Reborn in 1914: I Will Build India into a Superpower

Allahabad, 13 August 1945, night

The rain had stopped, leaving the study in Allahabad thick with the damp, heavy heat of mid-August. Outside, the night sky was dark, save for the occasional flickers of heat lightning along the horizon. On the wide mahogany desk, a single brass lamp cast a pool of amber light over scattered ledger sheets, maps of the subcontinent, and intelligence cables freshly decoded from London and Washington.

Ram Prasad Gupta stood near the high window; his hands folded behind his back. Shaktidas Sharma sat in a heavy leather chair, running his finger down a column of handwritten figures.

”Within forty-eight hours, India will be independent,” Shaktidas said softly, looking up from his paper. His voice carried a strange mix of disbelief and awe.

”Yes,” Ram replied without turning around. ”But cleaved in two.”

Shaktidas let out a slow breath, setting the paper down. ”You will be the prime minister, Ram. You will do something about it.”

Ram turned slowly, the shadows playing across his face. ”Such trust.”

”I have seen the work you have done for Mother India over these sixteen years,” Shaktidas said, his tone entirely serious. ”I know what you have built in the dark while the rest of the country only made speeches.”

”We have work to do after then,” Ram said, stepping toward the desk and pulling up his chair.

”No time for celebrations?” Shaktidas asked, a faint smile touching his lips.

”The people deserve to celebrate,” Ram said, a smile breaking through. ”We cannot afford rest just yet.”

”What are the major concerns then?” Shaktidas asked, pulling a fresh slate toward himself.

”The network. It will need integration with the nation’s forces.”

”All of it?” Shaktidas was sceptical.

”Yes, completely. The country does not need two parallel networks competing.” Ram replied in a resolute voice. ”What is our current strength? The warriors first.”

Shaktidas pulled a thick file from the locked drawer, pulling out a large canvas master sheet from its depths, unrolling it onto the mahogany table. ”These are the final verified strength numbers for the network as of today.”

He pointed to the top section of the chart:

”First, our Soldiers and Armed Combat Cadres. From the colonial enlistments, the INA, and our internal armed cells in UP, Punjab, and Bengal, we recruited a cumulative total of approximately 135,000 personnel over sixteen years.

Wartime casualties in North Africa, Italy, Burma, and Europe took nearly 20,000 of our men. Another 55,000 dropped out due to post-war demobilisation, physical exhaustion, or ideological splits during the Partition. That leaves us with a net active strength of ~60,000 trained, battle-hardened soldiers ready for immediate deployment.”

”The warriors will volunteer for the armed forces and the police forces.”

Shaktidas moved his finger to the second row:

”Second, our Intelligence Operatives and Field Agents. Out of 6,500 total operatives trained since 1931 across universities, railways, and telegraph networks, we lost 1,200 to British counter-espionage and Special Branch arrests. Another 1,500 retired or integrated into civil political parties. Our net active strength stands at ~3,800 active operatives spanning ports, communications, and administrative centres. ~1200 of these are embedded in various tribes in Burma, Northeast, Jammu Kashmir, Tibet, and Hyderabad.”

”Embedded agents and experts in external situations will go to a new, externally focused intelligence unit,” Ram instructed, gesturing to a dossier labelled with international trade and diplomatic nodes. ”The internal agents will join the Imperial Security Bureau, the new Intelligence Bureau.”

Shaktidas pointed to the third section:

”Third, the Industrial and Weapons Factory Workers. Cumulative recruitment across shadow foundries and industrial plants reached 35,000. Industrial accidents and disease cost us 2,500 workers, while 5,500 left for open civilian industry. Our net active workforce is ~27,000 skilled machinists, foundry hands, and technicians.”

”The arms and ammunition work will be nationalised,” Ram answered, his fingers resting on the edge of the desk. ”The nation will need these skilled workers to run our foundries and ordnance lines.”

Shaktidas smoothed down the lower edge of the sheet: he added, ”Fourth, our Merchant Guilds and Hundi Financiers stand at ~1,800 active key nodes out of 2,500 recruited.

”Let them join the civil administration and financial ministries,” Ram said. ”They know logistics and accounting better than any British-trained clerk.”

