figure Vikram had read about. Tall, handso, charming in the effortless way that British aristocrats had perfected over centuries.
His uniform was crisp despite the heat. His blue eyes were sharp and assessing.
Patel sat beside Vikram. Edwina Mountbatten sat to her husband's right — her presence at political etings was unusual but characteristic.
She was beautiful in a way that photographs didn't quite capture, with intelligent eyes and a restless energy that suggested she'd rather be anywhere than sitting through political conversations.
"Sardar Patel," Mountbatten began with practiced warmth, "I'm grateful for your willingness to et. I know you're a busy man."
"As are you, Your Excellency."
"Please — Dickie. Among friends, no need for titles." Mountbatten's smile was disarming. "And who is this young gentleman?"
"This is Mr. Vikram Rathore. He's my advisor on constitutional and economic matters. I've brought him to address technical questions you may have about the proposal I want to present."
"How interesting." Mountbatten's eyes turned to Vikram with the polite curiosity of a man cataloguing information. "Very young for an advisor on constitutional matters."
"I'm honored to serve, Your Excellency."
"Dickie, please." Another disarming smile. "Now, Sardar — what is this proposal you've brought ?"
Patel handed him the executive summary — the sa ten-page docunt that had been given to Suhrawardy.
"An alternative to partition. A united India with strong constitutional protections for religious minorities. Specifically focused on Bengal, which is where the most viable basis for unity exists, but designed to be extended to other provinces if successful."
Mountbatten took the docunt and began to read. The room was silent except for the soft whisper of pages turning.
Edwina watched Vikram with frank curiosity. Vikram kept his face neutral.
After fifteen minutes, Mountbatten looked up.
"This is... unexpected. I was given to understand that the Congress had reluctantly accepted the inevitability of partition."
"So in Congress have. I have not. And I believe this proposal offers a credible alternative — one that addresses the legitimate concerns of Muslim communities while preserving India's unity."
"The economic projections are quite ambitious."
This was Vikram's cue. "Your Excellency, the projections are based on conservative assumptions about Bengal's productive capacity and India's potential for industrialization. With proper investnt and policy, the targets are not just achievable — they're likely to be exceeded."
Mountbatten turned to him. "You wrote this section?"
"I drafted it, Your Excellency. The Sardar reviewed and approved it."
"Where did you study economics, Mr. Rathore?"
"Allahabad University. But I've supplented my formal education with extensive private study."
"It shows. So of these concepts — strategic resource allocation, complentary regional developnt — these aren't standard British or Arican economic fraworks. Where do they co from?"
Vikram t his gaze steadily. "They co from observation and analysis, Your Excellency. India's situation is unique — vast population, imnse potential, severe colonial damage to existing infrastructure and institutions. Standard fraworks developed for European or Arican conditions don't fully apply. We need new models."
"Hmm." Mountbatten's blue eyes held Vikram's for a mont longer than necessary.
"You're an interesting young man, Mr. Rathore."
"Thank you, Your Excellency."
The Viceroy turned back to Patel. "Sardar, I'll be candid with you. This proposal arrives very late in the process. The political montum toward partition is significant. Mr. Jinnah is firm in his demand."
"Mr. Nehru, while reluctant, has co to see partition as the only way to prevent civil war. To reverse course now would require enormous effort and considerable risk."
"With respect, Your Excellency, partition is not the way to prevent civil war. Partition is the way to guarantee civil war — and on a scale unimaginable. Millions will die in the population transfers and communal violence that will follow division. This proposal offers a way to avoid that catastrophe."
"I understand your concerns. But I must consider the political realities."
Patel's voice hardened slightly — not aggressively, but with the quiet steel that Vikram had co to recognize.
"Your Excellency, the political reality is that you have the power to shape outcos, not rely to ratify them. If you endorse this proposal — if the Viceroy of India lends his prestige to a united India frawork — Jinnah's position weakens significantly. Without British support, the demand for Pakistan loses its institutional foundation."
Edwina spoke for the first ti. "Sardar, you're asking my husband to choose sides in an Indian political dispute. That's not the role of the Viceroy."
"With respect, Lady Mountbatten, the Viceroy chooses sides every day — by what he prioritizes, what he endorses, what he opposes. The question is not whether His Excellency takes a position. The question is which position best serves the interests of the British governnt, the Indian people, and the future stability of the subcontinent."
Edwina inclined her head slightly. "Well argued."
Mountbatten was quiet for a long mont, looking down at the docunt. Vikram watched him carefully, trying to read the calculations behind those handso features.
Mountbatten was a sophisticated political operator — he wouldn't make snap decisions on sothing this important.
But he also wasn't dismissing the proposal out of hand, which was itself significant.
"I'll need to study this more carefully," Mountbatten said finally. "And I'll need to consult with my staff and with London. The Cabinet will want to weigh in on any major change of approach."
"How long?" Patel asked.
"Two weeks. Perhaps three."
"With respect, Your Excellency, we don't have three weeks. The communal situation deteriorates daily. Every week of uncertainty produces more deaths. We need a decision within ten days."
Mountbatten's eyes flashed slightly — not many people pushed back on the Viceroy's tilines.
But he respected directness, and Patel's reputation was such that even the Viceroy couldn't dismiss him casually.
"Ten days," Mountbatten conceded. "I'll have a preliminary response within ten days. Whether it's a yes, a no, or a request for further negotiation, you'll know."
The eting ended with diplomatic pleasantries. As they were leaving, Edwina Mountbatten approached Vikram directly.
"Mr. Rathore."
"Yes, Lady Mountbatten?"
"I'd very much like to read your full economic analysis soti. Not the executive summary — the detailed version. I'm interested in developnt economics, particularly as it pertains to won's participation in the economy. Do you have any thoughts on that?"
Vikram smiled — the first genuine smile he'd allowed himself in the eting. "As a matter of fact, Lady Mountbatten, I've recently completed a paper on exactly that topic. I'd be honored to send it to you."
"Please do. Through the Viceregal staff — they'll forward it to ."
"Of course."
She gave him a slight nod and turned away.
Patel and Vikram walked out of Viceroy's House into the bright Delhi afternoon.
The Sardar's car waited at the steps, but Patel paused before getting in.
"That woman is sharper than she lets on," Patel said.
"Yes, sir."
"She'll read your paper. And she'll talk to her husband about you. And about the proposal."
"That's the hope, Sardar sahab."
Patel turned to look at him — really look at him, with those penetrating eyes.
"Rathore. I don't know what ga you're playing. I don't fully understand how you know what you know. But I've decided to trust you completely. Don't make regret that decision."
"I won't, Sardar sahab."
"Good." Patel got into the car. "Send Lady Mountbatten the paper today. By special courier. I want it on her desk before dinner."
The car drove away, leaving Vikram standing on the steps of Viceroy's House, his mind racing with the implications of what had just happened.
The Viceroy of India had been presented with an alternative to partition.
The Vicereine of India had requested a personal copy of his economic analysis.
The political montum that had seed unstoppable just days ago was now being challenged by a coordinated effort spanning multiple fronts.
And in the background, Suhrawardy was preparing his response. Kao was running the Crawford deception.
The Naidu connection was being engineered. The Kashmir operational plan was being developed.
So many threads. So many possibilities. So many ways things could go wrong.
But for the first ti since arriving in 1947, Vikram allowed himself to feel sothing dangerous and seductive: hope.
He walked away from Viceroy's House toward his next eting, his next docunt, his next operation.
Behind him, the imperial city was preparing for the end of empire. In front of him, an entirely new India was waiting to be built.
To be continued..
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[END OF CHAPTER 21]
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