London – 10 Downing Street – May 14th, 1949
London in May was grey and damp. 10 Downing Street had that particular smell old buildings get when too many people in expensive suits crowd into rooms that haven't been properly aired out.
The Commonwealth Secretariat was hosting its first major summit since independence tore the empire into pieces.
Limousines pulled up one after another. Canadian flag was the first one. Louis St. Laurent stepped out of the car with unhurried expression. He looked like he was calculating something as he walked towards the entry with slow steps, perhaps for the cameras.
He was soon greeted by British officials as he went inside.
The next was Australian flag, with Ben Chifley looking particularly annoyed by the weather. He didn't bother to put that fake smile for the press as he briskly walked inside the avenue. South African came soon after, followed by other nations.
Each one disgorging another prime minister or dignitary who'd flown halfway around the world for what everyone suspected would be an exercise in pretending the Commonwealth still mattered. Well, it did, just not in a way that it used to be.
Inside, Clement Attlee was working the room like his political life depended on it. Which, given Labour's precarious position and Britain's worsening financial situation, it probably did.
He had that fixed smile people get when they're trying very hard to appear confident about something going badly.
Liaquat Ali Khan arrived looking like a man attending his own funeral. It was quite a surprise that he came since Pakistan had no business being at this summit. The country was barely functioning, still reeling from the catastrophic defeat, even after so much aid.
Oh and, let's not talk about their economic situation.
But Liaquat had come anyway because he was desperate. Desperate for sympathy, for loans or any hint that someone might help Pakistan recover from the disaster India had inflicted. The Commonwealth was all he had left to appeal to.
Nobody wanted to make eye contact with him. It was awkward after all. Everyone knew Pakistan was broken, but acknowledging it openly would be rude. So, people nodded politely and moved on quickly.
Just as the press outside was getting tired, the Indian delegation finally pulled up.
Arjun stepped out first. He was wearing a deep-charcoal coloured Jacquard Bandhgala. He especially had it custom made just for this occasion. One might wonder what's so special about it since it looked relatively plain and classy in a single glance.
But if one were to look more closely, they would see subtle tiger motif along his left shoulder area. They were only visible at certain angles, through light and shadows.
The interesting thing was that it's not just the press that came to life, but also a small group of young adults, most likely college graduates, holding few placards and shouting some slogans. They stood behind a thin line of police personnel, whose sole concern seemed to be keeping protocol intact.
Arjun and Menon, who stepped out after him, glanced briefly towards the group.
The placards held words like:
JUSTICE FOR PAKISTAN.
BRITAIN MUST NOT ABANDON PAKISTAN.
STOP INDIAN AGGRESSION.
'Heh, how typical'. Arjun was mildly amused, but didn't show anything on his face. He adjusted the buttons on his Bandhgala, as he and Menon continued to walk inside.
The room's attention shifted completely as soon as Arjun and Menon walked in. Maybe because India was bound to be at the centre of discussions in this Commonwealth meeting?
Setting aside the storm that had swept across the Indian subcontinent over the past two years, the real reason was rather simpler. India was no longer part of the British Empire. It was now officially a Republic, and therefore no longer met the criteria for Commonwealth membership.
Not that any of this mattered to Arjun. He and Menon still had that look that says they had better places to be.
Attlee intercepted him immediately. "Prime Minister Mehra. Welcome to London. I hope the flight wasn't too tiresome?"
"It was fine, thank you" Arjun said with a classic politician's smile, while shaking hands. His grip was firm enough to be just shy of aggressive. They did the diplomatic dance for maybe thirty seconds. Pleasantries about weather and travel.
Attlee trying to gauge what Arjun was thinking and Arjun giving away absolutely nothing.
Then, just for a moment, Arjun's eyes moved past Attlee. He saw Liaquat across the room. Their gazes met.
And Arjun just looked away. Not quickly or angrily of course. But as if Liaquat was part of the wall paint. It was less than a second, but it was brutal…to certain person.
Liaquat felt it like a physical blow. That casual glance hurt worse than any insult would have. It meant Arjun didn't see him as a rival or even as a defeated enemy. He saw nothing at all. Just empty space where Pakistan used to be.
The formal session wouldn't start until tomorrow. Today was just arrivals and the opening reception for all involved parties. And if Arjun isn't wrong, then tonight there'd be a royal banquet at Buckingham Palace.
A banquet where their King would give a welcoming speech, everyone would eat overcooked beef and pretend to enjoy it. He, at least, would be spared from that ritual.
He would be served their vegetarian cuisine instead, which is just another stolen recipes and spices dressed up as tradition. And apparently not even as good as the original. Of course.
Then six days of formal discussions, working groups, and other policy debates. Not that Arjun had any intention of staying for all six days. He'd do his part, drop his bombshell, and leave. Let everyone else pick up the pieces.
The reception at 10 Downing finally wound down around five. All the leaders were given two hours to rest and refreshments before they'll be escorted to Buckingham Palace.
Menon closed the door of a rather spacious waiting room they were allotted as both him and Arjun retired to takes some rest. Room looked quite fancy, with freshly brewed tea that sat untouched at the glass table.
"Finally," Menon sighed as he settled onto the sofa and picked up his cup. "Keeping a polite smile plastered on your face around everyone is exhausting, wouldn't you say so, Prime Minister?"
Arjun chuckled softly. "I wouldn't argue with that. But it's necessary to get a basic sense of how the others are really doing, Krishna-ji." He took a seat on the opposite sofa, his gaze drifting over the paintings lining the walls.
Menon reached forward and picked up the other cup, turning slightly as if to offer it. "Tea?"
Arjun glanced at it, then met Menon's eyes. A faint smile crossed his face. "I'd rather not. Just to be sure."
Menon paused for a fraction of a second, then gave a small, knowing nod. He set the cup back on the table without comment.
"One can never be cautious enough in this line of work," Menon said quietly, still taking a sip of his tea, "but still, some habits are hard to change."
Arjun just shook his head with faint amusement in his eyes. As he went over the day's events, something surfaced in Arjun's mind.
"Krishna-ji, did you see Liaquat?" he asked. "I was surprised, to be honest. I didn't really expect him to show up."
Menon paused, recalling the moment. "You aren't the only one, Prime Minister. I'm sure quite a few people were taken aback by his presence. But it does make sense. For now, aside from a few connections with Islamic nations, Britain is the only significant link they have to the Western world."
"Hm. I suppose his main aim is to seek some form of assistance from the Commonwealth members," Arjun said, leaning back into the sofa cushion.
'Heh, how interesting. Begging seems to be closely intertwined with Pakistan', Arjun thought as he smirked internally.
And just like this, time passed and soon it was the time for the Royal Banquet.
By 7 PM, all the cars had lined up outside to ferry the officials. Arjun and Menon got into theirs without speaking, watching grey London slide past the windows. Everything looked tired. The buildings, the people, even the sky.
Well…given that it hasn't even been 5 years since WWII ended, it shouldn't be a surprise.
Soon, he could see the silhouette of Buckingham Palace in distance.
"Grand as always," Menon remarked, watching the Palace draw closer.
Arjun let out a lazy chuckle. "To me, it screams insecurity, Krishna-ji," he said, unconcerned with what the poor driver might think.
[Bandhagala that Arjun wore:
(A/N: I particularly liked the Jacquard pattern. Though it might have been a bit edgy 🤣) ]