Chapter 136: Bal Thackeray in 1953
The year of 1953 was very eventful and with the government launching the Gati Shakti plan made it even more evident.
Bombay was a city bursting with people, ideas, and dreams, where the scent of fresh pav mingled with the salty air from the Arabian Sea.
For some, it was a city of hope, a place to start anew after India's independence.
For others, like Bal Keshav Thackeray, it was a city slowly slipping away from its original spirit, its soul being buried under the weight of rapid migration and changing demographics.
Thackeray, at 25 years old, was far from the political force he would later become. In fact, most knew him as a cartoonist.
His work appeared in Free Press Journal, a local paper, where he used sharp lines and biting satire to poke at political leaders and the system.
He had a talent for distilling complex political failures into a single, powerful image.
But while he carved a name for himself as an artist, there was a fire simmering inside him that the sketches could not contain.
He felt it every day as he walked through the streets of Bombay.
This wasn't the city he had known as a boy, nor was it the city his father had fought for.
His father, Keshav Sitaram Thackeray, had been a prominent figure in the Samyukta Maharashtra Movement.
Which demanded the creation of a separate Maharashtra state for Marathi speakers, with Bombay as its capital.
That fight had been won or so they thought. Yet, as Bal looked around, he couldn't shake the feeling that the Marathi people were still losing.
Victory was just the beginning for the defeat to come.
It was a thought that weighed heavily on his mind as he sat one evening in a local tea shop with two of his closest friends, Sudhir and Vinod.
The tea was hot, the shop was noisy, and the city outside was buzzing with life, but Thackeray's mind was elsewhere.
"Bal, you've been quiet," Sudhir remarked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.
He stirred his tea absentmindedly, eyeing Thackeray with curiosity. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
Thackeray looked up, a frown creasing his forehead. "It's this city, Sudhir," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully.
"It's not the same anymore. It's not the city we grew up in. Look around. Everything's changing, and not for the better."
Vinod raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. "You mean the politics? But isn't the new Gati Shakti Plan launched by the government going to help the people?"
"No," Thackeray shook his head. "Not just politics. It's the people. The city… It doesn't feel like it belongs to us anymore. Every day, more and more people come here, Gujaratis, South Indians, people from Uttar Pradesh. And they're taking everything, jobs, businesses, the land. Where does that leave us, the Marathi manoos?"
Vinod sighed, glancing at Sudhir before responding. "Bombay's always been a city of migrants, Bal. People come here to build a life, to find work. You can't blame them for that."
"I'm not blaming them," Thackeray said, his voice steady but with an edge of frustration. "I'm just saying… where does that leave us? The ones who built this city, who were here first. Now we can't even get decent jobs in our own home. Look at the mills, most of the workers are from the north. Look at the markets, Gujaratis own half the shops. And in government offices? South Indians."
Sudhir frowned. "You're not wrong, but what can we do? The city is growing. People from all over are coming. It's inevitable."
Thackeray's jaw tightened. He stared into his cup of tea, swirling the liquid without drinking it.
"It may be inevitable, but that doesn't mean we should sit back and accept it. We need to do something. If we don't stand up for ourselves, who will?"
Sudhir leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. "And what exactly do you think we should do? You're a cartoonist, Bal. What can you do beyond drawing?"
Thackeray met Sudhir's gaze, his eyes suddenly sharp and intense. "Cartoons can only do so much," he admitted.
"But words alone aren't enough. I've been thinking… we need something bigger. We need a platform, a voice for the Marathi people."
Vinod leaned in, intrigued. "A voice? What kind of voice?"
Thackeray paused for a moment, his mind racing with the ideas that had been building up inside him for months. "A movement," he said finally.
"A movement for the Marathi manoos. We need to unite the people of this city, our people, and make them realize that this is our home. This city belongs to us, and we shouldn't be pushed to the edges."
"A movement?" Sudhir repeated, skepticism creeping into his voice. "That sounds like politics, Bal."
"Maybe it is," Thackeray said, his tone firm. "But what's wrong with that? Look at what's happening in the city. The Samyukta Maharashtra Movement may have given us a state, but it didn't give us control over our own city. Bombay is supposed to be ours, but is it? No. It's slipping through our fingers."
Vinod took a long sip of tea, digesting Thackeray's words. "So, what's your plan? You want to start a party? An organization?"
"I'm not talking about a political party. Not yet," Thackeray replied. "I'm talking about something more organic. A group that represents the interests of the Marathi people. A group that will fight for our rights, our jobs, our culture."
Vinod nodded, thinking it over. "It's an interesting idea. But what would that look like? How would you even start something like that?"
Thackeray leaned back in his chair, looking out at the busy street beyond the tea shop's window. "It starts with awareness," he said, his voice calm but determined.
"People need to understand that they're being pushed aside. That if we don't act, Bombay will no longer belong to the Maharashtrians. We need to organize the youth, the workers, the common man. We need to give them something to rally behind."
"And you think people will follow you?" Sudhir asked, his tone not condescending, but genuinely curious.
Thackeray shrugged. "Maybe not at first. But they will. The frustration is there, Sudhir. I see it every day. People are tired of being ignored in their own city. We just need to give them a voice."
There was a silence between the three men as they absorbed Thackeray's words.
Outside, the streets of Bombay continued with life, oblivious to the conversation unfolding in the small tea shop.
But for Thackeray, this moment was important.
It was the first time he had spoken aloud about the ideas that had been going in his mind for months.
And now that they were out there, they felt real.
Later that night, Thackeray sat at his small desk at home, the dim light of the table lamp casting long shadows on the walls.
His wife and children were already asleep, and the house was quiet except for the distant sounds of the city outside.
He picked up his pencil, as he always did when he needed to think, and began sketching.
The lines were quick, rough, but purposeful. As his hand moved across the page, he wasn't just drawing a cartoo, he was trying to map out the future.
A future where the Marathi people of Bombay weren't pushed aside.
A future where they could walk into a government office, or a factory, or a market, and see their own people working there, leading, thriving.
Thackeray thought back to his father, Keshav Sitaram Thackeray, who had fought so hard for the creation of Maharashtra.
His father had always emphasized the importance of Marathi identity, of protecting the culture and language that defined their people.
But it seemed to him that the battle hadn't ended with the creation of the state.
It was just beginning.
"Bombay belongs to Maharashtra," his father had often said.
But looking around, Thackeray wasn't so sure.
Bombay, the city that had once felt like home, now felt like a place where the Marathi people were strangers.
And the more he thought about it, the angrier he became. This was their city. They had a right to claim it.
As he sat there, the idea of a movement began to take shape more clearly in his mind. It wouldn't just be about complaining or pointing fingers.
It would be about action, demanding jobs for Marathi people, demanding respect for their culture, demanding that Bombay remain a Marathi city.
He imagined a future, the youth of the city, the workers, the common man, all rallying together under a banner that stood for their rights.
It was an exciting thought.
This wouldn't be an easy fight.
But Thackeray was no longer content with just drawing cartoons.
The time for action had come.
He put down his pencil and leaned back in his chair, his mind still full of possibilities.
The Shiv Sena, as it would later be called, wasn't born that night. But its seeds had certainly been planted.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS
Clautic
This is just a sample of what i want to bring in the future. Things of future will mingle in present way early and beyond Rohan politics we will also see Grassroot level of movement and development.
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77.09%A New India / Chapter 137: Swami Chinmayananda
Chapter 137: Swami Chinmayananda
While the leaders in New Delhi focused on modernization and development, anxiety was increasing elsewhere.
For some, the question was more fundamental, how could India, with its deep-rooted culture and spiritual heritage, hold on to its soul in the face of a rapidly changing world?
That question always troubled on the mind of Swami Chinmayananda as he sat cross-legged on the veranda of a small ashram in Rishikesh, overlooking the serene yet powerful flow of the Ganges.
He had spent years teaching the principles of Vedanta, trying to guide people toward understanding their spiritual essence.
But lately, his thoughts had been occupied with a growing concern, not just for individuals' spiritual awakening, but for the very future of the Hindu dharma itself.
Across from him sat M.S. Golwalkar, often known as Guruji, a respected figure in the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), and Mahant Avaidyanath, an influential Hindu leader from Gorakhpur.
Both had come to seek Swami Chinmayananda's guidance, troubled by what they were seeing across the country.
"The people are forgetting who they are," Guruji said, breaking the silence.
He spoke softly, but there was a sharp edge to his voice. His brow furrowed as he looked out toward the mountains.
"I see it every day. The youth are drawn to Western ideas, Western lifestyles. They are more interested in dressing like Europeans than understanding their own traditions. It's like we're losing something vital, something sacred."
Swami Chinmayananda listened without speaking, his eyes closed, as if he were deep in meditation.
