NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC note: This thread is essentially an intro to Kashu, and an IC excuse for opening up contact with the rest of the AMW (I felt a little uncomfortable just popping up into the middle of things without any explanation as to why there has been so little diplomatic contact in the past). So anyway, don't expect a compelling piece of RPG here; to be honest I'm more than a little out of practice when it comes to this sort of RP so it's going to take some time for me to get back into my stride ;) ]

Mohan Kumar gazed on impassively as a pair of soldiers laboriously dragged the corpse to the shore with the aid of a sturdy pole. After much effort the cadaver at long last arrived in the shallows, to be manhandled onto firmer ground by the waiting hands, and with a brief grunt Mohan flicked away his half-burnt cigarette and trudged over.
“Let’s see what we’ve got then.”
One of the men rolled the man’s remains over until he lay on his back, and for a second all present instinctively glanced away in revulsion. The man’s chest cavity had been blown out in several places by a succession of closely grouped exit wounds, leaving large maroon welts of ruined flesh through which crazily angled ribs could be glimpsed.
Choking back his distaste, he forced himself to study the remains. The individual had only hours before been a middle aged man, somewhat given to chubbiness but with no discernable signs of bad health. His face, shrunken in horrid death, still wore the vestiges of a neatly trimmed moustache, and the hair atop his scalp had once been well maintained. Mohan bent low, and carefully lifted the nearest arm. As he had expected, and feared, the flabby hand bore none of the tell tale calluses of a life of labour; even Mohan’s own hand carried a few rough patches, and his life had been far from hard.
He straightened, already certain in his mind what the grisly discovery entailed. His gaze took in the long line of the river, stretching to the north, and noting the pair of plain purple flags flying some miles upstream at the crossing point. With an unpleasant jolt he found his thoughts brought back to the dead man’s shirt, stained a deep purple colour by the violence of his wounds, and to the sickening similarity with his nation’s flag, and for the first time in his life he found himself wondering whether the stories were in fact true…

***

Vishram Rao took the report in silence, grateful that the telephone shielded his subordinates from the growing scowl he visualised descending across his features. However unwelcome the affair was turning out to be, it wasn’t of his agent’s making; indeed, they had performed swiftly and effectively, and might on another occasion have received the praise they deserved. Yet on this occasion it was all the minister could do to keep his voice calm, and so when at length Major Kumar concluded his report he confined his comments to a somewhat clipped expression of thanks before clamping the receiver down.
“From the look on your face, I will assume this news does not bode well,” intoned his fellow minister Kiran Rao in the neutral voice he customarily used to mask emotion, but which Vishram, in the course of a long a close collaboration, had since learned to recognise as a sign of inner tension. “Is it…another one?”
“It would appear so. A patrol came across a band of men by the western border last night, and when the challenge wasn’t answered opened fire. The patrol leader thought all the men- who he supposed to be smugglers- had made it away, but my man on the spot has just fished one of them out of a river, so apparently they got one after all.”
“I see, and since I know you too well to suppose that you would be this concerned over a smuggler, I can only imagine it is as we had feared.”
“Major Kumar has just told me that the corpse recovered is that of a well-nourished, well-kept, middle aged male- not perhaps the type to be usually encountered slinking around the border wearing clothes borrowed from a peasant.”
“Well…” Kiran paused for a moment to take in the proof he had long feared to receive, “it seems we cannot run from the issue any longer Vishram. Bangladesh isn’t the only destination for frightened Bengali officials, and though this one has failed, we have to assume that others may have succeeded. Although at least we aren’t faced with the mass exodus we had been afraid of.”
“That is true, and we should I suppose by thankful for such mercies as we have been accorded, but to be honest I am still greatly concerned. It is bad enough having another large state suddenly on our borders, but to think that enemies of that nation may as we speak be flooding into our lands without our knowledge presents us with a grave issue.”
“What can we do that we are not already doing? Doubling the patrols risks further incidents, and fortifying the frontier looks provocative…if we can just ensure that this nation cannot be held to account for any of these fugitives-”
“Forgive me but I have never had your faith in deniability Kiran. If our new neighbours want to hold us responsible for the actions of these fugitives, then they will, and our diplomatic history will not count for us…”
“We had no choice but to close ourselves off…keep out of the world’s affairs and have them keep out of ours, that was your view too, I seem to remember.”
“Arguing over the past will not help us today, and yes, I will stand by my earlier decisions, but refuse to be held to them. Isolation may have suited us in the 80s, and it did truly allow us to concentrate on domestic issues, but we have to face the reality that the time for it may be passing.”
“You cannot be suggesting that we as good as admit to our neighbours that we are unable to secure our own borders?”
“Not at all. I am merely continuing the line of thought you suggested to its logical, if unwelcome, conclusion. As your yourself indicated, we cannot do more to prevent the entry of desperate men without building a wall that would most likely excite hostility than calm it. And yet if we do nothing, and these men seek to turn our soil into a refuge- or even a base for acts of aggression- then we risk provoking our neighbours into action. Faced with this dilemma, it is my belief that our only realistic course of action lies in rebuilding some ties with the world…at present the international community could be forgiven for thinking us the same backward and divided region we were two decades ago, and with such an assessment they cannot help but think little of us and may act in accordance with that image. If we can show ourselves as a state that will not suffer being trifled with, and at the same time one that will not trifle in the affairs of others, I say we will achieve a greater measure of security and will diffuse the threat of intervention on account of these exiles.”
The two men sat in silence for a long while after Vishram had finished, both pondering the issue and the new possibilities placed before them. When the silence was eventually broken, Kiran was the first to speak.
“You may indeed be right, that I am willing to concede. Perhaps it is at long last time for us to emerge from the shade into the light.”
Vishram allowed himself to relax slightly. “That is my thought, but I will need your support in order to proceed...further.”
“Of course, but…”
Having noted that Kiran’s voice had fallen once more into that flat tone, Vishram moved swiftly to interrupt him. “You need not worry; so long as I have your support Kiran, I will take it upon myself to bring the matter up with Sitala-Bai.”
And just pray to the Gods that she can recognise necessity, he thought bitterly.

[Tag for cross-border observation. Don't worry, it doesn't look all that rusty, to me :) ]

[Thanks BG...hopefully my posting frequency will pick up a bit ;) ]

The forested slopes of the Khasi Hills rolling beyond the cabin window only served to remind Vishram of the absurd logic forcing him to make the present trip. At times like this he found it increasingly difficult to credit that recent political history could indeed compel a senior minister of the Assamese state to commute nearly two hundred kilometres in order to gain the approval of a diminutive princess ruling an anachronistic state may times smaller for actions needed to protect the interests of his own people. Thinking about it again now, he found himself making comparisons with the era of British rule. Had not then a foreign monarch of a small island dictated policy across the entire subcontinent? But then again, the self-proclaimed Kingdom of Kashu was hardly in the same league as Britain…

Perhaps his frustration, renewed every time he saw the familiar purple banner flying on the buildings and borders of his own state, sharing in the limelight of the local flag, was encouraging him to be unfair. After all, Kashu was surely no more self-proclaimed than any of the other states thereabouts, although unlike most of them it had not acquired any manner of blessing from their former colonial master. If it had been a republic, he would not have minded so much, but a monarchy? And not even an old one at that- a dependent monarchy that had somehow managed to survive the last century could have at least been tolerated as an unlikely survivor- but a brand new realm that dared to model itself after the fashion of a princely state, even as the ancient lines of maharajas in neighbouring Manipur and Tripura were relinquishing their centuries-long grip on power, was surely too much. But to have such a state lord it over the region as well…it should never have happened.

