Delhi – Prime Minister's Office, South Block – March 18th, 1949

March morning brought along the blinding sun, but thanks to the air conditioner, Arjun's office wasn't affected much.

In there, reports covered his desk in neat stacks, updates from the Ashoka Group's progress regarding constructions of Layer-II buildings, improved attendance figures from pilot educational programs, and especially the situation from Balochistan.

As he was going through them, Director Sharma knocked and entered, straightening his uniform jacket.

Behind him came Sanjeevi Pillai from RAW, moving with that quiet efficiency Arjun had come to appreciate. Both men carried restricted files that Arjun had been waiting weeks to see.

"Prime Minister," Sharma began, settling into his chair, "we've got the first reports from our people embedded with the student groups."

Arjun leaned forward slightly. "Good. How are they settling in? More importantly, what are they seeing? Any attempts to influence our students?"

Sharma opened his first folder. "Let's start with America. Our operatives confirm what we expected - the universities are impressive, especially for agricultural science and applied tech. The students are getting world-class education." He paused.

"But the ideological push is everywhere. American ideas about individualism, free markets, anti-communism - it's woven into everything. Class discussions, campus activities, even casual conversations."

"Faculty members, student groups, local community organizations - they're all engaging our students in political conversations. Probing their views on capitalism versus other systems. It's subtle of course, but persistent."

Arjun nodded.

'Quite typical indeed.'

Sharma continued, "Our people are documenting every approach, identifying who's involved. The good news is our students are holding up well. We vetted them carefully, and they're resisting direct ideological pressure. But..." He hesitated.

"The lifestyle there is seductive. Consumer goods everywhere, along with personal freedoms our students have never experienced here. Combined with some casual racism and condescension from certain Americans, it creates complex pressures."

Arjun squinted his eyes a bit, 'Well, nothing unexpected, I guess.'

"And the Soviet side?" he asked.

"Completely different environment," Sharma said, switching folders. "Soviet institutes are all about discipline and centralized planning. Incredible expertise in heavy industry and engineering. They're pushing our students hard - the education is thorough but demanding."

"The ideological pressure there is much more direct. Mandatory political lectures, Marxist-Leninist theory discussions, constant emphasis on collectivism. They're targeting any capitalist sympathies head-on."

Sharma looked up from his notes. "But here's what's interesting - while the ideological indoctrination is obvious, their focus on practical engineering and science is genuinely impressive. Our students are learning enormous amounts despite the spartan conditions and intense workload. Our operatives are tracking recruitment attempts, but again, our students seem solid."

Arjun absorbed this, feeling satisfied. This was exactly the kind of exposure he'd wanted his students to have - learning from both systems while remaining immune to their influence.

"Hmm. Are there any standouts among our agents? Anyone showing particular insight?", he asked.

Sharma's expression brightened. "Actually, yes. We've got some sharp people out there. The reports show they're not just observing - they're analyzing patterns. Several have identified CIA attempts to make contact with Indian students, documented their methods and personnel.

Their insights into how American intelligence operates on university campuses are valuable."

"Similar story in the Soviet Union," Sharma continued. "Our people there are reading internal political dynamics within the academic structure, identifying scientific bottlenecks the Soviets are trying to solve through cooperation with us. They're tracking where Soviet intelligence might try to leverage our students professionally or ideologically."

Arjun smiled. These weren't just the passive observers, but rather were active intelligence assets learning to operate in the world's most sophisticated environments.

"This is exactly what we need," he said, rising and walking to his world map. "The students are absorbing technology and knowledge. And our agents, in addition to all that, are also learning how these superpowers actually work, how they project influence through their intellectual institutions."

He studied the pins marking where Indian students were now studying. "This is just the beginning. When these people return, they'll bring back more than degrees and technical skills. They'll understand how American and Soviet systems really function, how influence operations work at the deepest levels."

His students were learning to build modern industries. His operatives were learning to navigate the hidden currents of international power.

When they all returned to India, they would form the backbone of something unprecedented - a technologically advanced nation that truly understood how to remain independent in a world of competing superpowers.

This was the investment would pay dividends for decades.

While all this was going on, Menon continued his diplomatic tour.

Kathmandu, Nepal – March 20th, 1949

The Dakota aircraft bumped down on the dusty airstrip outside Kathmandu, a far cry from the smooth landing of the Constellation that had carried Menon to Kabul. Here in the thin mountain air, everything felt different.

The scent of woodsmoke and Buddhist incense drifted across the valley, mixing with the crisp bite of altitude.

Menon straightened his coat as he descended the aircraft stairs. No king waited to greet him this time. Instead, Prime Minister Mohan Shumsher Jang Bahadur Rana stood with his retinue, the real power behind Nepal's throne.

The Rana oligarchy had ruled Nepal for over a century, keeping the monarchy largely ceremonial while maintaining their iron grip on actual governance.

Mohan Shumsher was a man in his sixties, his face weathered by mountain winds and political maneuvering. His eyes held the wariness of someone who had spent decades balancing between greater powers, keeping Nepal independent through careful diplomacy and strategic isolation.

"Minister Menon," he said with a formal bow, "welcome to Nepal. I trust your journey was not too difficult?"

"Thank you for the warm reception, Prime Minister Shumsher. The flight was smooth, though the altitude is quite noticeable." Menon returned the bow. "Prime Minister Mehra sends his warmest regards."

They exchanged pleasantries about the weather and Menon's accommodations as the convoy formed. It was only later, during their private meeting at the palace, that the real conversation began.

