London – Buckingham Palace – Evening, May 14th, 1949
Someone had at least made an effort with the Palace. The exterior was lit up against the evening darkness, ceremonial guards standing rigid at their posts. The whole thing screamed "we still matter" a bit too loudly, like a fading actress insisting on her close-up.
Inside was worse. Gilt everywhere, portraits of dead monarchs glaring down at you, footmen in livery that probably cost more than a farmer's annual income.
The banquet hall made Arjun's teeth ache just looking at it. Too many chandeliers, too much gold leaf, too much…of literally everything. See? This was what an empire looks like when it couldn't admit it was broken.
The seating arrangement was a masterpiece of political calculation. Britain at the center, naturally. Dominions arranged by perceived importance. Everyone else filling gaps.
Arjun found his nameplate near Attlee, with one seat separating them. Its closeness was enough to acknowledge India's significance and equality status. Though it was an entirely different story for Menon. He was at a completely different table with the foreign ministers and other second-tier officials.
Liaquat was so far down the table that he was practically in a different room. Someone on Attlee's staff seems to have made that choice deliberately. Can't ignore Pakistan completely no matter how insignificant it was now, but can definitely put them where nobody has to look at them.
Canadian Prime Minister Louis St. Laurent was on Arjun's right. Nice enough guy, kept glancing nervously down the table like he expected food to start flying any moment.
"First time at one of these?" St. Laurent asked while they waited for the King to show up.
"First time," Arjun nodded slightly.
"You'll get used to them. Well, no, you probably won't. Nobody does. Long speeches, mediocre food, and everyone pretending they like each other." Laurent paused. "Though I suspect tomorrow might be less boring than usual."
'Oh, you have no idea', Arjun didn't take that bait. Let him wonder.
His other side was South African Prime Minister Daniel Malan. Older, rigid posture, looked like someone had shoved a poker up his spine forty years ago and he'd learned to live with it. He'd given Arjun a curt nod when sitting down but hadn't said anything else.
Which was good. Given what's going on in South Africa right now, he wanted to engage with him as less as possible, least he might say something unbecoming of his status.
A bell chimed. Everyone stood, except him, which earned him a few stares. Attlee had that constipated look when he saw this, but still did his best to maintain the smile. King George VI entered with the usual procession of attendants.
He looked somewhat sick. You could see it in his face, in the way he moved. But he was here doing his duty because that's what kings did, apparently. He sat at the head table and everyone else could sit.
The King's speech was short, thank God. Welcome to London, glad everyone came, let's talk about Commonwealth unity, uncertain times require cooperation, the usual pablum. Everyone clapped at the right moments. Arjun clapped too. Let's not piss them so much that their heads pop.
Then the food arrived and Arjun understood why the British Empire had collapsed. Any civilization that thought this was acceptable cuisine deserved to fall.
Soup first. It was allegedly a vegetable consommé, though it tasted like someone had boiled grass clippings in water and called it refinement. Arjun ate it because not eating would be noticed.
The next course was a poached something-or-other, white, soft, and utterly devoid of any flavor that might suggest intent or care.
Then the main event. A vegetable Wellington of sorts, baked until it reached a consistency somewhere between paste and regret, smothered in gravy that couldn't hide its sins. The vegetables had been boiled into submission. The potatoes were somehow both dry and soggy.
St. Laurent was making another run at conversation. "India's been making quite a splash lately. The industrial programs I've been reading about, quite impressive really."
"We've been working," Arjun said, cutting a stubborn piece of vegetable Wellington that resisted the knife.
"The war with Pakistan…it must have been terribly difficult to navigate, especially given India's independence around the same time" St. Laurent said, cautiously choosing his words.
Arjun nodded with a controlled expression. "It was necessary, given the circumstances. We never wanted that."
St. Laurent seemed to realize he wasn't getting much and focused on his own plate. Probably trying to figure out if the beef was actually meant to be this colour.
Across the table, Attlee was performing. Holding forth about trade agreements and mutual defense with the Australian and New Zealand PMs, voice carrying to nearby tables. Making sure everyone heard him talking about Commonwealth unity and shared interests. It was a show, and not a subtle one.
