Delhi – Prime Minister's Residence – 24th April 1949
For the first time in what felt like forever, Arjun had actually cleared his schedule. No meetings, no briefings, no urgent crises demanding immediate attention. The heavy files on his desk could wait for once.
He was sitting in his private residence's small living room, lights dimmed, watching a projector flicker images onto a makeshift screen. The music was hauntingly romantic, and he found himself actually relaxing for the first time in months. Barsaat, the 1949 Hindi film, was playing out before him.
It had been released recently, so he asked his secretary to arrange a projector and screen at his residence to watch it. Partially because it's had been one of the most iconic films of the time in his previous life.
Though, watching Raj Kapoor and Nargis on screen was a bizarre experience, to say the least.
He'd only read about these cultural icons in history books and film archives, before coming here. Now here they were, performing in real time in a world he was actively reshaping.
The melodrama, the mountain romance scenes, the over-the-top emotional moments, it was all wonderfully ridiculous and somehow deeply touching at the same time.
He actually chuckled at one particularly dramatic scene where Raj Kapoor was singing in the rain like a lunatic. A genuine laugh, not the practiced diplomatic chuckle he used in meetings. When was the last time he'd done that?
The film ended with its sweeping romantic finale. The projector kept whirring as the credits rolled. Arjun sat there for a moment, feeling oddly refreshed. Out there beyond these walls was the India he was commanding with iron will and cold calculation.
But this, the music and romance and pure escapist entertainment, this was the softer side of the nation he was trying to build.
The news had been relatively quiet after the NATO formation. Though there was interesting one about Ireland leaving the Commonwealth for good. Nothing else particularly dramatic. Man, Brits are surely going through one shitstorm through another. Half of it thanks to him.
He closed his eyes, letting the last melodies echo in his mind. This break had been necessary. But tomorrow, the duties would return with their usual relentless intensity.
Delhi – Prime Minister's Office, South Block – The Following Morning, April 25th
The next morning found Arjun back at his desk in South Block, surrounded by the familiar stacks of files. The movie was a pleasant memory, replaced once again by the stark realities of running a country. He'd just finished reviewing procurement reports from Sweden and Switzerland, feeling satisfied that they were providing the precision instruments Britain had refused to supply.
A knock at the door. Sardar Patel walked in, and Arjun immediately noticed something different. The old man looked... tired. Not the usual administrative fatigue, but something deeper.
"Sardar-ji!" Arjun said warmly, gesturing to the chair. "Please sit. How are you feeling? You look like you've been working too hard again."
Patel settled into the chair with a slight grunt. "The Cleanliness Act implementation is proceeding well enough. Lal Bahadur is doing good work with the Union, despite all the grumbling from people who apparently think garbage should just magically disappear on its own."
Arjun laughed. "The eternal optimism of citizens who want clean streets but don't want to actually clean them. But Sardar-ji, that's not what I asked. How are you feeling?"
Patel waved a hand dismissively. "I'm old, Arjun. This is how old feels."
"You're not that old," Arjun protested, though he was thinking about the original timeline where Patel had died in 1950. The memory made him uncomfortable. "What, sixty-three? That's practically middle-aged these days."
"That's not how my knees feel," Patel said dryly. "They seem to think I'm about ninety."
Arjun shifted in his seat, trying to figure out how to broach the subject delicately. "You know, Sardar-ji, you've been working non-stop for decades. The independence movement, Partition, the war, the Constitution. You've earned a break. Maybe... more than just a break?"
Patel raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing at his lips. "Are you trying to get rid of me, Prime Minister?"
"What? No!" Arjun said quickly, then caught the amusement in Patel's eyes. "You're making fun of me."
"Someone has to," Patel replied. "You take yourself far too seriously most of the time. But I appreciate your concern, even if you're dancing around the point like a nervous bridegroom."
Arjun laughed despite himself. "Alright, you caught me. I'm worried about you, Sardar-ji. You've been carrying this nation on your shoulders for longer than anyone should have to. And I know in..." He caught himself before saying 'the original timeline.'
"I know that this kind of stress takes its toll. You don't have to keep pushing yourself like this."
Patel was quiet for a moment, looking at Arjun with those keen eyes that always seemed to see more than they should. "You're worried I'm going to collapse on you like some overworked bullock."
"Yes," Arjun said bluntly. "That's exactly what I'm worried about. Heart attacks don't send advance warning, Sardar-ji. I'm not taking any chances with your health."
[A/N: Bro folded under 0 pressure]
Patel blinked, looking genuinely confused. "Heart attacks? Where did that come from? I'm just tired, Arjun, not dying."
"For now," Arjun insisted, his tone more serious. "But you've been under tremendous stress for years. That takes a toll, even if you don't feel it yet. Men your age who've carried this kind of burden for this long are at serious risk. And I'm not interested in testing whether you're the exception to that rule."