They rode through Kathmandu's narrow streets in a convoy of aging vehicles, past ancient temples where prayer wheels spun in the morning breeze. Menon observed everything: the mix of traditional architecture and tentative modernization, the way people watched the Indian delegation with curious but cautious eyes.

The formal discussions took place in the ornate Narayanhity Palace the next morning. Menon sat across from Mohan Shumsher and his advisors, all members of the extended Rana family who had carved up Nepal's governance among themselves.

"Minister Menon," Mohan Shumsher began, his tone serious now that the courtesies were finished, "your recent expansion into the former Pakistani territories has not gone unnoticed. Nepal finds itself in a new strategic position, directly bordering a much larger and more powerful India. We must ask, what are your intentions toward us?"

Menon had expected this directness. "Prime Minister, India's expansion was defensive, securing our borders against instability. We have no territorial designs on Nepal. Your independence is sacred to us."

"Yet independence becomes difficult to maintain when one neighbor grows so dramatically in power," one of the Rana advisors interjected. "How can Nepal ensure its sovereignty in such circumstances?"

"Through partnership," Menon replied smoothly. "India offers Nepal something unique: prosperity without domination. We propose enhanced trade relationships, technical assistance for modernization, and cultural exchanges that honor our shared heritage."

He leaned forward slightly. "The world is changing rapidly, Prime Minister Shumsher. China continues to burn, with its future uncertain. The Soviets remains in the North, vying for any opportunity to expand communism in Indian subcontinent and surrounding nations. In such times, strong friends become…invaluable."

Mohan Shumsher considered this carefully. The Ranas hadn't survived this long by luck. They knew how to read geopolitical winds accurately. Their traditional isolation had served Nepal well, but these were not traditional times.

"What specifically do you propose?" he asked.

"Trade route improvements connecting Nepal to Indian markets. Technical assistance for infrastructure development. Educational exchanges. All structured to respect Nepal's complete sovereignty while building mutual prosperity."

The discussions continued for hours, with Menon carefully avoiding any mention of political union or integration. He knew that under Rana rule, such suggestions would be immediately rejected. Perhaps if King Tribhuvan ever gained real power from his current ceremonial role, different conversations might become possible.

By evening, a tentative agreement had been reached. Nothing dramatic, but opening doors that had been carefully guarded for decades.

Lhasa, Tibet – March 24th, 1949

Four days later, Menon's journey took him to perhaps the most isolated place on Earth. The flight to Lhasa was treacherous, the aircraft buffeted by mountain winds as it climbed toward the roof of the world. At over 12,000 feet, the air was so thin that every breath required conscious effort.

The Potala Palace dominated Lhasa like something from a dream. Thirteen stories of white and red walls rising from the mountainside, it seemed to float between earth and sky. Prayer flags fluttered in the constant wind, and the sound of horns echoed from distant monasteries.

Tibet's situation was precarious in ways that Nepal's was not. Nominally under Chinese suzerainty but practically independent, Tibet watched the Chinese civil war with growing anxiety. Everyone knew that whoever emerged victorious would likely turn their attention to consolidating control over their claimed territories.

The reception was elaborate and deeply traditional. Young monks in maroon robes led Menon through incense-filled corridors to meet the regents who governed in the name of the child Dalai Lama.

After exchanging the formalities, the official business started. Dalai Lama, himself was only fourteen years old, and even though he was present in the meeting, it was his advisors who conducted the actual negotiations.

"India comes as a friend," said the senior regent, his voice soft in the thin air. "We understand your nation has grown powerful. We pray this power serves the cause of peace."

"Your Eminence," Menon replied carefully, "India sees Tibet as a spiritual treasure, a land where ancient wisdom flourishes. We intend to further our friendship and mutual understanding which has long been delayed due to various reasons. And that also means mutual protection and support for each other."

The regents were not naive to not know why the last statement was mentioned. They were well aware of China's claims, and understood that the civil war would eventually end, and that Tibet's traditional isolation might no longer be possible then.

"The Chinese troubles concern us," one regent admitted quietly. "We have heard that the Communists particularly oppose traditional religious practices."

Menon nodded gravely. "India stands for the right of all peoples to practice their faith freely. We would view any threat to Tibet's spiritual traditions with great concern."

He was careful not to make explicit promises. Arjun's instructions had been clear: maintain friendly relations, establish cultural connections, but avoid commitments that might attract China's attention unnecessarily.

The civil war was still raging, and though Arjun knew which faction would ultimately prevail, he ensured that outsiders think that India is being neutral due to uncertainty.

"We propose enhanced cultural and religious exchanges," Menon continued. "Indian and Tibetan Buddhist scholars could benefit greatly from deeper contact. Trade routes that have connected our peoples for centuries could be enhanced and revitalized."

The regents appreciated the subtle offer of support without explicit military guarantees. They agreed to expanded cultural exchanges and closer economic ties, understanding that these represented potential lifelines if Tibet's isolation became unsustainable.

As Menon prepared to leave Lhasa, he reflected on the delicate balance that was required. Tibet's independence was more or less doomed once China reunified, and India's role was to ensure that when that time comes, Tibet chooses India over China.

The aircraft lifted off from Lhasa's thin air, leaving behind the prayer flags and golden roofs. Ahead lay Burma and Ceylon, two newly independent nations facing their own challenges in the post-colonial world. Menon reviewed his notes as the Himalayas fell away below.

Both visits had served India's broader strategy: building relationships with neighboring states, offering partnership rather than domination, but ensuring that India's interests were clearly understood.

As regional power dynamics shifted, these personal connections between leaders might prove invaluable.

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