It hadn’t meant to happen that way, and to be honest no one involved could have been expected to foresee such an eventuality twenty years before. The 1970s had been difficult years for the North Eastern states, and for Assam in particular. Independence had been grudgingly granted to the Naga and Khasi early on in the decade, but ethnic tensions continued to boil against a backdrop of economic stagnation. At the same time pressure was steadily mounting from external sources- neighbouring powers increasingly seeking to bend the states to their agendas. It had been an impossible state of affairs, with internal tensions pulling the region apart even as international politics argued for the strength provided by a united front.

But then Kashu had wormed its way on to the scene. The state had coalesced gradually during the 70s, playing on the cultural and linguistic separation of the Barak valley districts of Assam from the Brahmaputra valley to the north. Preoccupied by confrontation with the tribal peoples and Bengali immigrants in and around their heartland, the Assamese government of the day barely put up a token resistance when the area quietly broke away. Besides, the excuse of cultural separatism was beginning to a reveal disquieting strain of political-religious fanaticism, which the leaders of the Dispur regime feared might infect the whole state unless the gangrenous limb was rapidly shed.

The 1980s found the region exhausted, fragmented, and beset by pressures. Assam, having got over the long-running disputes with the Nagas, Khasi and Mizos, was sliding into further ethnic problems, this time with the Bodo people. The new states of Nagaland, Mizoram and Meghalaya were quickly realising that independence carried its own disadvantages, especially when the regimes began to realise just what ‘paying one’s way’ entailed. Further south, the small nations of Manipur and Tripura, having already discovered the vulnerability of nationhood, became locked in another round of domestic turmoil occasioned by tribal conflict and economic stagnation. Real progress was only being made in one small part of the region, and ironically, the one that had seemed the least likely to play host to it. The increasingly bizarre and autocratic regime ensconced in the fertile Barak valley moved swiftly to capitalise on its agricultural strength and strategic location, rapidly becoming the vital nodal point linking Manipur, Mizoram and Meghalaya with the outside world. At the price of increasingly limited political freedoms, the Kashu regime invested heavily in both infrastructure and in the development of the local oil reserves, which, although not as extensive as those in Upper Assam, had the advantage of being secure from inter-communal conflict. Little by little, the meagre economic potential of the southernmost states was hijacked by the economically dynamic autocracy based in Silchar, and with economic clout came a growing political muscle.

The turning point came in the mid 80s, several years after revolution in Beth Gellert brought a temporary respite from external interference. It was clear to many in power that the state of the region needed to club together diplomatically, if not economically or even politically, in order to resist future pressure from poverty and foreign governments, and with that in mind a conference was held at the Assamese city of Guwahati. The hopeful atmosphere died within hours, as disagreements and accusations of Assamese imperialism abounded. The lesson painfully learned was simple: suspicion of Assam was too strong, and the state’s strength too weak, to enable it to take up a leadership role, and without a figurehead even an illusion of unity quickly broke down.

After much soul-searching in the various capitals, a second meeting was scheduled for the following year, this time to be held in the Meghalayan capital of Shillong. Opened in a notably guarded atmosphere, the talks appeared headed for another deadlock until a bombshell was delivered, courtesy of a loose alliance between the states of Manipur, Nagaland and Mizoram. The proposal cut straight to the heart of the problem, the need to establish an impartial figurehead able to keep future cooperation going and future disputes in line. Who better to provide it, argued the sponsoring delegates, than the one state clearly on the path to stability and prosperity, and which alone of all the region’s countries had declined to participate in the fiasco at Guwahati? Against initial Assamese resistance, the motion to offer a loosely defined leadership role to the Kingdom of Kashu was passed, with the delegates of Assam privately forming the opinion that a state so much smaller than their own would sooner or later defer to their advice anyway.

It had never been seriously considered that the Kashu regime might actually decline the role generously allotted to them, much less regard the whole idea as an attempt by their neighbours to saddle their prosperous state with the burden and expense of supporting their less successful sisters. Consequently, the refusal of the Kashu government to play ball left the increasingly hopeful plans in serious danger of foundering. As the conference began to give way to renewed backbiting and recriminations, a high level group of ministers travelled to the Kashu capital in an effort to force them to reconsider.

It is fair to say that none were ready for the bizarre juxtaposition of the ultra modern and archaic that they found themselves confronted with at Silchar, for the secretive Kashu regime had not been free with details of life inside its borders. High levels of economic progress jogged happily alongside a paternalistic, almost deified monarchic regime that ruled the state as a personal fiefdom. Shocked as they were, the diplomats were however forced to accept that their haste to propose Kashu had left them with few alternatives, and at the same time handed most of the cards to their present hosts, and when at last a chastened delegation returned to Shillong to announce that Kashu had in the event agreed to head a permanent regional council comprised of member states, it was admitted that the acceptance had come at the price of some significant political concessions.

That had been almost twenty years ago, mused Vishram, and as a junior member of that fateful delegation he had not foreseen that the concessions wearily agreed to could ever have resulted in the reduction of six proud states, with a population currently exceeding thirty-five million, into the virtual dependencies of an autocratic little state of only three million souls.

OOC: just a TAG from the other side of the world.

[Once I get all this exposition out of the way, the thread will hopefully become a little more interactive... ;) ]

By the time the Khasi Hills gave way to the flat and fertile plains of the Barak valley, Vishram Rao had become convinced in his own mind of the fundamental need to approach the impending interview forcefully. The time for pandering to the wishes of Kashu was over; if they would not satisfy the needs of Assam then he was quite prepared to disregard them, and if such a course resulted in a confrontation that destroyed the North East Council then so be it. After all, this was no longer the 80s, when Assam had been so weak and divided.

Once clear of the hills, the helicopter did not head for the city of Silchar, but instead turned in a lazy arc toward the ancient settlement of Khaspur. For reasons best known to themselves, the Kashu regime had never been entirely comfortable with allowing visiting dignitaries to peruse their administrative centre, and instead preferred to conduct high level face talks at the country residence of their ruler. Vishram had his own thoughts on this curious practice, and privately was convinced that the whole business was a pathetic effort to graft a veneer of political respectability on to the Kashu regime, for Khaspur had in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries been the capital of the Kingdom of Cachar, and the ruins of the palace of the Kachari kings lay a short distance away from the new pile.