"Well, you're not entirely wrong to worry," Patel admitted. "I'm tired, Arjun. Not sick, mind you. Don't start planning my funeral just yet. But tired in a way that sleep doesn't fix."
He leaned back in his chair, looking more relaxed than Arjun had seen him in a while. "I've been thinking about retirement for some time now. Not because I don't believe in what we're building. But because I've been at this for over thirty years. The independence movement, the Congress, building this new India. I've seen it through from British rule to what we have now."
Arjun felt relief mixed with a strange sadness. "You've more than earned it, Sardar-ji. Ten times over."
"The thing is," Patel continued, "India doesn't need me anymore. Not the way it used to. The war is won. The Constitution is enacted. The foundations are laid. You have your vision for where this country should go, and honestly, you're probably the only one with the stubbornness to see it through."
"I wouldn't call it stubbornness," Arjun protested.
"I would," Patel said with a chuckle. "But it's the kind of stubbornness India needs right now. The old guard, people like me, we fought to free India. But building the new India? That's a different kind of fight, and it needs different people."
He paused, then added more seriously, "And I'll be honest with you, Arjun. I'm not getting any younger. I'd rather retire while I can still enjoy my retirement, rather than working myself into an early grave. My wife keeps threatening to poison my tea if I don't spend more time at home."
Arjun smiled at that. "Is she serious?"
"I'm not taking any chances," Patel replied with mock gravity. "She has access to the kitchen and a very determined look in her eyes."
They both laughed, and for a moment the weight of statecraft lifted from the room.
"So, when were you thinking?" Arjun asked more quietly.
"Soon. Within the next few months. I want to make sure the transition is smooth, that the Home Ministry is in good hands. But I'm ready to step back. Let someone else carry the burden for a while."
"What about your son?" Arjun asked. "Dahyabhai could take up the mantle. Continue the family legacy in politics."
Patel shook his head firmly. "No. He's not cut out for it. He has his own path, his own interests. Not everyone is meant for politics, and I won't force him into something he doesn't want just to satisfy some notion of legacy. The last thing India needs is incompetent politicians appointed because of their family names."
Arjun nodded slowly, respecting the wisdom in that. "Fair enough."
Though he knew that of course. As far as he knows, Dahyabhai didn't had the same git and willpower that Sardar had.
Arjun leaned back a bit and sighed a bit. "The nation is going to feel your absence keenly. I certainly will. You've been..." He struggled to find the right words. "You've been like a... well, like the wise elder who keeps the overconfident young leader from doing something catastrophically stupid."
Patel laughed, a genuine belly laugh that made him look years younger. "Is that your way of saying I've been keeping you in check?"
"Something like that," Arjun admitted with a rueful grin. "Who's going to do that when you're gone?"
"You'll manage," Patel said confidently. "You have good instincts, even if you do overcomplicate things sometimes. And I'm not disappearing to the Himalayas. If you need advice, you know where to find me. I'll just be at home, probably arguing with my wife about whether I'm allowed to read government reports during dinner."
"That's a fight you're going to lose," Arjun observed.
"I know," Patel sighed dramatically. "Marriage is a far more difficult negotiation than anything we've done with the British."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the weight of the decision settling between them.
Finally, he stood up, still moving with that formidable presence despite his age. "We'll discuss the timing and arrangements properly. But my mind is made up. The new India needs new energy, and this old lion needs his rest."
Arjun stood as well, feeling the significance of the moment. "Your legacy is secure, Sardar-ji. Everything we're building stands on the foundation you helped create."
Patel smiled, a genuine warm expression that transformed his usually stern face. "Then my work here is done. Besides, someone needs to keep writing stern letters to newspapers about how young people these days don't respect their elders. I'm looking forward to becoming that cranky retired politician."
"You're already halfway there," Arjun teased.
"Careful, Prime Minister, or I'll un-retire just to make your life difficult," Patel shot back with a grin.
As Patel walked toward the door, he paused and turned back. "One more thing, Arjun. Don't work yourself into the ground either. I saw you watching that film yesterday."
Arjun blinked in surprise. "How did you know about that?"
"I have my sources," Patel said mysteriously. "Take breaks occasionally. Even you need to remember that you're human, not some unstoppable force of nature. Watch more movies. Read something that isn't a policy document. Maybe even talk to people without trying to strategically manipulate them."
"I don't always..." Arjun started, then stopped at Patel's knowing look. "Alright, point taken."
"Good," Patel said. "Now I'm going home before my wife sends a search party. She's already suspicious about why I've been at the office so much lately."
After Patel left, Arjun sat back down at his desk, feeling the weight of the conversation. The era of the founding fathers was coming to an end. The path forward was clearing, but it felt less like a victory and more like the natural passing of one generation to the next.
He looked at the stack of files on his desk, then at the door where Patel had just exited. Maybe the old man had a point about taking breaks. Maybe he'd watch another movie next week.
But first, he had a nation to run.