His silence, however, was not dismissive. He was known for listening carefully before speaking, weighing his words with the wisdom of someone who had seen many generations pass through India's changing tides.
Mahant Avaidyanath, his forehead marked with the sacred tilak, nodded in agreement with Guruji.
"It's not just in the cities. Even in the villages, the younger generation seems disconnected from their roots. Temples are still places of worship, but they are becoming more about rituals and less about understanding. People go to pray, but they don't know what they're praying for anymore."
Swami Chinmayananda finally opened his eyes, his expression calm but thoughtful. "What you are seeing," he began slowly,
"Is a symptom of a deeper issue. It's not just about Western influence or modernization. These are surface-level changes. The real issue is that we, as a society, have forgotten the meaning behind our traditions. We have forgotten the dharma that sustains us."
Guruji leaned forward slightly, sensing the Swami's words were leading somewhere important. "What do you mean by that, Swamiji?"
Swami Chinmayananda looked directly at him.
"Hinduism is not just a religion. It is not merely rituals or customs. It is a way of life, a philosophy that has been passed down through thousands of years. But that philosophy has become buried under the weight of ignorance. Our people follow the customs, yes, but without understanding why they are important."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in.
"And when you don't understand something, you don't value it. You discard it easily, thinking it's outdated, irrelevant. That is what's happening to our youth. They see the West and think it represents progress, without realizing that true progress is internal. It comes from knowing who you are, where you come from."
Guruji nodded slowly, understanding the deeper point. "So, you're saying the problem isn't just that people are forgetting their traditions, it's that they never truly understood them to begin with."
"Exactly," Swami Chinmayananda replied. "The British left, but their influence remains. Even if the current government has done amend to the damage, it cannot be reversed this easily. For centuries, we were told that our culture was backward, that our dharma was inferior to Western ways of life. We started believing it. And now, our own people, our youth are more interested in adopting Western habits than in learning about the wealth of knowledge contained in our scriptures."
Mahant Avaidyanath frowned. "But Swamiji, how do we counter this? The country is changing so fast. The politicians are talking about industrialization, about moving forward, look at their new plan called Gati Shakti. They're not interested in spiritual revival."
Swami Chinmayananda smiled faintly, as though he had expected the question. "The answer is not in fighting change. Change is inevitable. What we must do is remind our people of what they already have. We need to show them that Hindu dharma is not something to be left in the past, it is something that can guide them through the present and into the future."
Guruji stroked his beard thoughtfully. "But how do we do that, Swamiji? How do we reach people, especially in this time of such rapid transformation? We are not just talking about a few villages. We're talking about an entire nation."
Swami Chinmayananda turned to face him, his expression serious but calm. "We need to start with education. Not the kind of education that comes from textbooks, but the kind that comes from understanding one's own spiritual roots. We need to teach our people the essence of Hindu dharma, what it truly means, not just the rituals but the deeper philosophy."
Mahant Avaidyanath spoke up again. "But even in our temples, Swamiji, people come to pray, to perform rituals, but they leave without knowing the meaning behind those rituals. They don't understand what they are doing."
"That is because the essence has been lost," Swami Chinmayananda said. "Temples have become places of routine rather than places of learning. They were once centers of knowledge, where gurus taught the deeper meanings of our scriptures, our stories, our symbols. Now, they are places people visit out of habit."
Guruji nodded, seeing the larger picture now. "So, we need to revive that essence. We need to bring back the connection between the people and their dharma. But how, Swamiji? How do we begin?"
Swami Chinmayananda looked out at the flowing Ganges for a moment, as if drawing strength from its timeless flow.
"We start by bringing together the people who already understand this. The sadhus, the gurus, the spiritual leaders. If they speak, the people will listen. We need to organize gatherings, not political rallies, but spiritual meetings where we can discuss these issues, where we can teach people about the importance of their own dharma."
Mahant Avaidyanath looked hopeful but still cautious. "But will the people come, Swamiji? In this fast-paced world, will they take time to listen to us? Or will they see us as relics of the past, talking about things that no longer matter to them?"
Swami Chinmayananda smiled gently. "People will listen if you speak to their hearts, not just to their minds. We are not asking them to reject modernity or development. We are simply reminding them of what lies beneath all of that, something deeper, something eternal. If we can show them that Hindu dharma is not a barrier to progress but a guide for it, they will listen."
Guruji's eyes brightened as the Swami spoke. "You're right, Swamiji. Our dharma teaches us balance. It teaches us how to navigate the material world without losing our spiritual grounding. That's what people need to hear. That they can be modern without losing themselves."
Swami Chinmayananda nodded. "Exactly. But it's not just about speaking to the elite, to the educated. We need to reach the common man, the farmer, the laborer, the shopkeeper. These are the people who live and breathe our culture every day, but they are also the ones who are most at risk of losing it. We need to show them that their dharma, their traditions, are their greatest strength."
Mahant Avaidyanath looked thoughtful. "But we can't do this alone, Swamiji. We will need support. We will need to bring together spiritual leaders from across the country."
Swami Chinmayananda agreed. "Yes, this cannot be the work of a few. It must be a collective effort. We will need to reach out to the leaders of our temples, our ashrams, and our spiritual organizations. If we can unite them, if we can make them understand the importance of what we are trying to do, they will spread the message to their followers."
The room fell silent again, the sound of the Ganges rushing in the background. The Swami's words had struck a chord with both Guruji and Mahant Avaidyanath.
They had come seeking guidance, and they had found it, not in grand political strategies, but in a simple, profound truth, that the survival of Hindu dharma lay not in opposing the modern world but in reviving the essence of what it meant to be Hindu.
Guruji finally broke the silence. "We need to begin. We need to start talking to the people, to the spiritual leaders. This is not something that can wait."
Swami Chinmayananda smiled. "Yes. But remember, this is not a race. This is a journey, a long one. But if we walk it with purpose, with sincerity, We will find that the path will reveal itself. We don't need to rush. What we are trying to protect, our dharma, our culture, has lasted thousands of years. But the work must begin now. Every journey, no matter how long, starts with a single step."
CREATORS' THOUGHTS
Clautic
Do read who he is, so as to understand what i am trying to work on right now
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77.65%A New India / Chapter 138: A Meeting with Neem Karoli Baba
Chapter 138: A Meeting with Neem Karoli Baba
Rohan felt the burden of every day work. Running a nation full of problems was never easy.
From balancing the economy to mending social divides, he was haunted by one persistent question: Am I doing enough?
The pressures of leadership were unforgiving. His thoughts no longer belonged to him, they were consumed by policies, political disputes, and the struggle to modernize a deeply traditional country.
Yet something else troubled at him, something deeper than mere governance. It wasn't just the divisions of caste, religion, or ideology that kept him up at night.
It was the sense that India, will inevitably walk towards a future with full of conflict long after he was gone.
One late afternoon, Rohan sat in his office, head resting against the back of his chair, trying to steal a brief nap between meetings.
But his mind refused to rest. His thoughts went around lots of doubt.
What was the point of it all? Was this endless cycle of decision-making really leading anywhere?
His body ached with exhaustion, but his heart was heavy with a deeper fatigue, a weariness of spirit.
It was in that moment that he remembered a conversation he'd had with Neeraj a few weeks earlier.
"Take some time, Sir," Neeraj had urged him during a quiet dinner.
"You've been running yourself into the ground. Go somewhere peaceful. There's someone you should meet, someone who might offer a different perspective. Neem Karoli Baba."
Rohan had heard the name before and knew about him from the future.
Neem Karoli Baba, a mysterious figure, a saint who lived a simple life in the Himalayan foothills.
Though Baba wasn't widely known in political circles, whispers of his wisdom was still everywhere.
People spoke of his deep spiritual insights, his strange ability to help people see the world differently without saying much at all.
But now, sitting in his office, Rohan felt perhaps Neeraj was right. He needed clarity. Maybe Baba, could help him find it.
---
A week later with security fully arranged, Rohan went on towards the Himalyan state in incognito mode to meet the saint who even future generations found hard to understand.
The mountains, with their timeless silence, seemed to speak to something deep inside him, something that had long been buried under his responsibilities.
When he finally reached the small ashram near Kainchi, it was nothing like the grand temples or religious centers he was accustomed to visiting.
It was simple, almost serene.
Neem Karoli Baba sat on a thin chatai (woven mat), wrapped in a faded blanket despite the warm sun overhead.
His appearance was unassuming, an old man with a graying beard, his face lined with age but illuminated by a serene calm.
Around him, a few devotees sat in quiet meditation, their presence peaceful.
Rohan felt a strange nervousness. He had met countless politicians, diplomats, and world leaders, but this was different.
Here, in this humble setting, his title meant nothing. He was just another man seeking answers.
As Rohan approached Baba, his mind raced with questions.
But when he reached him, everything fell silent.
It was as though the questions that had been tearing at him for weeks had no place here.