The new palace at Khaspur was a grand stone building constructed in the style of the Anglo-Indian residences thrown up during the nineteenth century by Raj and princely ruler alike. Surprisingly perhaps, it was not however particularly large, for the Kashu rulers had tended to be a miserly bunch for whom the term ‘living of one’s own’ might have been coined. Vishram would have had plenty of time to admire the building or to ponder these issues, had he been that way inclined, as a trio of nameless flunkies escorted him from the helicopter into the welcoming coolness of the palace.

Though the palace had been designed with a thought to ameliorating the worst of the heat, the architecture alone was insufficient to cool him after he was politely informed, with profuse apologies, that Her Highness was in fact indisposed at the moment, and would His Excellency object to being entertained by Her Highness’ Diwan (Chief Minister)? Vishram, his diplomatic patience stretched to the limit, quickly replied that he had not flown two hundred kilometres to meet with the Diwan, who last time he checked, held no authority outside the boundaries of the Kingdom of Kashu and would thus be unable to help him. The aide began to recite another round of apologies, until finally Vishram lost his patience and demanded to speak to the Maharani at once. The flunkies had at last grasped his mood and hastily disappeared, leaving the minister alone with his mounting frustration and the growing knowledge that he had most likely allowed himself to fall for a cheap ruse aimed at making him lose his patience publicly.

Vishram’s suspicions appeared to be confirmed when, after an indecently short delay, the facing door opened to admit a short figure clad in long purple robes. Managing to get his emotions under control, the Assamese minister had bowed, and with a bare trace of sarcasm expressed his hope that Her Highness was now recovered from her ailment.

Her Highness Sitala-Bai, Maharani of Kashu and Head of the League of North Eastern States diplomatically disregarded her guest’s comment, instead reciting a rather formulaic expression of welcome followed by an invitation to sit. Then she waited patiently for him to explain the need for what was so obviously an urgent interview.

Vishram saw little need to pad out the meeting, and so swiftly launched into an account of the problem developing on the western border, followed by a summary of the need for new policy. He then began to extol the virtues that would accrue were the nations of the league to reverse the present policy of diplomatic isolation, and seek to build fruitful bridged with the wider world.

Sitala-Bai had remained silent through out his spiel, and when at last he had finished, Vishram was enraged to see the tell tale signs of boredom written across her pale face. The little bitch most probably wasn’t even paying attention…he fumed inwardly, conscious of the barely suppressed hostility resurfacing in his veins. When he next spoke, his voice was tight and heavy with anger.
“Your Highness, this matter is of the gravest importance to the Assamese people, and though it might not matter to you or your state-” the disdain in the last words was almost audible- “then I can assure you that it matters a very great deal to my people.”
“What would you have me do minister?” intoned Sitala-Bai in a low, innocent tone that might have been calculated to arouse Vishram’s rage.
“What would I have you do? To be frank, highness, I would have you do nothing. But it so happens that I am compelled to seek your permission to open relations with our neighbours by existing arrangements.”
“I see…but what if the relations you speak of were not conducive to the interests of the other members in the League…?”
“With respect, the other members of the League are not as large, nor as prosperous, or as susceptible to the annexation of West Bengal…Assam will not once more have it’s future held to ransom by the selfishness of its neighbours.”
The girl bit her lower lip slowly. “I do see, and I do sympathise minister, but, the thing is…” she gazed imploringly at Vishram, who glared back. “I can’t put the interests of any one state over that of the others.”
As you would never dream of putting the interests of your own state before any other, Vishram thought savagely.
“The government of Assam is resolved in this matter.”
“And I am sure that it is, but the agreement of the other states is required before I may assent. Have you brought this matter to their attention?”
Does Kashu rule the League or not? Vishram could barely believe his ears as his worst suspicions were realised. The other states would take weeks to agree to his proposal, perhaps months, and even then the league would never agree to a common foreign policy if everyone had to be consulted first. Wasn’t that why isolation had originally seemed so attractive, simply because a common policy based upon consensus was all but impossible to achieve?
The meeting was going to hell. And why should he even bother to tray and convince anyone here? Kashu was nothing more than a weak and foolish girl surrounded by simpering sycophants, he saw that clearly now. The light of daylight was sweeping away the shadows before his eyes to reveal the cold truth that the hegemony of Kashu was based upon division and timidity- they had lorded it about because no one, not even his Assam, had dared to believe that there was in fact no substance behind the bluster.
“Then, Highness, I am compelled to inform you that the government of Assam can no longer sit by while its national interests are subordinated to the petty wrangling of others. If you cannot or will not see the need for change, then we must part company and seek our own path henceforth.”
The girl’s face darkened. “What you speak of minister is not constitutional. The League council will-“
“The league Council will no doubt debate and deploy this display of ‘Assamese insolence’, but after then, what is it going to do? Nothing. The league is a petty shop of squawking women who will ultimately do nothing.”
Sitala-Bai said nothing, but her face was boiling with righteous fury at his words. Vishram however wasn’t about to allow her the satisfaction of having the last word, or prepared to stay here long enough to witness an impotent temper tantrum delivered from a powerless young female who he now felt sure would soon lose even the appearance of authority. And if she won’t fall quietly, she can always be pushed…
“I see there is no point in continuing this meeting, your highness, so it only remains for me to bid you farewell.”
Then Vishram turned and strode confidently out of the chamber, dimly aware of the shocked silence behind him.

**

The screen darkened, leaving a stunned silence to fill the conference room. The aged Diwan of Kashu waited patiently, his head bowed as if in anguished discomfort.

At length a low buzz of angry mutters began, rapidly rising to a crescendo of rage. The Diwan was not surprised. After all, the states of Meghalaya, Mizoram, Nagaland, Tripura and Manipur held no particular love of their big Assamese brother, and having just been treated to a masterful cinematic expression of ministerial insolence delivered courtesy of Vishram Rao, it would have been too much to assume that any other reaction might have been produced from the assembled dignitaries of these nations.

At length the Diwan managed to calm the raging diplomats enough to enable him to speak.
“Honoured friends, this is a sad day for our League, for if as it now seems, Assam means to withdraw, it must surely be the end of our association…”

**

“So, how did it go?”
Sitala-Bai turned away from the monitor to face the entrant.
The Diwan shuffled his hands nervously, as though in pain. “It was as you said highness, but…”
“But?”
“I would never question your highness’ wisdom…”
“But…”
“This seems an awful risk to take.”
The young woman laughed abruptly. “It is what it is: a cheap trap to catch witless men who cannot see beyond their own prejudices.” The monitor behind only emphasised her lack of passion, the narrow screen filled with the force of Vishram Rao in full swing.
“See…” she half turned, gesturing with her slender hand. “It is merely a matter of perception, and the eye is an easy thing to deceive. The minister here can only see a bored and foolish little girl unjustly set above ‘his’ country. Yet anyone watching this tableau will not see that girl; they can only see the arrogant and patronising man berating a helpless young woman struggling to be fair and reasonable in the face of his intransigence. Well, at least that is what I hope they would see…I would hate to become as blind as they, that I cannot see my own shortcomings.”
As if suddenly disconcerted by the thought, she hurriedly reached out a finger and the screen went dark.
“But…highness, the loss of Assam will not be compensated for by the gain of the others, even if they do as you hope…”
“Why, who said anything about losing Assam? I mean to have that too of that I can assure you!”
“But how?”
Her thin lips unfolded into the semblance of a smile.
“Wait and see.”

