"Do it," Patel decided. "Rathore ets Abdullah tomorrow. I et the Maharaja the day after.
Abdullah's support is the leverage we need — if we can tell the Maharaja that his most popular rival endorses accession to India, it removes his last excuse for delay."
The eting with Sheikh Abdullah took place the following morning at a small house near the Nishat Bagh — the Mughal garden on the eastern shore of Dal Lake.
The house was modest but well-maintained, surrounded by a garden of roses and fruit trees, with a view of the lake that would have been worth millions in Vikram's 2026 real estate market.
Kao had arranged the security — two RAW operatives watching the approaches, a third inside the house posing as a servant.
The Maharaja's police maintained a nominal presence — a single constable at the gate who was more interested in his lunch than in monitoring visitors.
Vikram was escorted inside by Bakshi Ghulam Mohammad — a stocky, shrewd-looking man with a thick mustache and the watchful eyes of a political operative.
Bakshi had been Abdullah's closest ally for years and would go on to beco a significant figure in Kashmiri politics.
In the original tiline, he had eventually replaced Abdullah as Pri Minister of Kashmir through a controversial political maneuver that Vikram had studied in detail.
Another complex character, Vikram thought as Bakshi led him through the house's narrow corridors.
Loyal to Abdullah now, but ambitious enough to betray him later.
I need to manage that ambition — channel it rather than let it fester.
Sheikh Abdullah was waiting in a small sitting room — a simply furnished space with cushions on the floor, a low table bearing a samovar of Kashmiri kahwa, and windows that frad the lake like a living painting.
The Lion of Kashmir.
The nickna was well-earned. Abdullah was fifty-two years old, tall and broad-shouldered, with a face that combined rugged masculinity with keen intelligence.
His eyes were remarkable — dark, burning, simultaneously warm and fierce, the eyes of a man who had spent years in prison for his beliefs and erged not broken but hardened.
He wore a simple pheran — the traditional Kashmiri robe — and a prayer cap.
Despite months of imprisonnt, he radiated an energy and charisma that filled the small room like heat from a furnace.
This man, Vikram thought, commanded the loyalty of millions.
He was the most popular leader in Kashmir — more popular than the Maharaja, more popular than any League politician, more popular than anyone India or Pakistan could put forward.
His support was the key to Kashmir's integration in the original tiline, and it will be the key in this one.
"Mr. Rathore." Abdullah's voice was deep and resonant, carrying the slight accent of a man who had been educated in both Urdu and English but thought in Kashmiri. "I've heard interesting things about you. Please sit."
They sat on the cushions. Bakshi poured kahwa — the fragrant Kashmiri green tea infused with cardamom, cinnamon, saffron, and crushed almonds.
Vikram accepted a cup, savoring the taste that was unlike any tea he'd encountered in either of his lives.
"Sheikh sahab," Vikram began, "thank you for seeing . I know your situation is difficult, and I appreciate your willingness to talk."
Abdullah waved away the politeness with a large hand. "My situation is what it is. I've been in and out of prison for twenty years — another few weeks of house arrest is hardly worth ntioning.
What interests is you, Mr. Rathore. Or more specifically, what you represent."
"What do I represent?"
"A new kind of thinking in Congress. The Bengal Agreent was not a standard Congress production — it was too specific, too practical, too... intelligent.
No offense to my Congress friends, but their usual approach to Muslim concerns is to make grand speeches about secularism and brotherhood while doing nothing concrete.
The Bengal Agreent actually offered sothing real — constitutional protections, economic commitnts, language guarantees.
Soone with a sharp mind designed that frawork. I'm told it was you."
Vikram acknowledged this with a slight nod. "I contributed to the design, yes.
But the credit belongs to Sardar Patel for having the political courage to offer it, and to Suhrawardy and Hashim for having the courage to accept."
"Modesty. An unusual quality in a Congress worker." Abdullah smiled — a broad, warm smile that transford his stern face.
"Tell , Mr. Rathore — can the Bengal model work for Kashmir?"
"With modifications, yes. Kashmir's situation is different from Bengal's in important ways.
Bengal's challenge was primarily communal — Hindu-Muslim relations. Kashmir's challenge is primarily political — the relationship between the Maharaja's autocratic rule and the democratic aspirations of the people."
"Go on."
"The Bengal model was built around constitutional protections for a religious minority within a democratic frawork.
For Kashmir, I'd propose sothing different — what I'd call 'structured autonomy.' Kashmir accedes to India on defense, foreign affairs, and communications.
Everything else — governance, education, land reform, cultural policy — remains under the control of an elected Kashmiri governnt."
"Article 370," Abdullah said.