”And finally, the Women Logistics and Auxiliary Cadres. From 25,000 total volunteers, we lost 1,500 to illness or arrests, and 4,500 withdrew to domestic life post-war. That leaves ~19,000 active women cadres working in camps as healthcare workers, caterers and soothsayers”

”We will need to coordinate with them later,” Ram said softly, his mind drifting briefly to the field hospital trains and relief kitchens. ”At this time, they are doing important work managing civil support, medical supplies, and food.”

”Is that all?”

Ram’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping an octave. ”Our former comrades. This is a time when even the stoutest of hearts will waver. Some will stray from the path and corrupt themselves into becoming robbers, thugs, warlords, anarchists. They will know weapons, tactics, organisational skills, stealth. You will need to work with the administration to find and eliminate such corruption without mercy.”

Shaktidas nodded solemnly, noting the command. ”What about finances?”

”The sterling debt sits at 2.3 billion pounds sterling, even by British calculations,” Ram said, pulling a financial ledger forward.

”They cannot service it?”

”Out of the question,” Ram said dryly. ”They are bankrupt. No, I will use this debt to squeeze them further. We will force London to yield capital goods, shipping, and industrial machinery as settlement.”

”And India’s immediate finances?”

”The national budget income is at 170 crore rupees against expenses of 195 crore,” Ram detailed, tapping the ledger.

Shaktidas frowned. ”Not a good position to be in.”

”No,” Ram said, leaning back. ”But through our lobbying efforts in Washington, we can secure an immediate cash injection of about 500 million US dollars. We just need to send someone of enough stature to Washington to sign the papers.”

”No strings?” Shaktidas asked, having harboured a deep distrust of foreign capital.

”Minimal,” Ram said. ”A blended credit line and reserve package with a five-year grace period on principal.”

”That changes things,” Shaktidas said, eyes lighting up. ”Massively, we can buy foreign minds with but a fraction of this money.”

”The scientist plan,” Ram confirmed, a sharp, calculating smile appearing on his face. ”The Europeans are getting antsy sitting in Switzerland and Sweden. The Japanese technical experts are itching to leave the jungles of Thailand and Burma. Now we bring them here to build our research institutes, aerospace labs, and chemical plants.”

”Shaktidas, on the 18th of August, ~150 Japanese will deboard at Calcutta port. You are responsible for bringing them to Bangalore. See that nobody harasses them.” Ram ordered.

Shaktidas nodded, writing a note in his pocketbook.

”The main concern is the Europeans; we have ~550Europeans sitting in Switzerland. Any large movement is viewed with suspicion by both the West and the USSR. On top of it, they will not like that we have stolen a march on them.”

”We can ask the industrialists to spend a few days vacationing in the Swiss Alps.” Shaktidas mentioned with a snap of his fingers, ”Four planes should be enough to bring all of them back.”

”Brilliant, Shaktidas.”

”About the American liquidity package, what are the repayment terms?” Shaktidas asked as the conversation lulled a little.

Ram stood up, tapping the financial dossier beside the manpower ledger.

”Considering the American liquidity package,” Ram said, his eyes gleaming with cold calculation. ”Through our channels with Truman’s Treasury and the lobbying networks we established in Washington, we have secured a blended aid package totalling $500 million.”

Ram unrolled a financial breakdown chart alongside Shaktidas’ manpower ledger:

”The package is divided into three distinct tranches:

Tranche A: A $300 million credit line from the US Export-Import Bank at 2.5% to 3.0% interest with a grace period of five years, repayable over twenty-five years.

Tranche B: A $125 million reserve drawdown through the IMF structured at 1.5% to 2.0% interest with a grace period of two years, repayable over ten years.

Tranche C: A $75 million non-repayable grant under the Truman Security provisions at 0% interest.

Ram struck the desk softly with his palm. ”London’s mandatory interest payments to India will completely cover our debt service to Washington. We will reconstruct India using American capital, and force the British Empire to pay the bill for it.”

Shaktidas looked at Ram for a long, silent moment, then bowed his head slightly. ”The stroke of midnight approaches, Ram Prasad. You need to depart for Delhi tomorrow.”

”Good night, then.”

A/N: Volume 1 comes to an end with this little interlude. Leave reviews, comments, feed me power stones, and add the story to your library to get update notifications.