The bastard…the arrogant egotistical self-righteous bastard…how can he do this to me?

Kiran Rao was still in a state of shock over the downward spiral of events unfolding in the last weeks, and his private thoughts of his fellow minister were far from cordial. Not that there had been much opportunity to publicly voice, far less act on them since Vishram had returned from his ‘meeting’ with Sitala-Bai.

Initially, Kiran hadn’t realised the full enormity of the situation; Vishram had seemed a different man on his return, so full of energy, that it had never occurred to the former that the trip could have been anything other than a complete success. This cosy fiction had not lasted long however, and a brief meeting between the two had quickly disabused Kiran, although Vishram, as yet unwilling to reveal the extent to which he had burnt their government’s bridges, had still managed to leave him with the comforting impression that perhaps any disputes had been exaggerated by excited tempers. Then Vishram had hurried off on a visit to the troubled western borders, leaving behind the ambiguous comment that there ‘was much that needed to be done’.

Kiran had managed to remain blind to the developing crisis for several more days, until news reached him that left his confidence completely undermined: the southern states of Tripura, Mizoram and Manipur had signed an act of union with Kashu. This news- totally out of the blue so far as he was concerned- promised to fundamentally alter the structure of power in the North East, for where there had been four small states held together by loose bonds of political leadership and somewhat stronger economic ties, there was now a united entity of nine million people. From his incomplete viewpoint, there was little reason for this development, although he had long been keenly conscious of the economic stranglehold Kashu had imposed on the southern states. But why had such a union suddenly occurred? And with so little warning?

With the Union of Silchar, events rapidly picked up pace. The development had brought Vishram Rao, cursing and swearing, back to the capital, and at long last he had come clean, although not, as Kiran might have hoped, in the manner of a quiet private discussion between the two of them, but by issuing a formal statement denouncing the ‘corrupt regime in Silchar, that has long attempted to prevent the Assamese nation from realising its destiny’. The pieces were now falling into place, and Kiran was finally able to work out the likely sequence of events…

To say that he was displeased would have been a gross understatement; Kiran was not only deeply angered that his so-called colleague could have undertaken so much without even including him, but simply horrified with the other man’s actions. He had always known that Vishram was a fervent Assamese nationalist, but until then he had never dreamt that a man with so many years government service behind him would cast all restraint to the wind. What disturbed him most was the cavalier attitude he was now showing to the situation; far from trying to defuse the diplomatic crisis, Vishram seemed to be revelling in it, and his behaviour left Kiran in no doubt that the man had by now lost all sense of proportion.

The strongest evidence of Vishram’s instability was in his use of the nationalist card. It was true that certain sections of society would respond well to a call to protect Assamese culture from the evil conspiracy of enemies- external and internal, but as far as Kiran was concerned such a course meant throwing in two decades of economic progress in exchange for probably civil war. Of the twenty five million people living in the state of Assam, probably only fifteen or so, if that, could be described as ‘Assamese’- whatever that meant in a region that had for centuries been a mixing pot for races and cultures. If Vishram was intent on setting up an Assamese national state, not only would he alienate Meghalaya and Nagaland further, both of whom had been under Assamese rule in living memory, but he would also end up driving the non-Assamese, the Bodo, the Kacharis and the Northern tribes into renewed revolt. Instead of creating a free Assam, Vishram would end up destroying it.

The problem with Vishram was that he had never grasped the truth that peaceful economic integration, rather than grand nationalistic or diplomatic gestures, was the only way forward for the region. Kashu, for all its faults, had shown the way forward. And yet now the madman was prepared to throw all the sacrifices away because a little girl in Silchar had refused to let him have his way- and yet he still managed to have the effrontery to denounce her as a tyrant!

He had been backed into a corner, betrayed by his own foolish blindness. He should have realised, it was all so clear now. Vishram had manipulated him; he had always wanted to rule a renewed Assam, and now he was about to get his wish. So what if he took the whole place straight to hell? Kashu was not the enemy here, it was Vishram Rao, a man maddened by conceit and ambition, who had tricked him into supporting his ‘diplomatic scheme’ simply as a prelude to provoking a rift with the League. The bastard had planned this all along…

But he couldn’t let him get away with it. Not only would the lunatic condemn the region to war and division, he would most likely get rid of him, Kiran Rao, to ensure his own power. He had to move…and move fast; Vishram had very nearly managed to sideline him with the diplomatic proposal and now that nationalistic statement. Millions of lives, including his own, depended on him being cool and decisive in a manner that he had never been able to rise to before…

He reached for the telephone.

tag

OCC: I must say, Kashu, I am glad to have you RPing in the AMW Indian community!

IC:

The seven sisters region has never been a particular point of interest for Parliament, due to lack of intelligence on the area more than anything else. The landlocked provinces, un-approachable by Hindustan's numerous merchant ships, and so recently surrounded by a sea of poverty themselves, aren't exactly in the best position for contact with the outside world.

But soon, all that will change. Well, with luck all that will change...

[OOC: Thanks, LRR! As I've just explained in the other forum, this post will wrap up the current storyline so that the thread can move on to the more interesting (and interactive) task of actually opening contact with the rest of world...so from now on please feel free to send a diplomatic team or to otherwise contact the regime ;) ]

One week on…

Sitala stepped softly on to the moonlight balcony, letting the balmy night air wrap her more tightly than any cloak fashioned by human hands. The grounds of the New Palace rolled away from her unfocused gaze as her mind spread it wings to fly on thoughts of past events to the north.
With dizzying disorientation her thoughts returned, choosing to alight on her clasped hands, slender alabaster carvings in the light. How pale they looked…she turned them over slightly awkwardly at the remembrance of a tale she’d heard in childhood. An old story from Britain…she could not recall the name…in which a wife who had goaded her husband into murder had struggled to wash invisible stains from her hands- blood that none but the eye of conscience could discern.
She idly supposed there was blood on hers, although neither the light of the moon nor the gaze of her soul could make out a mark defacing the smooth whiteness of her skin…

Abruptly she shook herself from these foolish fancies. If there was blood then it was on the hands of others, and the men who had died had in recent days had succumbed on account of their own hubris. Driven but fatally flawed, ambitious but unaware of their own failings- the two minister of Assam, and to a lesser degree their brethren in the other formerly sovereign states of the region who yet lived, could only blame themselves for their fates. If others, including her own supposed chief minister, should privately and in shocked tones accord a guiding role to her hand, then so be it, for fear is a better master of men than love and if their imaginings granted her power and respect then all the better for the cheap means with which she had required it.