Vikram froze internally. Article 370 of the Indian Constitution — the special status provision for Kashmir — wouldn't be drafted for another two years. Abdullah was using a term that didn't exist yet.
But then Vikram realized that Abdullah was using the number differently — he was referring to Section 370 of an existing British legal frawork that dealt with autonomous territories. The coincidence was jarring but explicable.
"Sothing like that, yes," Vikram said carefully. "A constitutional provision that guarantees Kashmir's autonomy within the Indian Union.
Not separation — integration with dignity. Kashmir is fully Indian, but Kashmir governs itself on internal matters."
Abdullah leaned forward, his intense eyes fixed on Vikram. "And the Maharaja?"
"The Maharaja signs the Instrunt of Accession. In return, he receives a constitutional position as ceremonial head of state, a generous privy purse, and personal security guarantees.
He keeps his palaces, his dignity, and his lifestyle. What he gives up is political power — which, frankly, he's already losing."
"And I?"
"You lead the interim governnt. Free elections follow within a year.
And you, Sheikh sahab, win those elections — because you're the most popular leader in Kashmir by an overwhelming margin."
Abdullah was quiet for a long mont. His eyes moved to the window, looking out at Dal Lake, where shikaras glided across the water like floating flowers.
"I have conditions," he said.
"I expected you would."
"Three conditions. First: land reform. Kashmir's land ownership is obscenely concentrated — a handful of landlords control most of the agricultural land while the majority of farrs are tenants.
I want imdiate, comprehensive land reform. Land to the tiller. No compensation for the landlords."
"Agreed. Patel supports land reform across India. Kashmir will be no exception."
"Second: education. Kashmir's literacy rate is barely ten percent. I want universal primary education within a decade, with instruction in Kashmiri, Urdu, and English. Not Hindi — Kashmiri and Urdu are our languages."
"Agreed. The sa language protection principle we applied in Bengal."
Abdullah's eyes narrowed slightly — he was clearly testing Vikram's authority, probing to see how far the young man could commit. "And my third condition is the most important."
"Tell ."
"No communalism. Kashmir has lived for centuries with Muslims, Hindus, and Sikhs side by side.
Kashmiriyat — our shared cultural identity — transcends religion. If India tries to turn Kashmir into a Hindu-Muslim battleground — if RSS fanatics or Congress communalists use Kashmir as a political tool — I will fight them. Even if it ans fighting India itself."
Vikram t Abdullah's gaze with absolute steadiness. "Sheikh sahab, I give you my personal assurance — and I will ensure that Sardar Patel gives you his — that Kashmiriyat will be protected.
Kashmir's pluralism is not just morally valuable — it's strategically essential.
A Kashmir where Hindus and Muslims live together peacefully is the strongest possible argunt against Pakistan's two-nation theory.
It proves that India works — that people of different faiths can share a holand and thrive."
Abdullah studied him for a long, searching mont. Whatever he saw in Vikram's face apparently satisfied him.
"You're not like other Congress people, Mr. Rathore. You understand things that most of your colleagues don't. Or won't."
"I try, Sheikh sahab."
"Hmm." Abdullah reached for his kahwa and took a long sip. "All right. Here is what I'll do. I will publicly endorse accession to India — on the conditions we've discussed.
I will ask my followers — the National Conference, which commands the loyalty of the majority of Kashmiri Muslims — to support accession.
And I will stand beside the Maharaja when he signs the Instrunt of Accession, demonstrating that this is not Hindu imperialism but democratic self-determination."
"That would be extraordinary, Sheikh sahab."
"It would be common sense. Pakistan has nothing to offer Kashmir except religious solidarity with a nation that doesn't understand us, doesn't speak our language, and doesn't share our culture.
India offers democracy, economic developnt, and constitutional protection. The choice is obvious — to anyone willing to see clearly."
He set down his cup. "There is one more thing."
"Yes?"
"I need to et Patel. Face to face. Before I commit publicly. I need to look into the Sardar's eyes and know that his word is iron."
"The Sardar is in Srinagar, Sheikh sahab. He can et you tomorrow."
Abdullah's eyebrows rose. "He ca to Kashmir personally?"
"He did. Because Kashmir matters that much."
"Then I will et him. Arrange it for tomorrow afternoon. Here — at this house. The Maharaja's police won't interfere.
They know better than to provoke while I'm under house arrest — my supporters would tear down the jail walls."
Vikram stood. "I'll arrange it. And Sheikh sahab—"
"Yes?"
"Thank you. For your trust. For your courage. For your love of Kashmir."
Abdullah smiled again — that warm, fierce smile. "Don't thank , Mr. Rathore. Thank Kashmir.
This land has a way of making its children fight for it — whether they want to or not."
To be continued..
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