Sharma's legs went weak, and if he hadn't held onto the podium in ti, he would have collapsed.
Just then, the tent's entrance curtain was lifted again.
This ti it was a senior official from the United Kingdom delegation who entered, looking equally grim, holding a fax paper.
"No need to wait for the prosecution."
"Just ten minutes ago, London, Canberra, Ottawa, and Wellington simultaneously issued a joint statent. In light of the Commonwealth Gas in India being an 'unprecedented organizational failure, security disaster, and humanitarian crisis,' the four governnts officially announced: Effective imdiately, India's Commonwealth mber status is suspended until it undergoes 'thorough and verifiable political and administrative reforms.'"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the stunned Indian officials: "anwhile, we urge all Commonwealth mbers to re-evaluate the value and operational thods of this organization. A 'federation' that cannot ensure the basic safety of athletes has no reason to exist."
Suspend mber status!
This was harsher and more direct than prosecution. It was an 'expulsion' and public execution of India within the British-led old system of the Commonwealth.
Sharma completely collapsed.
He grabbed the water bottle on the podium and slamd it to the ground!
The plastic bottle exploded, muddy water splashing everywhere.
"Get out!" he roared hoarsely, tears and snot streaming down, "Get out, all of you! You white people! And you!" he pointed at the dostic reporters, "Traitors! Get out!!!"
He was like an old, wounded dog trapped and making its last frenzied howl before total collapse.
The tent descended into chaos.
Reporters frantically took photos to capture the final collapse scene. Australians and British looked back coldly one last ti and turned to leave. So Indian officials went to support Sharma, so were dazed and panicked, others started to wipe tears secretly.
The Commonwealth Gas in Delhi, amidst this night filled with the sll of cow dung, curses, and tears of despair, ended in a way uglier and more thorough than anyone had anticipated.
The news spread instantly across the globe like a monsoon carrying plague.
Late that night, London, the briefing room under 10 Downing Street
The place felt more like a wake than the tent in Delhi.
The Pri Minister sat at the end of the long table, facing away from the screen showing a frozen image—an aerial shot of cow dung littering the track in the chaotic Delhi stadium.
He didn't look, just rested his head on his hand, fingers deep in his graying and sparse hair.
Everyone else in the room held their breath, watching the rolling news headlines and social dia trends on another screen.
[Death of the Commonwealth: Delhi Disaster Buries the Last Decency of the Old Empire]
[From xico's Olympic Torch to India's Cow Dung: The Rift Between Two Worlds]
[Australian Pri Minister: A Sha to Civilization, Britain Cannot Escape Bla]
[#EscapeDelhi #CommonwealthJoke #IndiaMurdersTheGas]...
"The four main mber states jointly suspended India's status." Graham's voice broke the silence, dry as sandpaper rubbing, "Over fifteen mber states have expressed support or are considering following suit. The Commonwealth… is effectively brain dead now. The remaining shell won't last much longer."
Chancellor of the Exchequer Howard made a sound close to choking: "They're slapping our face! In front of the whole world!"
"Our face,"
The Pri Minister finally spoke, his voice hoarse to the point of inaudibility, "had been stomped into the cow dung by the Indians long ago. They're just helping to bury the corpse."
He slowly turned around, his face showing a near-numb calm, but the bloodshot eyes and deep dark circles revealed extre exhaustion and a sort of… acceptance.
"The Indians ssed up everything, but ultimately it's us who pay the price." The Pri Minister's gaze passed over the present cabinet mbers, military representatives, intelligence heads, "Because we are the emblem of that old system, the 'boss' of the club that should have been dissolved long ago. If the guest dies in the store, can the boss avoid being implicated?"
"But it was the Indians themselves—" Minister of Defense Portillo wanted to argue.
"We were the ones who put the Gas in India!"
The Pri Minister's voice rose sharply, then quickly fell, laden with endless sarcasm, "It was us who needed India's 'largest democracy', 'crown jewel' to decorate the facade, to prove our 'global influence' still exists! It was us, who turned a blind eye to India's outrageous organizing reports, thinking 'we'll muddle through'! So what was the result?"
He pointed at the screen's #CommonwealthJoke tag: "Now we ourselves have beco the biggest joke. xicans are hosting future Olympics, and we're… handing out 'resilience spirit' dals next to a pile of cow dung?"
No response.
Sha, like thick tar, stuck to everyone's hearts.
"What about Scotland?" The Pri Minister looked at Graham, seeming to want to change the subject, but the question might have been worse.
Graham's adam's apple moved: "McTavish's delegation returned from xico. They were… unusually high-profile. Held a press conference at Edinburgh Airport showcasing extensive photos and videos shot in xico of 'modern urban managent', 'efficient event organization', 'advanced technology application'. The contrast is very… stark."
He brought up several news clips: McTavish standing on an Edinburgh street, behind him a screen playing scenes of xico City's clean streets and the spectacular 'Phoenix Nest'. He spoke to the cara: "So are still wallowing in the mud, so have seen the stars. Scotland's choice is obvious."
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