The truth of it was that Vishram Rao, arrogant, bigoted, sexist and blinded by it, and Kiran Rao, a man of ambition yet with more timidity than ability, had been quite capable of encompassing their own and each others’ ruin without her modest assistance. When all was said and done, what part had she played? Nothing save a little piece of opportunistic stage-managing to hook a dangerous fool by his own words…if a minister could not rule his own emotion enough to avoid so childish a trap then he had no business ruling twenty five million other people. And for all his faults, the late Kiran Rao had at least realised this truth, even though it was more the fear of being supplanted and sidelined by his erstwhile colleague than concern for his countrymen that had driven him- finally- to strike.
Sadly for him, Kiran Rao had never been convincing as a man of action, and his little coup had made a sheet of glass look opaque and complex. Indeed, had the target been anyone other than a man as insufferably blind as Vishram Rao then it almost certainly would have failed. But poor old Vishram never saw it coming, though his butchered corpse was barely cold before his successor was beginning to flail about as the metaphorical dawn broke over his night’s work.
Kiran never really had a hope of surviving, much less holding on to power, but then as only complete desperation could have pushed him past his latent inertia to depose and murder his fellow minister part of him probably knew that anyway. Caught between a rock and a hard place, poor hapless Kiran was swiftly squished out of his misery. His tragedy was not only his painful timidity, but also his association with the past. Vishram, for all his faults had recognised that change was forcing itself on the region, although it was somewhat ironic that having correctly assessed the needs of the moment he should come to the conclusion that traditional Assamese nationalism was the cure. Kiran however, never the most pro-active of thinkers, couldn’t see further than restoring the status quo that he believed Vishram had upset, and that he erroneously supposed might be restored by removing that one man.

But events had gone too far for that, and he had not given any thought to the possibility that little Sitala-Bai might be unwilling to pass up the gilt-edged opportunity delivered into her lap by the ‘border situation’ and Vishram’s non-diplomatic response. Kiran had failed to uncover the truth lurking beneath his first fatal assumption; for the minister would have been shocked and surprised to learn just how much the Maharani wanted to revise the status quo every bit as much as Vishram Rao, and that in her vision there was no longer room for the loose grouping of independent states under the fragile, if skilfully maximised, leadership of her kingdom. Consequently, the support Kiran had blithely expected to gather from Kashu and the other states had never materialised, although even this would most likely have failed to save him from the backlash orchestrated by those elements that felt so strongly that the future lay in opening the country to the world. Cruelly, Kiran Rao lived just long enough to hear of the final, excruciating irony- that the surviving modernisers, who unlike their former champion did not consider a revival of Assamese nationalism conducive to their greater goal of renewed foreign contact, had allied with Kashu; the very state that Kiran had confidently expected to be his biggest ally. In this way Kiran had fallen victim to the second fatal assumption, that Kashu was intrinsically opposed to the re-opening of contact with the outside world, although in this case he was merely the victim of Vishram’s jaundiced version of his manipulated interview with Sitala-Bai.

And that was really that…Kiran had been taken and lynched, and after allowing a short period of time to elapse in order to deflate theories that Kashu had been behind both coup and counter-coup, she had inherited sovereignty from the gutted remnants of the Assamese leadership in return for the promise that the new united nation would after all seek to rebuild strong links with the world.

So the dream had been achieved; where weeks before there had been seven jostling states, there was now one, united under her leadership and with little more than vague promises of autonomy to each of the main nationalities to circumscribe the new found authority. Not that she would abuse the power…the temptation to rapidly centralise would be natural, but probably fatal; restraint, caution and practicality lined the true way forward. And so what if the situation appeared initially unfavourable to the idea of eventually building a unified nation out of the myriad peoples of her realm…had not the Netherlands started life as a loose alliance of particularistic, quarrelling statelets, united only be a desire to preserve their own local autonomy in the face of a mutual threat? Just as a virus is not bounded by culture or caste, why should the authority of one named for the Smallpox Goddess by any more circumscribed?

Where there is a will, there is a way, she mused, and her will had so far achieved much in this direction, albeit aided by fate and fortune, but also by following a simple philosophy: know yourself, know your enemies, know your opportunity. The first had long been achieved, and in recent years she had taken great pains to keep tabs on key individuals in the other states, quickly forming an assessment of Vishram and Kiran that had proved uncannily accurate. But the final piece had only recently fitted into place, when one of her agents, a major high in the estimation of Vishram Rao, had sent her word that he was being reassigned to the west in order to look into concerns that fugitives slipping across the border might provoke a diplomatic incident. Armed with her estimation of the various players, Sitala-Bai had instinctively played out many potential eventualities in the confines of her mind, like a chess master; the two ministers, fumbling in the dark, never even glimpsed the board.

***

Within hours, the first diplomatic feelers were being cautiously dispatched to governments arround the globe...

Baghdad

Slumped back on a chaise longue in his second floor grandiose office, Jamil Abdul Al Rahman, Deputy Foreign Minister for Asian Affairs was using the late hours of the night to catch up on his briefing notes. The room, with an ornate coffered cieling nearly twenty feet above the white marble floor and great windows overlooking the Foreign Affairs Ministry 's quadrangle, was prestigious but at this moment it was also quiet and private. Jamil, having taken off his tie and suit jacket had found himself getting coffee from the pantry down the corridor himself, as his staff had all gone home several hours prior, and despite his personal aides' offer to remain, Jamil insisted they return to their families in good order. He, safe in the knowledge that his wife was having dinner with other wives of others in the government circle, felt it was a good time to catch up on his reading.

Having laid out the contents of his 'in' tray on his mahogany desk and on the coffee table, he read, scribbling notes on small bits of paper or in margins. In the dim light of several lamps, one specific Federal Intelligence Bureau report caught his interest, one summarising a series of events in a land that barely crossed his proverbial radar before, the series of small landlocked Indian states to the extreme North-East of the Bay of Bengal. It seemed that some sort of unity had emerged under a certain sovereign. Jamil's eyes lit up slightly, after all the potential usefulness of a reactionary regime as a neighbour to the Igovian nation was certainly obvious and whilst a still small nation could never counter-balance Beth Gellert, it could at least help to contain it. On the other hand it could provoke them into expansionism, either way, it was an important event that could not be overlooked.

The Minister got up from the comfortable silk covered divan, returning to the leather arm chair behind his desk. He paused for a few minutes before, in quite a flurried manner he began writing out a draft of a message to be sent to Her Highness Sitala-Bai, the Maharani of Kashu. Using well practiced techniques he churned out a gracious and decorous note, urging the need to develop relations for mutual benefit as well as shrewdly alluding to UE's significant international development budget that was appropriated to affable nations. After polishing the prose, he placed the text on the top of his 'out' tray so that it would be sent promptly in the morning.

As soon as Parliament gets word of any diplomatic overtures coming out of the 'introspective,' and 'isolationist' Kashu, Mumbai has an Andover transport on the tarmac in Ambikapur and a party of diplomats headed to meet it.

A flight of Hunters is attached as an escort, just in case (most of the more advanced squadrons are deployed along the coast and Iranian border; Hindustan being not in possession of Kashmir, there is actually no Chinese border. *embarrassment*). After all, the nature of this regime is hardly known, but the diplomats are supposed to put on a friendly air. Any abuses witnessed can be recounted and 'leaked' to the world's major news media when they return, if any abuses exist, which Parliament hopes is not the case.