Baba looked up at him, his gaze soft but piercing, as if he already knew why Rohan had come.
Without a word, Baba smiled and gestured for Rohan to sit beside him.
For a long while, neither spoke.
They simply sat together in the quiet, the only sound being the gentle rustle of the trees in the wind.
Rohan had expected to feel awkward, to feel the need to fill the silence, but instead, he felt a growing sense of peace.
It was as if Baba's presence alone was enough to ease the burden on his chest.
After what felt like an eternity, Baba finally spoke, his voice soft and unhurried. "You have come a long way and from far away" he said, his eyes twinkling with a kind of playful knowing.
Rohan nodded. "Yes… I have. But it's not just the journey here, Baba. I feel like I've been carrying the weight of this country yet i am not sure about the future it holds and the future i hold"
Baba looked at him with deep compassion. "The weight you carry is not the country, Rohan. It is your own mind."
Rohan blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of the statement. "My mind?"
Baba nodded, his smile never fading. "Your mind is restless, always chasing after solutions, always trying to fix, to control. But you forget that this world is not yours to fix. The mind is like a monkey, jumping from branch to branch, never still, never at peace. You cannot lead a nation with a mind like that."
Rohan swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "But… how can I not feel responsible, Baba? I am the prime minister. It's my duty to make decisions for the future of this country. If I don't do it, who will?"
Baba's eyes twinkled with amusement. "You believe you are the one making the decisions. But the truth is, you are not the doer, Rohan. You are an instrument. The divine works through you, just as it works through everyone. You try to control the future, but the future is already written. Your job is not to control, it is to act with sincerity, with an open heart, and then… to let go."
Rohan stared at Baba, his mind racing. "Let go? But how can I lead if I let go? If I don't control the outcome, how can I ensure the country moves in the right direction?"
Baba's smile grew wider, as if Rohan had asked a question that amused him deeply. "Control is an illusion, my child. You believe you are steering the ship, but the currents of life flow as they will, with or without your effort. Your duty is to steer with dharma, with compassion, but not to believe that you alone can guide the entire ocean. The ocean moves as it is meant to."
Rohan felt something stir inside him, a realization he couldn't quite put into words. "But Baba… how do I surrender? How do I let go when everything depends on me?"
Baba's gaze softened. "Surrender is not giving up. Surrender is trusting. Trusting that the divine plan is far greater than what you can see. Trusting that you are exactly where you need to be, doing exactly what you need to do. When you act from the heart, from a place of dharma, the results will take care of themselves. You do not need to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, Rohan. The world has already been carried by forces far greater than you."
Rohan sat in silence, his heart pounding in his chest.
The words were simple, but their meaning shook him to his core.
He had spent his entire life believing that leadership was about control, about making the right decisions and guiding others toward the right path.
But now, here in the mountains, he was being told that leadership was not about control, it was about surrender.
"Baba," Rohan whispered, his voice trembling, "how will I know if I'm on the right path?"
Baba's smile faded, replaced by a deep, infinite compassion. "When your mind is still, when your heart is at peace, you will know. The path is not something you find, Rohan. It is something that is revealed to you when you are ready to see it. Trust the divine, trust your dharma, and the rest will follow."
Rohan closed his eyes, feeling a strange sense of relief wash over him.
The questions that had tormented him for months no longer seemed so important.
The weight he had been carrying felt lighter, more bearable.
He realized now that he had been trying to control things that were beyond his reach, that he had been trying to carry burdens that were not his to carry.
He opened his eyes and looked at Baba, who was watching him with a quiet understanding. "Thank you, Baba," Rohan said softly.
"I don't know if I fully understand yet… but I feel different. I feel… lighter."
Baba chuckled softly, the sound like the rustling of the trees in the wind.
"You are lighter, child. You have let go of the weight that was never yours to bear."
Rohan stood up, bowing deeply to Baba before turning to leave.
But before he could exist the Ashram, he heard Baba spoke
"The World will move accordingly, all you have to do it try your best, for your journey never started in this world and will never end this world"
Rohan who slowly turned frozed for a second. Before fully turning and looking towards Baba in disbelief, who was looking at Rohan with smile.
"Now go my son, just follow your heart and destiny will lead you towards the path you call for"
Rohan hearing Baba wanted to say a lot but felt he didn't needed to, everything was communicated and he got the answer, now it was time to leave.
He walked slowly with his security details getting ready to go back to Delhi.
He looked at the Ashram which everyone from all over the world used to come in hope of meeting Baba, and only today he realised why.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS
Clautic
How's these kind of chapter
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78.21%A New India / Chapter 139: Alfaz Shaheed's Discovery
Chapter 139: Alfaz Shaheed's Discovery
Captain Alfaz Shaheed of Pakistan Army had always prided himself on his ability to stay invisible in the crowd.
In a military system where bravado often overshadowed substance, he preferred to operate in the quiet shadows, gathering information, watching from the periphery.
His colleagues admired his precision and discipline but considered him just another cog in the machine, a reliable, no-nonsense officer who did his duty and went home.
But even in his routine, Alfaz had sensed for months that something was amiss.
There were whispers in the barracks and among the junior officers, small signs that pointed toward some covert operation unfolding far from the eyes of even high-ranking officials.
It was like catching the scent of smoke in the air before seeing the fire. Alfaz wasn't one to ignore such signs.
The clue that confirmed his suspicions arrived late one night.
---
Alfaz was seated in his modest apartment in Rawalpindi, sipping on tea, when an envelope was discreetly slid under his door.
He froze, setting the cup down, his instincts immediately sharpening.
No one sent him confidential material like this. Slowly, cautiously, he approached the door, glancing out into the hallway.
It was empty. Whoever had delivered it had vanished as quickly as they had come.
The envelope was unmarked except for a single word in red ink: Classified.
Alfaz opened it with care, his fingers steady but his heart already racing.
Inside was a slim file marked Chagai Hills - Confidential Military Operations.
His brow furrowed. Chagai Hills, deep in the heart of Balochistan, was an isolated, arid region known for little beyond its rugged, barren beauty.
Military exercises were common in remote areas, but something about this file seemed different.
He began to read. The details were vague, deliberately so.
It described a series of secret military convoys heading into Chagai Hills at odd hours, carrying what was described as "sensitive equipment."
There were also whispers of foreign experts being flown into the region, unmarked cargoes, and suspicious movements of high-ranking officials.
The file ended abruptly, with no clear conclusions, but the implications were clear: something unusual, perhaps even dangerous, was taking place in the remote hills of Balochistan.
But what? And more importantly, who was involved?
Alfaz knew this was bigger than a simple military operation.
The secrecy, the remote location, it all suggested something far more sinister. He couldn't let it go.
The next morning, Alfaz started digging, quietly and methodically. He knew that this wouldn't be a simple investigation.
In a place like Pakistan's military, information was power, and the wrong questions could get you killed.
---
The first steps were delicate. Alfaz began by reaching out to his usual sources, officers and informants scattered across the border regions.
For weeks, all he heard were vague whispers, stories of convoys heading into Chagai Hills, soldiers speaking of being sent there for reasons no one would explain.
He bribed checkpoint guards to monitor the traffic coming in and out of the region.
It was difficult, frustrating work.
He found nothing concrete, nothing that could tell him exactly what was going on.
But the trail slowly began to heat up.
One night, while in a small tea shop in Quetta, Alfaz met with a young lieutenant who worked in the region.
The man looked nervous, his eyes darting around the room. Alfaz ordered him tea and spoke quietly.
"You've seen something in Chagai, haven't you?"
The lieutenant hesitated. "Sir, I don't know what you're talking about."
"You do." Alfaz's voice was firm but calm. "And it's bigger than both of us."
The lieutenant, after a few moments of tense silence, leaned in and whispered, "They've been sending heavy convoys into the hills. Equipment I've never seen before. And there are foreign engineers, people I've never met, speaking in languages I don't recognize."
Alfaz's heart skipped a beat. Foreign engineers? That changed everything.
Pakistan couldn't possibly be working alone on something this large.
But the lieutenant refused to say more, nervously glancing around. "That's all I know, sir. Please… don't involve me in this."
The lead was thin, but it was the first real confirmation that foreign powers might be involved.
Alfaz knew he needed more, more details, more proof. And to get that, he would have to get his hands dirty.
---
The next step was far darker than Alfaz had anticipated.
Bribery wasn't enough, he needed someone closer to the heart of the operation.
Through back channels, he identified a logistics officer who had been working near Chagai for several months, a man who had likely overseen the movement of equipment into the region.
But this officer wasn't going to talk willingly.
Alfaz set up a plan.
The officer, Arif, was picked up late one night, snatched from his house in the outskirts of Quetta and brought to an abandoned building that Alfaz had prepared.