Malan finally spoke up. "Your handling of Pakistan was quite thorough. Some might say excessively thorough."
Arjun looked at him. "Some people say lots of things. Usually the people who've never had to make difficult decisions."
"Dismembering a sovereign nation sets a dangerous precedent, Prime Minister Mehra."
"Does it? Or does it set the precedent that starting wars you can't win has consequences?" Arjun kept his voice conversational.
"Pakistan attacked us. We defended ourselves. The outcome reflected reality. If that's uncomfortable for some people, they're welcome to their discomfort."
He paused, then added, with the same calm tone, "Speaking of uncomfortable realities…things aren't going well in South Africa either, are they? Reports keep coming of non-white communities being…systematically mistreated. It's difficult to believe such policies can last indefinitely."
Malan's jaw tightened but he apparently decided this wasn't an argument worth having while trapped at a dinner table.
The meal kept coming. Dessert was a sad trifle that had given up on life. Port was served, which at least had the virtue of being alcoholic. The King stood, said his goodnights, and departed.
That was everyone's signal that they could escape too, though you still had to wait the appropriate amount of time and make the appropriate farewells.
Arjun spotted Liaquat standing by himself near a wall, holding a glass of port and looking like a ghost at his own wake. Nobody was talking to him. The Prime Minister of Pakistan at a Commonwealth banquet, and he might as well have been furniture.
Arjun felt nothing in particular looking at him. You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.
The evening finally ended. With the cars already waiting outside, everyone filtering out into the London night. Arjun and Menon headed to the Indian High Commission, which was less glamorous than the accommodations the British had offered but had the advantage of being their own space.
The drive through dark London was quiet. Menon eventually broke it. "Well, that was an evening."
"One that falls below expectations," Arjun added. "Tomorrow's when things actually happen."
"You're really going to do it."
"Of course. Why would I come all this way if I wasn't?"
They pulled up to the High Commission. The staff had prepared rooms, though prepared was generous. Clean and functional in that government housing way, slightly depressing in that government housing way.
Arjun didn't care though. He wouldn't be here long enough for it to matter.
He spent the next hour going over his speech again. Every word mattered. One shot at this, no do-overs, no room for anyone to misunderstand or reinterpret. Had to be perfect.
Finally, he set it aside and tried to sleep. Tomorrow's morning would be interesting. Afternoon would be chaos. And evening? Well, he'd be meeting a particular person of interest in the evening.
London – 10 Downing Street – May 15th, 1949
The next morning, the formal Commonwealth meeting finally began. The grand chamber at 10 Downing was set up with flags, nameplates, all the ceremonial trappings. Press gallery packed with journalists like always. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for.
The session opened with standard procedural matters. Reading of the agenda, administrative business. Then came the speeches. Each leader got their turn at the podium to address the gathering.
All speeches were quite rehearsed. But all of them tried not to focus on any point regarding India becoming a republic. Nobody wanted to rock the boat before they knew what India was going to say.
When India's turn came, the room got quiet rather quickly. Arjun walked up to the podium and took a minute of his time looking around.
"Prime Minister Attlee, distinguished colleagues," Arjun began. "I'm here representing the Republic of Bharat. We've spent the last two years rebuilding after independence. New constitution, new borders, and a new economy. We've been busy."
He talked through India's recent history. The partition violence that was suppressed timely, war with Pakistan, at which Liaquat looked like he wanted to hide his face somewhere but couldn't find any place.
That, followed by reconstruction of damaged regions and finally the emphasis on regional stability and economic development. Typical diplomatic language that could have meant anything or nothing.
And then…then he shifted gears.
"Our new Constitution establishes India as a fully sovereign republic. Not a dominion or part of anyone else's system. Completely independent."
Attlee's smile started to crack. Bevin was sitting forward now, sensing where this was going. Cripps had gone very still.
Liaquat's head came up. Was India about to... could they possibly...?