News of a Hindustani diplomatic mission headed for Kashu is broadcast via radio into the country, in hopes that when the military transport (albeit painted in a high-visibility color scheme) and Hunters crosses the border they won't be shot at.

Sitala sighed softly as she laid the text on the polished wood of the desk. The message had been carefully worded- evidently by individuals with many years experience of such matters- but the meaning was clear enough. Well at least the tentative diplomatic moves were generating a response...and to be honest, faster than she had counted on. Decisions were going to have to be made sooner than planned, and before there was time to put in place a suitable foriegn office team. Oh well...
She idly ran a finger along the edge of the paper. This United Elias seemed well disposed to developing relations, which was a blessing, although the guarded allusions to development funds had made her somewhat wary. After so many years of isolation the world might be forgiven for thinking her territories the same old backwater they had once been, and it was equally true that in the eyes of some nations any development had been modest. She had thought herself prepared for this, yet there had still been an odd feeling to see it in print as it were.
Still, pride was a luxury for fools, and if other nations regarded her domain as a poverty stricken land susceptible to economic bribery then she was not about to disabuse them. After all, although her original territories were a model of economic development in the region, the same could not be said of all of the newly united states, and it was going to take a lot of investement to bring them up to a uniform standard...

The Maharani was halfway through composing a suitably flowery and favourable response when her attention was distracted by a somewhat flustered aide. She laid her pen down and directly an equiring gaze at the arrrival, who hastily began to stammer an explanation.

"Forgive me highness, but I have urgent news. The Hindustani government has indicated that they will be sending a diplomatic mission to the kingdom..."
"That is good news, I suppose...though we shall have to arrange an appropriate welcome for our guests. Still, no immediate urgency..."

The aide looked slightly unhappy.
"Something the matter?"
"Well...forgive me, but..."
"Yes?" Sitala made a mental note to have this individual reassigned to duties that did not require concise verbal communication- something this one was evidently not cut out for.
"The Hindustanis...well they are already on their way."
"Really...that is keen of them I must say. By plane I presume?"
The aide nodded.
"Well it seems we have less time to prepare after all. Kindly present the Hindustani delegation with our compliments, and politely request them to land at Guwahati. I shall be there to meet them. Also see that my senior ministers are summoned to attend on me without delay."

The HAL-produced Andover transport, a staple Hindustani airplane in both military and civillian roles, putters across West Bengal and Bangladesh with its Hunter escort in tow. The Hunters, while flying in a more or less display formation, each carry two AA-11s, as standard procedure more than anything else.

After a while in the air, a few thousand feet above the Bengali rainforests in the South Asian sun, the navigator informs the flight crew that the Kashu border is coming up.

The formation drops lower, a procedure meant to allow border guards and spotters to identify the airplanes, and the pilots fly the last leg of the trip, from the Bengali border to Guwahati.

"Hmmmm..."

As reports of the battle in the Baltic rushed in upon him, Putin carefully studied a letter. Written in the elegant styles of India, it was quite a shock. After all, it had been quite a long time since one of these letters had been nonthreatening. While most of Russia's resources were concencrated elsewhere, a few efforts to breed a "Non-Progressive" regime to harass the Bedgellens a bit could be spared.

In typical Putinesque style, the message sent to the Kashu regime was simple.
It largely consisted of a few points.

Mainly...

1. What governmental structure will the new regime consist of?
(OOC: I have a vague idea, but some clarification would be nice.)
2. Would the Kashu Government be interested in Russian arms?
3. Would the Kashu government allow Russian corporations to invest?
4. Would the Kashu government allow the sale of Russian oil and other goods in Kashu?

-Ottawa-

Despite all the current events going wild in Hudecia, the Foreign Ministery remained open and running despite the President's recent death.

Foreign Minister Todd Widjaja would dispatch an emissary to the nation of Kashu expressing the Hudecian desire to open diplomatic ties between the two nations. He also expressed his desire to stop in Kashu after a planned trip to the Pacific Rim nations.

Although he didn't mention it, the trip was dependant on whether or not he held onto his position until that time.

In accordance with Hindustan's hands-off diplomatic policy when it comes to other countries' international relations, Kashu will likely not get much trouble from Mumbai if it decides to get friendly with Russia.

Of course, Hindustani diplomatic ties with the kingdom are nearly non-existant and the HDF is as ready to invade the country as to give it surplus equipment.

Finally, after recieving clearance from the Guwahati ATC, the Hindustani diplomatic mission lands in Kashu. The Andover sets down first, and quickly clears the runway for the four Hunters. A crew chief hops out of an opened window and onto the wing, and from there slides down off the plane. An aft door is opened and the diplomatic mission, dressed more or less as a Hindustani diplomatic mission should, files out of the aircraft followed by a section of light infantry. The light infantry are armed with Lee-Enfield No. 1s and dressed in ceremonial khaki as opposed to field green, being employed as an honor guard. Light infantry units are commonly shuttled around in the HDF's Andovers, An-26s, and Twin Pioneers, although usually for more warlike purposes. It is not unlikely that some HAL-built Andovers, Pioneers, Valettas, and Doves have even found their way into Kashu...

[OOC: I shall reply properly to this as soon as I get a few things sorted out. Many apologies for the delay :) ]

OOC: Apologies for keeping you all waiting...there is going to be a slight change of plan here, although hopefully it really shouldn't affect any of you that much.
After much thought I have decided to revise my claim and to move Kashu from Assam and the surrounding territories to Bihar state (i.e. the present RL Bihar state as opposed to the pre-2000 one that included Jharkhand). Since I really dislike retcons (this is the first time I've done something like this since joining NS) I would prefer not to dwell too much on my reasons, but suffice it to say that the new territory allows for a more believable backstory that is closer to what I'd had in mind for my country; should anyone want more details on what I'm talking about they can be found on the AMW forum.

Now on to the practical details: how does this change affect the thread? Like I said, hopefully it won't make much of a difference to any of you, although naturally all geographical references (and the descriptions of confused interstate politics in the area) will have to be ditched. That said, the basic spirit of the piece (BG's move into Jharkhand and West Bengal sparks a power struggle that leads to the opening up of formerly isolationist Kashu) remains perfectly viable. To help everyone, here is a brief summary of the story so far, as revised to take account of the changes:

Following the British withdrawal in the 1940s, Bihar State (which in those days included both Kashu and Jharkhand) quickly came under attack from the Principality to the south (see BG's thread for more details). The brunt of the Gellertian interference was borne by the southern regions, with the result that the latent separatism in this area (IRL this area had a history of seeking autonomy before Jharkhand state was finally created in 2000 out of old Bihar) was reawakened. As a result the province split into two states: in the south, Jharkhand formed, but remained a regular target for the Principality's incursions until the revolution; whilst in the northern half of the old territory, an ambitious state official used the situation to seize political power, eventually setting himself up as the dictatorial monarch of a new state loosely modelled on the former princely states of British India. This northern state was the Kingdom of Kashu.
The BG revolution, although ending the direct military threat, nevertheless sparked fears of extremist political activity in the Kingdom, with the result that the reigning monarch effectively closed his domain off from outside influence. During this period of isolation, some progress was made toward industrial and economic self sufficiency, but political contact with the outside world remained strictly controlled.
This situation lasted until BG's takeover of Jharkhand and West Bengal, giving it a common border with Kashu and sparking fears that the BG authorities might use fugitives crossing into the Kingdom's territory as an excuse to intervene. These concerns ultimately sparked a power struggle between those royal advisers who sought to continue the old policies of isolation, and those who believed that the state needed to embrace economic and diplomatic contact with the outside world in order to survive. The situation was made more complex by the recent death of the Maharaja, leaving his teenage daughter Sitala as monarch at this crucial juncture.
In spite of the odds, the young Maharani was able to successfully play off the various rival factions, at a stroke ridding herself of the main source of potential political opposition and also enabling her (with the aid of trusted supporters) to control the pace and direction of Kashu's reappearance on the world stage.