There was no subtlety here, no finesse. Arif was dragged, kicking and screaming, into a cold, concrete room lit by a single flickering bulb.
His wrists were bound to a chair, sweat already pouring down his face.
Alfaz stood in the shadows, watching as his two men prepared the tools.
Torture wasn't something Alfaz enjoyed or took lightly, but he knew that in this world, sometimes, it was necessary.
"You know what's happening in Chagai," Alfaz said, stepping into the light, his voice low but steady. "And you're going to tell me."
Arif shook his head frantically, his voice trembling. "I don't know what you're talking about! I'm just a logistics officer. I move supplies, I don't ask questions!"
Alfaz took a deep breath, remaining calm. "I don't believe you. And we both know how this works. You can either cooperate now, or things are going to get very uncomfortable for you."
Still, Arif stayed silent, his fear overriding any sense of loyalty.
Alfaz gestured to one of his men, who stepped forward with a hammer.
The first strike wasn't on the man's body. It was on the table in front of him, a warning.
The echo of the metal hitting the wood reverberated through the room, and Arif flinched, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Last chance," Alfaz said. "Talk."
Arif's lips trembled, but he remained quiet. And so, the torture began.
At first, it was subtle, psychological pressure, the fear of what was to come.
Alfaz had found that often, the mind could break before the body.
But when that didn't work, they escalated. Blows to the ribs, electric shocks, pain designed to elicit just enough suffering without causing permanent damage.
Hours passed, and Arif's screams echoed through the cold room.
Finally, as dawn began to break, Arif's resistance shattered.
"They're… testing something," he gasped through his sobs, his voice barely audible.
"It's a test, I swear… something big. I don't know what it is, but the equipment, they've been moving materials. And there's foreign involvement. That's all I know."
Alfaz's heart pounded. He stepped closer, grabbing Arif by the collar. "What kind of test? Weapons?"
Arif shook his head weakly. "I don't know. I overheard some senior officers talking about a test that would 'change everything.' It sounded… nuclear."
That word hit Alfaz like a sledgehammer. Nuclear? Pakistan's ambitions had long been whispered about, but this was something else.
A nuclear test? It seemed impossible, yet here it was, the truth slowly revealing itself.
But Arif couldn't or wouldn't tell him who was behind the operation, who was providing the technology and expertise.
That remained the biggest question
Who was helping Pakistan pull off this test?
---
But Alfaz knew Arif's information wasn't enough.
He needed more. The logistics officer had only been a small part in the machine, aware of bits and pieces but not the whole plan.
Alfaz would need to find someone deeper in the operation.
That's when he turned his attention to Sajid, an engineer who had been sent to Balochistan under mysterious circumstances.
Sajid had the technical background and knowledge Alfaz needed.
This time, Alfaz couldn't rely on torture. Sajid was too valuable for that, and he was more careful than Arif.
Instead, Alfaz lured him with money. He arranged a meeting at an isolated location in Turbat
Promising Sajid a large sum in exchange for details about the Chagai project.
Sajid was hesitant at first, but like many men, his greed got the better of him.
Over the course of a tense, late-night conversation, Sajid revealed the final pieces of the puzzle.
"It's nuclear," Sajid whispered, his voice barely audible in the dark.
"They're preparing for a test. I've seen the equipment… the calculations… They're hiding it from everyone, but it's happening. And they're not working alone. There's money and expertise coming in from the outside. I don't know who, but I've seen foreigners, scientists."
Alfaz leaned back, his heart racing.
This was it.
The proof he needed.
Pakistan was on the verge of conducting a nuclear test, and there were foreign powers backing them.
But Sajid had given him just enough information to fill in the gaps.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS
Clautic
Let's goo R&AW in action.
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78.77%A New India / Chapter 140: Escape
Chapter 140: Escape
Alfaz had to act fast.
He knew now that the military was deeply involved in something that could once again change the entire region's balance of power, a nuclear test.
If this news leaked, he is sure a war will break out.
But the problem was, he wasn't the only one putting pieces together.
By now, word would have spread through his inquiries, the bribes, and the disappearances of people like Arif and Sajid.
The higher-ups would soon know someone was digging, and that someone would lead back to him.
Sajid's confession confirmed Alfaz's worst fears.
The test was real, and it was imminent. Worse still, powerful forces, foreign scientists and financiers were involved, making this operation far larger than anything Alfaz had ever imagined.
He needed to get this information out, and he needed to do it now.
There was no time to waste.
---
That night, in a cramped apartment, Alfaz sat down at his desk, the dim light of a single bulb casting long shadows on the wall.
In front of him lay a blank sheet of paper and a pen.
Next to it, a small pouch holding Sajid's documents, calculations, schematics, and logistical reports that all but confirmed the nuclear nature of the Chagai project.
He began writing.
Alfaz wrote quickly.
The letter was addressed to a trusted contact in Delhi, someone he knew through back channels, an operative in Indian intelligence.
The contact had no name, just a codename, Prithvi.
They had never met in person, but Alfaz had sent information to Prithvi before, information that had proven useful in the past.
This time, the stakes were higher than ever. The letter detailed everything, Arif's torture, Sajid's confession, the foreign involvement, and the clear signs of nuclear testing in Chagai Hills.
He didn't hold anything back.
The urgency weighed heavily on his chest.
He had to ensure this letter made it out of Pakistan safely.
The military had too many eyes, too many ears.
A direct transmission would be intercepted, so Alfaz couldn't send it through the usual military channels.
Once he finished, he folded the letter carefully and sealed it in an envelope.
The documents he had obtained from Sajid were copied and slipped into a second envelope.
These were the key pieces of evidence that would corroborate everything he was saying.
Taking a deep breath, Alfaz packed the two envelopes into a small diplomatic pouch he had acquired weeks earlier through bribes.
It was the only way to ensure the package could pass through military checkpoints without being opened.
After double-checking that everything was in place, he set out for his contact in Karachi, a low-level airport official who could sneak the pouch onto a diplomatic flight bound for India.
---
The trip to Karachi was tense.
Alfaz knew that the military's surveillance would catch up to him sooner rather than later.
Already, he had noticed more attention on his movements, officers who weren't usually around now seemed to be trailing him.
His phone lines seemed to crackle with the unmistakable sound of someone listening.
He traveled by night, taking a series of public buses to avoid being tracked.
Every stop felt like a gamble.
The roads were long, and every checkpoint felt like a trap.
His nerves were on edge, and paranoia had already begun to set in.
At every checkpoint, Alfaz could see soldiers looking over the passengers with suspicion.
He kept his head down, his forged papers ready.
At one particular checkpoint outside Hyderabad, Alfaz's heart raced as a young soldier examined his papers for what seemed like an eternity.
The soldier squinted at the documents, then at Alfaz's face, before handing them back without a word.
It was a small victory, but Alfaz knew he was cutting it close.
Any further delay would be deadly.
---
Finally, after what felt like days, Alfaz reached Karachi.
His contact worked the night shift at the airport, managing cargo shipments for diplomatic flights.
He was a quiet man, unassuming, with little interest in politics or intrigue.
But he owed Alfaz a favor, a favor large enough that he wouldn't ask questions.
In the back room of the airport's cargo section, Alfaz met with him.
The man took the diplomatic pouch, glancing at it briefly before nodding.
"This will be on the next flight out. It'll reach Delhi by tomorrow morning."
Alfaz felt a weight lift off his chest.
The information was finally on its way.
But he wasn't safe yet.
---
With the package sent, Alfaz knew he had to disappear.
The military would soon connect the dots, and once they did, they would come for him.
He couldn't return to Rawalpindi. His home, his life, everything was compromised.
His only option now was to run. But where?
He made his way to the outskirts of Karachi, using the last of his contacts to arrange for passage across the border into Afghanistan.
Smugglers in this part of the country were used to ferrying people across borders in secret, no questions asked, so long as the price was right.
Alfaz paid a small fortune, but it was the only way.
---
The journey through the wilderness of Balochistan and into Afghanistan was grueling.
The smuggler's routes were dangerous and unforgiving, narrow passes through desolate mountains, where a single misstep could lead to death.
Alfaz rode in the back of a dusty truck, crammed between crates of smuggled goods, his face covered to shield him from the dry, biting wind.
The truck bounced along rocky paths for hours, the sound of the engine the only constant in the vast emptiness around him.
Every time the truck slowed down, Alfaz's heart raced, fearing the approach of military patrols or border guards.
The smugglers were professionals, but nothing was guaranteed.
---
After what felt like an eternity, the truck finally came to a stop in a remote Afghan village.
The driver turned to Alfaz and gestured for him to get out. "This is where we part ways," he said gruffly.
"From here, you're on your own."
Alfaz nodded and climbed out, his legs stiff from the long journey.
As the truck drove off, leaving a trail of dust in its wake, Alfaz stood alone in the cold Afghan wilderness.
