Of course, Alan Wilson didn't share all his real thoughts with his assistants. Instead, he framed the matter from the perspective of self-interest:
"You have to understand — once the idea of Indian independence becomes mainstream in London, what's the first question we should be thinking about? There are currently 100,000 British civil servants in India, plus their families. After independence, are we all just going to become Indians?"
His assistants shook their heads — clearly, the prospect didn't appeal.
"Then here's the next question," Alan went on. "Will Britain have that many civil service jobs waiting for us when we go home? Will we even still have a place in the administrative system?"
By now, the meaning was clear. Every British civil servant in India — including Alan, the Resident in Hyderabad — faced the risk of unemployment. Seeking to protect their own future was hardly unreasonable, especially when the person they were dealing with was the richest man in the world.
This round of "ideological alignment" was a success. They didn't need to imagine the prospect of unemployment — they only had to step outside the British quarters into Hyderabad's streets. There were ragged, idle people everywhere, staring with blank eyes as they begged. That, Alan implied, could be their fate if India became independent and they returned to Britain without work.
Once they understood this, the assistants became noticeably sharper in discussions. It was as if they'd grown up overnight — the fresh-out-of-university air was gone, replaced with the mindset of actual civil servants.
Getting hold of surplus military equipment, Alan thought, wouldn't be difficult. In 1945, Britain commanded over five million troops. Even though the Royal Navy was its main strength, wartime had forced the British Army into massive expansion. They'd produced 26,000 tanks — infantry and cruiser models — not even counting the heavy ones.
Arming one princely state in India was no real challenge. The only question was whether anyone had the will to do it.
In his first month in Hyderabad, Alan focused on learning the job, figuring out how to profit from the fabulously wealthy Nizam, and preparing to play his part in the independence process. Even if there was no clear timetable for British withdrawal, he knew his role alone couldn't sway the outcome. In the two years before independence, he still had a lot to do.
Alan had his own ideas. Post-independence India couldn't be too weak — or it wouldn't be able to check the wider Muslim world. But too strong, and India wouldn't stay in line.
And after independence? How would India view the colonial era? Without question, as a national humiliation. In the future, Indian internet forums would be full of claims that Britain had plundered $50 trillion — and the tone said it all.
Without Pakistan as a convenient lightning rod, Britain would be India's favorite target for anger.
While building a personal rapport with the Nizam, Alan was also reaching out to other princely states. Hyderabad was the largest and most powerful in South Asia — a trendsetter among the 500-plus states. Many would follow its lead.
"I've spoken to John — the Resident in Junagadh," Alan told the Nizam. "Junagadh and Hyderabad are in the same boat. If the two states can form a close relationship, whether it's Jinnah or Nehru — especially the latter — they might think twice before acting."
Junagadh, along with Hyderabad and Kashmir, was one of the three most prominent princely states. At 50,000 square kilometers, Junagadh had a special advantage — it sat right next to Bombay, India's largest deep-water port.
Bombay handled over half of South Asia's sea trade — and in the future, it would be the home of Bollywood. In purely geographic terms, Junagadh's position was the best of the three — but it was also the first to fall.
Like the Nizam, Junagadh's ruler was Muslim, while his subjects were mostly Hindu.
Junagadh and Hyderabad were like grasshoppers tied to the same rope — neither could escape. Once Nehru picked them off one by one, the 500 princely states would all fall into New Delhi's hands.
"They're far better off than us — much closer to the northwest," the Nizam said with a frown. That was true enough: Junagadh lay not far from what would become Pakistan. But in reality, it fell before Hyderabad, without even putting up a real fight. At least Hyderabad fought a bloody battle.
Alan didn't say that out loud. In the early days after independence, Muslim rulers were reluctant to fight the Hindu majority. It was only later, when India overreached, that things changed. Nehru insisted on "respecting the will of the people" in Junagadh — where most Hindus wanted to join India.
But in Kashmir, Nehru changed his tune: the Hindu ruler wanted to join India, so that was the deciding factor. "Heads I win, tails you lose." That was what enraged Jinnah and sparked the First Indo–Pakistani War.
Could that war have been avoided? Alan knew the answer was no. The Nehru family's ancestral home was in Kashmir. They were distinguished scholars in the Mughal era, invited to court by the emperor himself.
Kashmir was Nehru's place of origin — the heart of his identity. He would never hand it over to Pakistan.
Seeing the Nizam's mixed feelings about Junagadh, Alan leaned in with encouragement. "Given Congress's momentum, many princely rulers are in the same situation. Junagadh's ruler is like you — and his state's proximity to Bombay gives him the ability to choke India's main port. That's leverage you can use."
Alan was really getting into his role as the Nizam's strategic adviser. He knew the odds were against the princely states stopping Nehru from unifying India — but there was always the chance of an unexpected windfall.