And that is where I left off...many apologies for introducing this major change just as things were starting to get on the boil, but I firmly believe that it is better to do this now than to continue on with a nation and RP that I am not entirely happy with. I shall reply IC to everyone later today...

The Maharani found herself composing letters even whilst being whisked off to the airfield; still, that was the price of authority...having to rush continuously to deal with every last development. It was just unfortunate that the light shower of diplomatic correspondance had decided to turn into a deluge after an urgent message had arrived to the effect that the Hindustanis were almost over the border.
Perhaps she should have left the official responses until later; after all when one is rushing it is so easy to miss things and it wouldn't do to give the impression of incompetence from the outset. But since she had little idea how long the Hindustanis would be staying it was perhaps as well to answer the official greetings from Hudecia and Russis now rather than risk finding herself with insufficient time later.

The response to the Hudecian foreign note appeared the simpler task, so she had tackled that first, first thanking the minister in suitably toned language for his country's interest before moving on to reciprocating the desire to see warm relations develop between the two nations. Finally she closed the note with an open invitation to Minister Widjaja, and any other member of the Hudecian government who might be interested, to visit her realm as when it was convenient for them. And that seemed to her to be sufficient at this stage, although she made a mental note to instruct her future foreign minister (whenever she might find time to actually appoint one) to follow up on this exchange of pleasantries.

The Russian message was more to the point; sounding out the new arrival on the world stage, so Sitala modified her usual flowery prose to reflect this. Yes, the Kingdom of Kashu would indeed be well disposed to the acquisition of Russian arms, and subject to certain requirements would not object to the sale of Russian goods, but in particular those products and raw materials that her domain did not have easy access to would be preferred. After some thought, she decided to be bold and expressed a potential interest in acquiring Russian technological expertise, especially with regard to weapon manufacture and industrial development. After all, purchasing goods from a nation was one thing, but in the long run it would be preferable to manufacture them locally. The hard part, so far as she was concerned, lay in answeing the rather blatant inquiries into the nature of her regime, and it was on this part of the message that she took the most care over. After all, this was the make or break moment which might determine whether Russia would look favourably on her state or not. Ideally she would have liked to have more knowledge on the Russian leader and his politics, but without sufficient time, she would simply have to make a snap judgment and hope for the best. So in the end, she described her regime (somewhat erroneously) as a 'monarchic state guided by a council of advisors, which stands for order and economic development in a region notoriously prone to disorder and extremism'. Well it was at least technically correct...Putin didn't after all need to be told at this stage that the 'advisors' that she claimed to be 'guided' by were in fact her creatures, and that the order she stood for translated as 'an absence of social and political opposition'. Still, if that mattered so much the Russian leader would find out...

But she had to put these thoughts out of her head...the Hindustanis would be meeting and greeting her shortly and from the little she knew of them it would not be diplomatically advisable to advertise any autocratic leanings. But then at least she had the advantage of her youth (and in the eyes of some, her gender) which if skilfully played could present a convincing picture of dutifull innocence. Compared to what she hadn't said in her letter to the Russians, this was a bigger lie, but risks needed to be taken.

***

As planned, Sitala-Bai arrived at the airfield sufficiently in advance of her guests to be able to take up a dignified inside the buildings. It was all a matter of presentation- waiting for the delegates at the foot of the ramp would look indecently subservient, whilst having them brought to her presence by a flunky could appear high handed. Having a minister meet them off the plane, to explain that Her Highness was awaiting them inside might leave a favourable impression without appearing too eager to please. Besides, if the truth be told, she wanted to be close at hand to make sure that the meeting went as it should...

At length an aide came over, to inform her that the Hindustanis had landed. Apparently they had brought a whole honour guard and a fighter escort, which had the bonus of showing a little more than she had hoped about their country...

***

Outside, Minister Bhaiya waited stiffly as the Hindustani aircraft disgorged their diplomatic team, followed by a unit fo Khaki-clad soldiers. The slim ranks of sepoys from the Kashu State Forces jerked to attention, and for a moment Bhaiya wondered whether it had been wise to restrict their numbers. After all, if the Hindustanis would send their own honour guard to shepherd a diplomatic delegation, the thin ranks that the host nation had seen fit to display would not exactly overwhelm the guests with an image of military might. But Sitala-Bai had been adamant: emphasise the civilian and downplay the military. As he prepared to greet the approaching delegates, he fervantly hoped she had made the right call...

OCC: Just a minor point; Hindustan has been a rather significant force in India for at least as long as Beth Gellert in modern times, if only by virtue that Hindustan was the only place that could really manage to defend itself from the Principality. So perhaps Bihar was the site of some skirmishes between Llewellen's forces and the early HDF...who knows?

IC:

If Maharani Sitala thinks that Parliament took as much time in thinking about how they would present themselves to Kashu as Kashu did to Hindustan, she is quite mistaken. The descision to include an honor guard was more a last-minute impulse, something that seemed like a good idea, rather than a well-thought-out gesture. The presence of the Hunters, none of them in anything besides their dull, dirty field scheme, was also more standard procedure for flying a diplomatic mission than an attempt to show force.

The head diplomat, Parliamentarian Sajeev Bensal, shakes hands with the minister sent to bring them in to the Maharani, and the delegation, followed by the light infantry section, which marches in somewhat sloppy order, heads in to meet with the ruler of Hindustan's obscure northern neighbor.

Minister Bhaiya, takes the hand of the head delegate in a confident hand shake, and having completed the pleasantries of welcoming the guests, briskely ushered them into the cool interior of the waiting building.

The Hindustani delegation could be forgiven for missing the short figure seated in a plain but comfortable chair at a first glance, although a second could barely miss the number of well-dressed retainers waiting on this unprepossessing individual.

Sitala-Bai might, under different circumstances, have swiftly passed out of notice again as a relatively attractive, but obviously inexperienced and nervous, young woman; at any rate, hers is neither the face nor figure one might readily associate with her rank and position. Most noticeably, her skin appears positively pallid in the stark lighting of the interior, with a whiteness that speaks of foreign blood amongst the swathy faces of her ministers. Nor is she bedecked with jewelry like a classic eastern potentate or wrapped in the functional modernity of a sleek suit, her attire being simple, yet somehow almost girlish, and further emphasising her extreme youth.
And when at length she rises to great the visitors, her voice is hushed, as she timidly delivers a series of flat introductory lines that have obviously been well drummed in...