For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself a moment to breathe.
He had escaped Pakistan, but he knew the danger wasn't over.
The information was on its way to Delhi, but the military would be hunting him now.
Alfaz was a marked man, with enemies on every side.
He looked out at the barren landscape, the vast mountains stretching into the distance.
His journey wasn't over, but for now, he had done what needed to be done.
The truth about Chagai Hills would soon reach the world, and maybe, just maybe, it would stop the nuclear test before it was too late.
For now, though, all Alfaz could do was run, and hope that somewhere in the shadows, he would find safety.
As night fell over the Afghan mountains, Alfaz Shaheed disappeared into the darkness, a man who had traded his life for the truth.
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79.32%A New India / Chapter 141: The Message Reaches Delhi
Chapter 141: The Message Reaches Delhi
It was a typical day in Delhi.
Prithvi, a seasoned operative with the Research and Analysis Wing (R&AW), sat in his office on Lodhi Road, sipping on a glass of cold water.
Prithvi was no stranger to intelligence reports crossing his desk.
Some were crucial, others merely noise.
After years of fieldwork and covert operations, he had grown a keen sense for picking out what mattered.
As the fan rotated lazily above, a clerk entered his office carrying a small, nondescript package.
"A diplomatic pouch just came in from Karachi," the clerk said, placing it on Prithvi's cluttered desk.
He didn't think much of it at first, diplomatic pouches came in all the time, often full of routine information.
But when the clerk added, "It's addressed to you directly, sir,"
Prithvi's hand paused mid-air.
Directly to him? That was unusual.
Prithvi's instincts sharpened as he carefully opened the pouch.
Inside, he found two sealed envelopes. He tore open the first one, and his eyes immediately scanned the page.
Within the first few sentences, his heart began to pound.
The note was from Alfaz Shaheed, a Pakistani military captain known to R&AW as a discreet source, though they had never met.
Alfaz had sent valuable information in the past, but what Prithvi was reading now was on another level altogether.
The words jumped out at him: Chagai Hills, nuclear test, foreign involvement.
Prithvi leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as the full gravity of the situation sank in.
He had suspected something was brewing in Pakistan, but nuclear testing?
And not just by Pakistan alone, but with the backing of foreign powers?
This wasn't just a regional concern, this had the potential to shift the balance of power across the subcontinent.
He quickly flipped to the second envelope, which contained schematics, logistics reports, and intelligence gathered by Alfaz.
As he read through the documents, Prithvi's face tightened with tension.
It was all here, evidence of foreign scientists, technical materials being smuggled into Pakistan, and heavy military convoys heading toward Chagai Hills, the remote area known for its isolation.
The reports detailed movement patterns and foreign assistance that Pakistan couldn't have managed on its own.
Prithvi's eyes narrowed. If this information was accurate, and all signs pointed to it being legitimate, Pakistan was on the path to test Nucelar weapons.
This wasn't just an intelligence concern, this was a national security crisis.
"This is… huge," Prithvi muttered to himself.
He knew he couldn't sit on this.
Without wasting another moment, Prithvi grabbed the files and stuffed them into his leather satchel.
This needed to go straight to the top, K.N. Rao, the chief of R&AW.
Rao was not a man to be rattled easily, but Prithvi knew even he would be shaken by this revelation.
---
Prithvi walked through the corridors of the R&AW headquarters, barely noticing the glances from junior officers as he passed by.
His mind raced.
He had to present this information in a way that Rao would immediately understand the urgency.
Time was of the essence.
If Pakistan was on a path of nuclear test, India needed to act fast.
As he approached Rao's office, the secretary barely had time to look up before Prithvi pushed through the door.
K.N. Rao sat behind his large wooden desk, reviewing some files when Prithvi stormed in.
Rao was known for his calm demeanor, even in the most pressing situations.
But today, Prithvi was about to test that composure.
"Sir, we need to talk. Now," Prithvi said, breathless but composed enough to know he had to choose his words carefully.
Rao glanced up from his papers, surprised by the sudden intrusion but noting the serious expression on Prithvi's face.
"What is it, Prithvi?"
Prithvi stepped forward and placed the documents on Rao's desk.
"A report just came in from one of our contacts in Pakistan. I think you'll want to see this."
Rao picked up the top sheet, scanning the first few lines.
As he read, his expression changed from mild curiosity to intense focus.
"Chagai Hills?" he murmured.
His eyes moved faster across the page, taking in every word.
When he reached the part about foreign scientists and nuclear testing, he put the paper down and looked up at Prithvi.
"Are you sure about this?" Rao asked, his voice controlled but laced with concern.
Prithvi nodded. "Sir, this is from Alfaz Shaheed. He's been feeding us reliable information for years, but this… this is different. This is big."
Rao leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapped beneath his chin as he processed the information.
"You're telling me Pakistan is on the path of conducting a nuclear test, and they're not doing it alone?"
"That's what it looks like," Prithvi replied. "Alfaz uncovered evidence of foreign assistance, scientists, funding, the works. They've been moving equipment and materials into Chagai Hills under the radar. If this test happens, sir, it changes everything."
Rao let out a slow breath, his eyes narrowing as the full weight of the situation settled in.
"Who's behind it? Which country is helping them?"
Prithvi shook his head. "That's the part we don't know yet. Alfaz didn't have the exact names, but the documents show clear signs of outside involvement. It's someone with the resources and knowledge to pull this off. It could be USA, UK or even France and USSR or even a rogue element. We don't know yet, but whoever it is, they're serious."
"We need to verify this," Rao said, his voice steady despite the urgency in the room.
"We need to get more eyes on the ground. I'll activate some of our deep-cover assets in Pakistan. If this is real, we can't let it happen."
Prithvi nodded. "I'll send word to our field officers. We need surveillance on Chagai Hills immediately."
Rao stood up, pacing behind his desk, his hands behind his back. "And Alfaz? Where is he now?"
Prithvi sighed. "He's on the run. He managed to escape Pakistan after sending us the report, but I don't know where he is now. My guess is he's heading for Afghanistan. The ISI is probably hunting him down as we speak."
Rao stopped pacing and turned to face Prithvi, his expression grim. "He's a dead man if they catch him."
"I know," Prithvi replied quietly. "But he got us this far. We owe it to him to use this information."
Rao nodded, his face hardening with resolve. "Alfaz has done his part. Now it's our turn. If this happens, the entire region will be at risk. We need to act fast."
Prithvi shifted on his feet.
"What do we do next, sir?"
"We prepare," Rao said finally.
"Quietly. We can't afford a public panic, but we also can't let this go unchecked. Get me everything we have on Chagai Hill, intelligence reports, the works. And reach out to our allies. If Pakistan is playing with fire, we're going to make sure they don't burn the rest of us in the process."
Prithvi nodded and moved toward the door, the weight of the mission pressing on his shoulders.
"Prithvi," Rao called after him, his voice steady but deadly serious.
"This is bigger than any operation we've ever run. We can't afford to miss a single detail. I will brief the Prime Minister on this"
"Understood, sir," Prithvi replied, closing the door behind him.
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79.88%A New India / Chapter 142: Rao Briefs Rohan
Chapter 142: Rao Briefs Rohan
Rohan was hoping for a few moments of peace before heading home, maybe just to sit in silence and let his mind wander.
But that hope was shattered the moment K.N. Rao, the chief of R&AW, entered his office unannounced.
"Rao," Rohan said, surprised by the man's sudden appearance.
Rao wasn't the type to show up without an appointment.
The look on his face tense immediately told Rohan this wasn't a routine briefing.
"Prime Minister," Rao said, not even bothering with pleasantries.
He held a thick file in his hand, his grip tight as though the paper itself could slip away at any moment.
Rohan frowned, sitting up straighter in his chair. "What's going on? You look like someone just walked over your grave."
Rao didn't sit. He remained standing, his eyes locked on Rohan's. "It's bad, sir. Pakistan… they're working on something, something bigger than we anticipated."
Rohan's stomach tightened. He'd had a bad feeling for days, a sense that something was brewing across the border.
But this?
This felt different.
"What is it?"
Rao took a breath before speaking, like he needed to steady himself before delivering the blow.
"Pakistan is preparing for a nuclear program."
There was a long, heavy pause.
Rohan blinked, the words hanging in the air like a sharp slap.
His first instinct was disbelief. Nuclear? Pakistan?
"What do you mean, nuclear?" Rohan finally asked, his voice low but edged with shock. "They don't have the resources. They're not capable of—"
"They don't have the capability alone," Rao cut in, his tone firm but urgent.
"But they're not alone in this. We've just received intelligence from one of our contacts, Captain Alfaz Shaheed, and it's all there. Pakistan is gathering resources, uranium, equipment and they've got foreign backing. We don't know exactly who yet, but we're looking at a major player"
Rohan was still, trying to process the information that Rao was throwing at him.
His hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly.
"Foreign backing… nuclear weapons… Rao, this can't be right."
"It's right," Rao replied, his eyes serious. "They're not ready yet, but they're making preparations. They've got people working on it, foreign scientists, foreign money. And they're using the Chagai Hills as the base. Our best estimate? They're at least a year away from conducting a test. But if they're successful…"
Rohan stood up abruptly, unable to remain seated any longer.
He paced behind his desk, his hands running through his hair.
"A year? Rao, are you hearing yourself? In a year, they could have nuclear weapons. That changes everything—everything."
Rao nodded, his voice calm but unrelenting. "Yes, sir. That's exactly what I'm saying. If Pakistan succeeds, we'll be dealing with a nuclear-armed state right next door. And with their internal instability, who knows what they'll do with that power? This isn't just about India anymore, this is about regional and global security."
Rohan stopped pacing and stared at Rao, his heart pounding in his chest.
"How long have we known about this?"
"Not long. Alfaz has been gathering information quietly for weeks, maybe months. He bribed people, tortured some, even killed a few just to get close enough. It took him time, but the pieces fell together. He barely escaped Pakistan after sending the final report."
Rohan shook his head, still reeling. "And you're sure? There's no mistake here? We're talking about nuclear weapons."
"I wish I were wrong, Prime Minister. But this is real. Pakistan is putting together everything they need. They're not there yet, but they're moving fast."
Rohan fell back into his chair, rubbing his temples
"Nuclear weapons… foreign help… We can't let this happen, Rao. Do you understand what this will mean for us? For the entire subcontinent? We're already at each other's throats. Add nuclear weapons to the mix, and we'll be staring at war. A war no one can survive."
"I understand, sir," Rao said, his tone measured.
"But we're not at war yet. We still have time. They're not ready. They're preparing, but they need more time to gather the resources and technology. If we act now, we can slow them down. Maybe even stop them altogether."
Rohan looked up at him, his face tense. "How? How do we stop this without sparking the very war we're trying to avoid?"
Rao leaned forward slightly.
"There are options. We can sabotage their supply lines, disrupt their access to materials. We know where they're working out of, and we can make things very difficult for them without ever firing a shot. If we do it right, they'll be forced to delay the project, maybe even scrap it if it becomes too costly."
Rohan frowned, shaking his head. "And what if that's not enough? What if they still manage to push through? You know as well as I do that when a country sets its sights on nuclear weapons, they don't stop easily."
Rao hesitated. He didn't want to say it, but he knew it needed to be on the table.
"If sabotage doesn't work… we may have to consider more direct action."
Rohan's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping. "Direct action? You mean strikes?"
"If it comes to that, yes," Rao said quietly.
"If they're on the verge of completing the project, we may have no choice. A limited strike to destroy their nuclear infrastructure before it's operational. It's a last resort, but we have to be prepared."
Rohan stood up again, this time walking to the window.
He stared out at the city below, the people going about their lives, blissfully unaware of the threat rising around them.
Direct action meant war, there was no doubt about that.
But sitting back and waiting for Pakistan to become a nuclear-armed state?
That was equally unthinkable.
"How did it come to this?" Rohan muttered under his breath.
"We've barely had a chance to rebuild after independence, and now we're on the verge of a nuclear crisis."
Rao remained silent, knowing there were no easy answers.
He had seen this day coming, in some form or another, but that didn't make it any easier to confront.
Rohan turned back to him, his eyes hard with resolve.
"We'll start with sabotage. Quietly. We'll slow them down, frustrate their efforts. But Rao, if that doesn't work, and they're still pushing forward, then we act. No hesitation. We stop them before they can ever conduct a test. I'm not letting Pakistan hold this over us. Not on my watch."
Rao nodded firmly. "Understood, Prime Minister. I'll get our people in place. We'll make sure they feel the pressure."
Rohan sighed deeply
"This can't get out, Rao. The public can't know about this. Not yet. If word spreads, we'll have a panic on our hands, and Pakistan will just accelerate their plans. Keep it locked down."
"I'll handle it," Rao assured him.
"Only the most trusted people will know. We'll be ready."
Rohan gave a small nod
Pakistan, nuclear weapons, foreign involvement, it was all spiraling out of control
As Rao stood to leave, Rohan called out softly, "Rao…"
The intelligence chief turned back, waiting.
"Make sure we don't wait too long," Rohan said,
"If this starts, it won't stop. And we can't afford to be caught off guard."
Rao's expression was grave. "I won't let that happen, sir."
With that, Rao left the room, and Rohan stood alone
There was no going back now. The clock was ticking.
And it was up to him to keep it from running out.
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80.44%A New India / Chapter 143: The Hunt for Critical Information
Chapter 143: The Hunt for Critical Information
K.N. Rao as he left the Prime Minister's office. He thought about the situation
Pakistan was preparing a nuclear test, and it was up to him and his network to gather every last shred of information before any action could be taken.
He knew there could be no half-measures. His team had to be sharp, focused, and absolutely discreet.
Any leak, any misstep, and Pakistan would accelerate their plans.
The fear of losing the element of surprise disturbed him.
As soon as he reached his office, Rao didn't waste a second.
He grabbed the telephone on his desk and dialed the direct line of his most trusted operative.
"Get me Shiv," he said, his voice steady but with an sense of urgency.
Shiv had been with R&AW since it start and before that worked as mercenary.
He was an expert at navigating the dangerous terrain of Pakistan's underground networks, and if anyone could get to the heart of what was happening in Chagai Hills, it was him.
Shiv was known for his ability to blend in, whether in the markets of Karachi or the military installations near the border.
He was, in essence, a ghost, a man who could disappear in plain sight.
A few minutes later, the door to Rao's office opened, and in walked Shiv, a quiet and unassuming figure in a simple shirt and slacks.
But his eyes were sharp, taking in everything in a glance.
"You called for me, sir?"
Rao gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Sit down, Shiv. We've got a situation that demands your full attention."
Shiv sat, his back straight, knowing from Rao's tone that this was no ordinary mission.
"Pakistan is building towards a nuclear capability," Rao said, not mincing words.
"We've received intelligence from a high-level source, Captain Alfaz Shaheed. They've started gathering the materials, the resources, and worryingly foreign scientists. We suspect they could be ready for a nuclear test in about a year."
Shiv's expression didn't change, but his silence spoke volumes.
Rao knew that Shiv understood the gravity of the situation without needing any further explanation.
"I want you to activate every single contact we have in Balochistan," Rao continued, leaning forward. "We need to know the details, convoy movements, supply chains, who these foreign scientists are, and where the materials are coming from. This operation has to be completely under the radar, no mistakes."
Shiv nodded, his eyes focused. "I'll start reaching out immediately. Do we have any confirmed locations?"
"Chagai Hills," Rao replied, tapping the file on his desk. "Everything seems to be centered there, but we need confirmation. Don't leave any stone unturned, Shiv. If we don't gather enough information, we won't be able to act before they complete the project."
Shiv stood, ready to leave. "I'll get it done."
---
Two Days Later – Quetta, Pakistan
In the heart of Balochistan, the dusty, sun-baked city of Quetta moved at its usual pace.
Markets were full of traders and travelers, and military presence was discreet but always noticeable.
Rahim, one of R&AW's most reliable informants in the region, sat in a quiet corner of a local teahouse.
His hands warmed around a cup of tea as he waited for a particular guest to arrive.
Rahim wasn't a spy by nature, but years of working as a trader on both sides of the law had given him valuable contacts.
And right now, he was waiting on one of those contacts, a low-ranking officer stationed near Chagai Hills who had seen more than he was supposed to.
The officer arrived just after sunset, nervous and glancing over his shoulder as he took a seat across from Rahim.
"You've been working near Chagai Hills," Rahim said quietly, keeping his voice casual but controlled. "You've seen things, haven't you?"
The officer's hands trembled slightly as he reached for his own cup. "I… I can't talk about it. If anyone finds out—"
"No one will find out," Rahim cut in smoothly, sliding an envelope across the table. "This stays between us."
The officer hesitated, but the weight of the envelope, filled with money, pulled him in. He pocketed it quickly, his eyes darting around again.
"They've been moving equipment," the officer whispered, leaning in slightly. "Military convoys, heavy stuff, things we don't normally see in that part of the country. They've set up new checkpoints, and there are foreigners, engineers, I think. Germans, maybe others. No one tells us what's happening, but the rumors…"
"What rumors?" Rahim asked, his voice calm but insistent.
"They say it's a test site," the officer replied, his voice barely audible.
"They're hollowing out the hills. Building something underground. It's… bigger than anything we've ever seen."
Rahim nodded, his mind already processing the information. "How often are the convoys?"