"So, on behalf of the Government of India and millions of my Indian brothers and sisters, Bharat is formally withdrawing from the British Commonwealth, effective today."
The room exploded.
Not immediately. There was maybe two seconds of stunned silence first, like everyone's brain needed time to process what they'd just heard. Then chaos. Chairs scraping, people talking over each other in hushed tones, someone dropped papers by mistake.
Attlee went white. Like pale white. Bevin looked like he'd been punched. Why wouldn't they? For their worst possibility came true.
They had anticipated 2 possible scenarios before this meeting, one that India still choose to remain in Commonwealth if British and other members agree to introduce progressive changes, and second and the worst possibility, that India leaves the Commonwealth.
And well, second one it is.
Liaquat started laughing when he heard this. He actually couldn't help it. A sharp, bitter laugh that he tried to cover with his hand but couldn't quite manage. Here he'd come begging for scraps of support, and India had just blown up the whole table.
They'd humiliated Britain in their own summit. It was horrifying and hilarious and Liaquat's exhausted brain couldn't process which emotion to feel.
Arjun waited for the noise to die down. He didn't look bothered by the reaction. If anything, he looked like this was going exactly as planned.
Attlee recovered and wanted nothing else than to interrupt Arjun and say perhaps his decision can be negotiated. But there was a protocol to follow.
"We're not making this decision in spite of anyone," Arjun replied, his voice cutting through the din. "But as a decision that suits our sovereignty. Our interests simply no longer align with Commonwealth membership. I think this shouldn't surprise anyone who's been paying attention."
He once again looked at the surrounding members. "Of course, we're not burning the bridge here. It would be a shame to cut-off ties that have been cultivated over decades. So, we'll maintain bilateral relationships where they make sense.
Trade, cultural exchange, all of that continues. We're just acknowledging that this particular structure doesn't serve India's needs anymore."
Even though he said this, room was still buzzing.
Leaders were whispering to their aides, probably trying to figure out what this meant for their own countries. If India left, what was the point of the Commonwealth? They were the crown jewel, the big success story.
Without them, it was just Britain and a collection of other smaller dominions who pretends historical ties mattered. If Ceylon and Pakistan are ignored, it's no different from a typical white nations club. Not to mention, Pakistan is already more or less irrelevant. They can't, in any possible way, serve anyone's interest.
"Furthermore," Arjun continued, and somehow his voice got everyone's attention again, "India is proposing an alternative. We're calling it the Conference of Sovereign Nations. Same basic concept as the Commonwealth, coordination and dialogue on shared interests, but structured differently.
No permanent head or symbolic center. It'll have rotating chairmanship, and so every member gets a turn to host." He gestured vaguely at the room.
That landed differently than the withdrawal. People looked confused more than angry. What was he offering? A replacement? A competitor?
"Any nation who was once under colonial rule is welcome to join," Arjun added.
He looked at Attlee directly. "That means Commonwealth members are also included. And given that Britain had been in the centre of colonial past of many nations, they're welcome to join it as well, serving as an example of progressive policies and to aid those who were once treated unfairly.
I must also add that this new forum is in no way a competitor or replacement. But rather a platform where those who once shared similar past, can interact and help each other. So, you can be part of both the Commonwealth and this new Conference at the same time."
Finally, he concluded. "We look forward to working with those who agree to be the part of this new forum. Thank you."
Then he just walked away from the podium. Atlee wanted to stop him as mid-way but for some reason, he was too busy processing what Arjun had just proposed. Menon followed him out while the room descended back into chaos.
Outside, the press had somehow gotten wind of it. Reporters were shouting questions, cameras flashing. Arjun ignored them completely and walked to the car.
Inside the chamber, the summit was basically over. Nobody made any efforts to focus on speeches of remaining countries. Attlee looked like he'd aged ten years in ten minutes. Bevin was already calculating how to spin this to Parliament.
Liaquat sat alone, that strange smile still on his face. Someone would probably ask him later what Pakistan's position was on India's withdrawal. He'd say something diplomatic and meaningless. What else could he say? Pakistan had no position. It barely existed. That was the real joke of it all.