The delegation bows to the Maharani, and Sanjeev Bensal goes foreward to meet with Sitala-bai.

"Its a pleasure to meet you, Maharani. Hindustan is very eager to find out more about this region, which has escaped our attention in recent times. Ever since the Bedgellen revolution in the 1980s, we have been focusing our efforts internationally."

Sitala allowed herself a nervous smile.
"Please, Mr Bensal, will you take a seat for a moment until transport arrangements can be finalised." She gestures, a little awkwardly, to a nearby chair.
"From what I know of it, Mr Bensal, the revolution in our southern neighbour did invoke a time of great change across this area...although such events were before my time.
Nonetheless, a meeting such as this has been too long delayed, and I can only express my gratitude, for your government has afforded us a great honour by visiting so...swiftly."
She pauses shyly, as though steadying herself before summoning up teh strength to continue.
"But...it is surely time to look to the future, and I must confess that I know little of you country other than that which I can be found in a book or some such manner, and almost nothing of your government and its international interntions. I would...certainly wish to learn more, should that not be too much trouble."

"Well, that was our purpose in coming here," says Sanjeev as he sits. "Hindustan is eager to see nations develop sustainable medical and educational infrastructure, and the countries of the Indian Subcontinent is no exception. While we don't necessarily have anything against monarchies, Parliament is rather strict about human rights issues. But I must apologize for the short notice."

"Well... naturally the lives of my people are my greatest concern," breathes the Maharani with a look of particular wide-eyed innocence.
"After all, unlike in some parliamental democracies, a monarch is able to take a bigger, more long term view of a nation's prospects..." Sitala stops herself, as if suddenly aware that she may have inadvertently insulted her guests. "Not that I necessarily have anything against Parliamentary democracies, of course...I merely wish to emphasise that monarchy is a sacred trust, and thus one that a wise monarch would not abuse."
She appears lost in thought for a moment before continuing. "I am glad though that you have come to visit us, for I feel certain that beyond the outward differences in system, Hindustan and Kashu have much in common; notably an interest in the welfare of the rest of the subcontintent."

"That's a good start. So, would it be possible to detail the hardships that your nation is suffering at this point in time, if any? I'm afraid we don't know very much about your nation (except, of course, what PR Lightnings can see), and one of our main goals in this visit is to determine what kind of aid you might be needing. I'm sure the Igovians will have similar concerns."

One of the subordinate diplomats comes foreward with a stack of papers, stapled together with decidedly un-Hindustani neatness and officiality.

"These here should give you a general idea of what Hindustan is like. Well, you can probably find all this on the public domain somewhere else but here it is. In case you are interested. By the way, what are your relations like with the other independent principalities and such in the region? Hindustan only has relations with Rajasthan at this time, and your own country."

Sitala takes the documents with a polite nod of thanks, but instead of pasing them on to a waiting aide continues to clutch them almost as a child would a comfort blanket.
"Hardships? Well I suppose one might say that eighty million people living on less than a hundred thousand square kilometres was a hardship in itself, but we manage well enough in the circumstances."
Her voice, although still soft and childish, is nonetheless beginning to show traces of an underlying confidence and intelligence, and her speech starts to increase in speed, and passion, from her first hesistant contributions.
"Our main problems, such as they are, are more economic. We in Kashu believe strongly in self-help; we would rather see a man with a job than provide him with a handout..ultimately that is best way to bring a better life to my people. Yet there is only so much that we can accomplish alone, for I will not see my Kingdom fall beholden to debt, with money that could be used for the benefit of locals siphoned off to foreign banks and governments. And so ultimately, the question of hardships becomes one with your enquiry as to our relations with other states. The Igovian annexations have caused some concern, for not only has our major source of industrial raw materials fallen under their sway, but so has our principal export route through Bengal. Naturally this is of some concern to us, for we have in past years laboured hard to develop our domestic industry, and were it to suffer, or even collapse, it would mean much additional hardship for honest hardworking people..."
She waits for a moment, head tilted downwards shyly to hide her eyes, by now burning brightly with unexpected conviction, before swiftly adding as an afterthought...
"There are of course outlest to the west, although I think you will find that there are no longer many princes outside of Rajputana. The Delhi government however is...well...difficult, and constantly changing itself, so to be honest our relations with them have never been solid, even before our period of retreat from the world."

"Well, as you can probably guess, Hindustan and Beth Gellert are close allies, and it is our opinion that the Igovian annexation, as you put it, of West Bengal and Jharkhand are for the better. After all, it took a bit of prodding to even get the Igovians to accept those provinces as part of the commonwealth. But as for your economic troubles, Hindustan might be able to offer you some support, at least in the short term. It is in nobody's interests to let people starve, you know. Towards those ends, pending Parliamentary approval of course, you could ship through or sell in Hindustan. Of course, I strongly suggest opening up diplomatic relations with Beth Gellert, considering the closest ports are there."

A huge, muscular man clad in a bulging green jacket and a pointy, 1930's mobster style hat approached the fireplace. Near it was a thick leather chair, which spun around to reveal the President of Russia, Vladimir Putin. His orange hair and green eyes pierced the dark surroundings, and contrasted with his black trench coat and scarf. The muscular man, Arnold Schwarzenegger, head of the KGB, spoke.

"I had some agents shift from BG to Kashu, een order to undertake some 'zneefing' operations."
"What have they found?"
"The Sitala woman is a dictator. Those 'advisors' of hers are noding but puppetz. However, zee is fairly benevolent, and while not a democratic paradise, we've dealt wid more...unsavory characters. Ya."
"True. And the clientele of 80 million people would be a boost to our economy...Alright, I'll...propose a Free Trade Agreement as well as a military package to her."

tag

Just over the border, in Madhya Pradesh, the local HDF units conduct a fairly standard seasonal training excersize. While the same thing happens year after year, Kashu's descision to end its isolationism assigns greater significance to the manouvers.

The approximately 100,000 HDF troops, primarily the truck- and helicopter-borne light infantry but also incorperating several Dragoon and Tank battalions, drive around and do this and that, joined overhead by Hunters, PAf. 4s, and Jaguars. The HDF's new Merlin HC.3s make a showing, accompanied by Mi-8s, and deliver light infantry units much as they would in a battle scenario.

Its not really too much to look at, but the seasonal excersizes do serve to demonstrate the fact that, while not necessarily superbly equipped in all areas, the HDF is a very well-trained, organized, and effective military force that is quite capable of fulfilling its defense obligations. Even if the HDF relies on the T-55 to form the bulk of its tank force, T-55 tankers go about their assignments in a proffessional manner and prove that, while quite old, they can still perform under capable hands.

The newest Gazelle variants are also showcased, using their improved powerplant and upgraded avionics to their full extent while undertaking anti-tank and scout assignments.

bump

Hey Kashu, still around? I'm ready to pick this up again if you are.