"Every few weeks," the officer said, swallowing hard. "And there's always more equipment. They're getting ready for something, but no one knows exactly when."
Rahim finished his tea and stood, tossing a few rupees onto the table. "If you hear anything else, you know where to find me."
The officer nodded, relief washing over his face as Rahim left the teahouse.
The money would keep him quiet for now, but Rahim knew this was only the beginning.
He sent word back to Shiv, knowing the significance of what he had just learned.
---
Islamabad, Pakistan
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit room in Islamabad, another R&AW contact
Faheem, met with a disgruntled contractor who had recently been dismissed from a project near Chagai Hills.
The contractor, an engineer by training, had seen too much and asked too many questions, which had gotten him quietly removed from the project.
"They're building underground bunkers," the contractor said, his voice bitter.
"It's all hush-hush, but it's clear what they're preparing for. They've been bringing in foreign experts, German mostly. But they can't fool me, those German scientist are headed by an American and they know what they are working on"
"And they're working on…?" Faheem prompted, keeping his expression neutral.
The contractor scoffed. "What do you think? It's nuclear. I saw the plans before they kicked me out. They've got machines coming in from overseas, and they're stockpiling materials. If they aren't already refining uranium, they're damn close."
Faheem's heart raced. This was the confirmation they needed.
"And how far along are they?"
"They're still in the setup phase," the contractor replied.
"But give them a few months, and they'll be in the final stages. A year, maybe less."
Faheem nodded, his mind already forming a report for Shiv.
"Keep your head down," he said, handing the contractor an envelope of cash.
"If anything else comes up, let me know."
---
For the next week, R&AW's operatives worked tirelessly, connecting dots and confirming suspicions.
In addition to Rahim and Faheem's reports, information poured in from various sources, convoy sightings, technical equipment being shipped through discreet channels, and confirmations of foreign scientists actively working on site.
By the end of the week, Shiv sat across from Rao's desk in Delhi, handing over a thick file full of reports, names, and timelines.
Rao flipped through the pages, the puzzle pieces now fully fitting together.
"They've got foreign help," Shiv said simply.
"German Scientist and Americans. They're not fully operational yet, but give them time, and they will be. But beyond that Involvement of American is a surprise and this threat has become more dangerous"
Rao looked up from the file, his face set in grim determination. "This is what we needed. Good work, Shiv."
Shiv nodded
"What's next, sir?"
Rao closed the file, knowing what had to be done.
"We take this to the Prime Minister. He needs to know we have everything now. It's time to decide what comes next."
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81%A New India / Chapter 144: The Mobilization Order
Chapter 144: The Mobilization Order
Rohan sat in his office, hands closed tightly together as he stared out of the window.
The sun had set hours ago, and the city of Delhi was bathed in the dim glow of streetlights
The intelligence was clear: Pakistan was edging closer to achieving nuclear capability, and the countdown had already begun.
Rao had done his part, his team had worked tirelessly, piecing together every detail, every movement.
Another peice of information troubled him more was involvement of Americans.
He knew the duality of Americans but he didn't expected them to react this early and start supporting Pakistan.
He has already called for a meeting with generals and they will be briefed on the way, but he has left the part of American supporting them.
He thought a lot and finally a plan came to his mind, a plan that will change everything and for it to succeed it is necessary only few people know about it.
Now he is waiting and praying for the best outcome in everything.
The knock on his door broke his chain of thoughts.
"Come in," he called, his voice a little steadier than he felt.
The door opened, and K.N. Rao, the chief of R&AW, stepped in first, followed by General Singh of the Indian Army, Admiral of the Navy, Air Chief Marshal, Defence Sardar Patel and CDS Negi and IB Chief Atma.
This was India's war council, the men who would shape the country's response to the coming crisis.
They took their seats around the large table, the room settling into a heavy silence.
Everyone knew what was coming, but no one wanted to be the first to speak.
Rohan broke the tension.
"Gentlemen," he began, his voice quiet but firm, "we have confirmation from our intelligence sources. Pakistan is preparing for a nuclear test, and they're closer than we anticipated. Our window to act is closing."
General Singh cleared his throat, leaning forward. "How much time do we have, sir?"
Rohan glanced at Rao, who responded, "They're still in the preparation phase. We estimate they're about a year away from conducting the test. But they're gathering resources and equipment fast. We have reports of foreign scientists working alongside them. The scale of their operation is growing."
The Defence Minister Patel sat back, rubbing his temples. "A year might sound like a lot, but it isn't. Once they've got the materials and foreign backing, things can move fast. They'll have what they need before we know it."
Rohan nodded, his fingers tapping lightly on the table. "We can't afford to wait for them to cross the line. We need to act now. We need to show them that we won't sit idly by while they threaten not just us, but the entire region."
Rohan's eyes swept across the faces of the men seated before him.
He knew they were all thinking the same thing.
Mobilizing the armed forces would not be taken lightly by Pakistan or the international community. But what choice did they have?
Unfortunately even if they understand, only when his plan is successful will they realise it.
"I'm ordering a heavy mobilization along the Pakistan border," Rohan announced, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade.
"We need to send a clear message. I want troops moving in days, not weeks."
General Singh's eyebrows furrowed.
"Sir, mobilizing at that scale will be a massive logistical challenge. We're talking about redeploying thousands of men, heavy artillery, tanks, moving all that will take time."
"I understand that, General," Rohan replied, his voice tightening. "But I need this done fast. We can't afford the luxury of time."
Admiral Kapoor always the calm voice in the room, spoke up next. "What kind of numbers are you envisioning, Prime Minister?"
"Tens of thousands," Rohan said flatly. "I want enough troops on the border that Pakistan can't ignore it. They need to know we're serious."
Admiral Kapoor's gaze sharpened. "And the Navy, sir? What role do you see for us?"
"We need to cut off any potential supply lines," Rohan responded. "If they're getting foreign assistance, we can't let those resources reach them. I want the Arabian Sea monitored closely. Block anything suspicious. If it means a naval blockade, we'll go that far."
Admiral Kapoor nodded slowly. "Understood. We'll position our fleets in the Arabian Sea. We'll be ready to intercept any shipments."
Rohan's gaze then shifted to Air Chief Marshal Pratap Rawat. "And the Air Force?"
Air Chief Marshal Rawat didn't hesitate. "We'll move squadrons to our airbases closer to the border. I'll have pilots on standby for rapid deployment. If there's any sign of movement on the Pakistani side, we'll be ready to respond."
Rohan took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair for a moment.
Every second wasted brought Pakistan closer to their goal.
The status quo had changed, and India couldn't afford to wait for a diplomatic miracle.
Patel broke the silence, his voice carrying a note of caution.
"Prime Minister, this kind of mobilization will get noticed. Pakistan will respond. The international community will start asking questions. We could be on the brink of a conflict before we're ready."
"I know," Rohan said, meeting Patel gaze.
"But we don't have a choice. If we don't act now, Pakistan will complete their nuclear program, and then we'll be forced into an even worse situation. I'd rather they know we're ready to act than wait for them to push us."
General Singh leaned forward, his voice more thoughtful now.
"Prime Minister, if we're mobilizing on this scale, it's not just about military readiness. It's about preparation for the worst-case scenario. Are we prepared for a full conflict?"
Rohan's eyes darkened slightly. "We have to be. If Pakistan doesn't back down, we may have to face that reality. But I'm hoping this mobilization will serve as a deterrent. We need to show strength, enough strength to make them reconsider."
General Singh nodded, the seriousness of the situation clear on his face. "It's a dangerous gamble, sir. But I understand the need. I'll get my men ready."
Rohan looked at him but didn't spoke because he knew that today he has taken a gamble far bigger than this.
Rohan glanced at Rao and Atma who had been quiet throughout the discussion.
"I want R&AW and IB fully involved in this. We need constant updates, real-time intelligence. If Pakistan starts moving, I want to know about it immediately."
Rao nodded firmly. "We're already monitoring their movements closely. We've got assets in place in Pakistan, and we'll keep them updated on the situation. Any sign of a response on their side, we'll know."
Rohan finally took a breath, he has done everything he can.
The plan has begun that will shock the whole world and once in for all end the Nucelar dream of Pakistan.
He is not sure, if it was right or not but one thing he is sure about is the opportunity to make sure India doesn't repeat the mistake it made in future.
"Alright," he said finally, his voice steady. "We start mobilizing now. I want the first wave of troops at the border within days. Get your teams moving."
He had known when he took office that there would be hard decisions.
But this… this was something else.
Mobilizing forces against a nuclear-aspiring neighbor wasn't just a show of strength, it was a message that India would not back down, no matter the cost.
Over the next few days, the Indian military machine began to roar into action.
Convoys of trucks carrying soldiers and supplies rumbled towards the western border.
Tanks and armored vehicles were loaded onto trains and transported to strategic locations.
The country's largest military bases buzzed with activity as thousands of soldiers prepared to deploy.
At airbases near the border, pilots ran through drills and prepped their aircraft, knowing that they could be called into action at any moment.
Jet engines roared into life as squadrons took to the skies, patrolling India's airspace with an intensity that hadn't been seen since the last major conflict.
The Navy, too, began positioning its fleets. Crusiers and destroyers moved silently into the Arabian Sea.
Their presence a warning to any foreign ships or submarines that might attempt to ferry materials to Pakistan's nuclear program.
The world might not have known it yet, but a great game of power had begun, and India was positioning itself for the next move.
---
Rohan stood in the war room, watching the troop movements on a large map laid out before him.
It was overwhelming in its scale, the sheer logistics of moving so many men and machines.
But it was happening. His orders were being followed to the letter.
"We'll be ready," General Singh said, stepping up beside him. "Our men are moving fast."
Rohan nodded, his face hard with determination. "Good. We'll need them sooner than we think."
The mobilization had begun, and there was no turning back now.
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81.56%A New India / Chapter 145: Pakistan's Response
Chapter 145: Pakistan's Response
General Ayub Khan, the commanding officer of the Pakistan Army, was seated behind his large oak desk in the military headquarters of Rawalpindi when the news hit him like a punch to the gut.
His aide, Major Zubair, had just entered the office, his face pale, clutching a document in his hand.
"Sir," Zubair said, barely able to hide the tension in his voice, "there's something you need to see."
Ayub looked up from the reports on his desk. The sun was just setting over the city, casting a dull orange glow through the windows.
He was tired after a long day of meetings and strategy sessions, most of them focused on maintaining the delicate balance of power between Pakistan and India.
But the look on Zubair's face was enough to make his fatigue vanish instantly.
"What is it, Major?" Ayub asked, his voice sharp but steady.
Zubair handed over the document without a word.
Ayub's eyes scanned the report, and as he read, his expression darkened.
His brow furrowed, and the muscles in his jaw tightened.
The Indian Army had initiated a massive mobilization along the western border.
Not just a small movement of troops, but a full-scale deployment, tens of thousands of soldiers, tanks, artillery, and aircraft being moved into positions along the length of the border.
Ayub dropped the paper on his desk, his eyes burning with frustration.
"What the hell are they doing?" he muttered under his breath.
Zubair stood silently, waiting for further instructions, but the tension in the room was growing more.
"Have we heard anything from their diplomatic channels? Any warning, any statements?"
Ayub asked, trying to control the growing anger in his voice.
Zubair shook his head. "No, sir. No formal communication. Just this mobilization. It's sudden."
Ayub stood up from his desk, pacing the room with long, purposeful strides.
He couldn't make sense of it. India had made no announcements, no threats.
They had given no indication that they were preparing for conflict.
And yet here they were, moving their military to the border in a way that couldn't be ignored.
"This is more than just a show of force," Ayub said, half to himself. "Something's going on."
Zubair cleared his throat. "Sir, the ISI has been monitoring increased intelligence activity in Balochistan, there's been unusual chatter, spy activities, and even some disruptions around Chagai Hills. We were already on alert. Do you think this could be connected?"
Ayub stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing as the pieces began to fit together in his mind. "What kind of disruptions?"
Zubair hesitated for a moment.
"There were reports of informants being questioned more aggressively, strange movements from foreign agents, and we've lost contact with a few of our lower-level assets in the region. Some believe the Indians have stepped up their intelligence efforts, particularly around our projects in the hills."
Ayub's fists clenched at his sides. Chagai Hills.
The very mention of that region sent a chill down his spine.
Pakistan's nuclear ambitions had been developing quietly in that remote part of the country.
The Indians had been in the dark about it, at least, they were supposed to be.
"What are you suggesting, Major?" Ayub asked, his voice low.
Zubair shifted on his feet. "I'm not certain, sir, but... this mobilization might not be a random show of strength. If they know what's happening in Balochistan, especially near Chagai, they might be preparing for something bigger."
Ayub's eyes hardened. "They wouldn't dare," he said coldly.
"If they know... if they suspect we're working on a nuclear program, they'd know the consequences of striking us directly."
Zubair remained silent, not wanting to say what they were both thinking.
A strike on Pakistan's nuclear ambitions, before they were fully realized, could cripple the country's future military capabilities.
But it would also throw the region into chaos.
Ayub's mind raced.
He needed answers, and he needed them fast.
He reached for the phone on his desk and dialed the direct line to General Ahmed, one of his most trusted commanders.
"Ahmed," Ayub said once the line connected, "I want our forces mobilized along the border. Heavy mobilization. We can't sit idle while India moves their troops into position. I want every battalion in Punjab and Sindh ready to move. And I want the Air Force on high alert."
There was a pause on the other end before Ahmed replied.
"Understood, sir. I'll get the logistics moving immediately. But sir… do you really think they're preparing for war?"
Ayub clenched his jaw.
"I don't know. But we can't afford to take that risk. Mobilize the men. And keep me updated on any movements on their side. If they're coming for us, I want to know."
He slammed the phone down and turned to Zubair.
"Get me the head of the ISI, immediately. I want to know exactly what's happening in Balochistan and what the hell the Indians are up to."
Zubair nodded and hurried out of the room, leaving Ayub alone with his thoughts.
His heart was pounding in his chest.
This wasn't how things were supposed to go. Pakistan's nuclear project was a closely guarded secret, and they had been careful to avoid detection.
If India was making a move now, it meant they had learned something, something dangerous.
---
An hour later, Lieutenant General Tariq Malik, the head of Pakistan's Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), entered Ayub's office.
He was a sharp, methodical man, known for his ability to read situations with unnerving clarity.
But even Malik seemed tense as he took a seat across from Ayub.
"You called for me, General?" Malik asked, his voice calm.
Ayub handed him the document Zubair had brought earlier. "India has begun a heavy mobilization along the border. They're moving fast. I need to know why."
Malik studied the document briefly, his face betraying little emotion. "This is more than just a routine show of strength," he said, setting the paper down. "They've activated troops, air force, and naval assets. They're preparing for something."
Ayub leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "Do they know about Chagai Hills?"
Malik paused, choosing his words carefully. "We've seen an increase in intelligence activity in Balochistan, especially near the Chagai region. Our assets on the ground have reported more aggressive movements from foreign agents, particularly Indian. We've had a few disturbances, informants disappearing, increased surveillance on military convoys. It's possible the Indians have caught wind of something."
Ayub's fists clenched. "If they know about the nuclear project…"
Malik held up a hand, trying to calm the tension in the room. "It's not confirmed that they know the full extent of what we're doing. But if they've seen enough to suspect something, this mobilization could be their way of pressuring us, or preparing for a strike."
"A strike on Chagai?" Ayub asked, his voice low and dangerous.
"It's a possibility," Malik admitted. "But it's also possible they're using this mobilization as a form of deterrence. If they believe we're close to developing nuclear capability, they might be trying to force our hand before we can complete the project."
Ayub leaned back in his chair, his mind working through the options. "We can't let them think they've got the upper hand."
Malik nodded. "No, sir. We need to respond, firmly."
Ayub stood, pacing the room as his mind raced. "We need to match their mobilization. If they're moving troops to the border, then we'll do the same. I want our forces fully mobilized along the entire length of the border. If they want to play this game, we'll show them we're ready."
Malik didn't argue. "The bigger question is the possibility of them knowing it and using this as a point to start a war. They know Americans won't be able to support us in situation like this. So sir I feel it is necessary to focus more on the frontline because Balochistan is secure and no problem will happen there"
Ayub nodded, his decision made.
"Yes, this also is a possibility that can come true. I will trust you with the protection of Chagai Hills and keep our nuclear project on track. Whatever happens, we can't afford any delays. If they think they can stop us, they're mistaken."
Malik stood, his face serious. "Understood, General."
As Malik left the office, Ayub stood alone in the middle of the room, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and uncertainty.
India was moving, and now Pakistan had no choice but to respond.
The mobilization order had been given, and the chessboard was set.
Both countries were now ready for a dangerous escalation, with nuclear ambitions hanging in the balance.
This wasn't just about military strength or border skirmishes anymore.
This was about survival, about ensuring that Pakistan had the power to defend itself in a world where nuclear weapons were becoming the ultimate currency of power.
"Let them come," Ayub muttered to himself, his eyes narrowing. "We'll be ready."
History will remember this era and those who shaped it, changing the world forever.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS
Clautic
Let's gool guys, how do you like this sudden twist of plot with Pakistan nuclear ambitions and Americans helping them, it's like 7th chapter into this arc. Do comment and lemme understand your opinion
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82.12%A New India / Chapter 146: Soldiers on the Edge
Chapter 146: Soldiers on the Edge