Khuzdar – Indian Forward Operating Base – 12th March 1949

The sun was brutal that day in Khuzdar. Heat waves made everything blur. The Indians had built their new military base right outside the old capital, and it looked out of place. Concrete buildings and radio towers stuck up from the rocky ground.

The air was dry and dusty, and everyone could feel something big was about to happen.

Mir Ahmad Yar Khan showed up in his usual convoy of Land Rovers. Dust kicked up behind the vehicles as they rolled toward the base. His tribal guards rode next to Indian Army jeeps. The Khan got out slowly, the way someone does when they've been in charge for a long time. His bright robes stood out against all the military colors.

He looked around with sharp eyes, then glanced back toward old Khuzdar's fortress in the distance. This wasn't what he'd expected when the Indians called this meeting. He figured they wanted to talk about the recent trouble near Turbat. Maybe discuss getting his men better weapons. He definitely hadn't expected this.

The Khan walked toward the main building. His men stayed close but respectful. Everyone could tell something was different today. The Indian soldiers were acting too formal, too nervous. Even their officers wouldn't look anyone in the eye.

Inside the command building, it was cooler but the atmosphere felt heavy. Prime Minister Arjun Mehra was waiting for him. Next to Mehra stood Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel, that tough old politician everyone called the Iron Man. Patel didn't say a word, but just having him there made the room tense. The Khan had dealt with British officials for years, but these men felt more dangerous.

"Your Highness," Mehra said, pointing to a chair. He sounded polite enough, but something in his voice made the Khan uncomfortable. "Thanks for coming. We're sorry about what happened at Turbat. Your men did well."

The Khan sat down and looked at Mehra carefully. "Prime Minister, that kind of thing happens all the time in Balochistan. Bandits cause trouble, we deal with them. That's how it's always been." He kept his voice steady. "What my men really need is better equipment. More training. With India's help, we could handle these problems much better."

He was trying to figure out why they'd brought him to this new base instead of meeting in Karachi or Delhi like usual. The Khan had learned how to read between the lines during all those years with the British. But Mehra wasn't giving him the usual hints.

Mehra nodded but kept staring at the Khan. "Yes, we can help with equipment and training. But this situation has gotten much more serious than just banditry, Your Highness. We need to discuss something much bigger. Something that's going to affect all of Balochistan's future."

The Khan's stomach tightened. "Balochistan's future is already settled, Prime Minister. We have our agreement right? My state stays independent under India's protection. We signed that treaty, and I've kept my word till now."

"And that very treaty," Mehra said, his voice getting cold, "is now being turned against us by our enemies. That puts both of us in a really bad spot."

The Khan sat up straighter. "What are you talking about, Prime Minister?"

Mehra leaned forward. "What happened at Turbat wasn't just random bandits. Our intelligence people have been looking into this. This was a highly coordinated attack. Possibly the tip of the much larger one. And those weapons that we recovered weren't local stuff. British rifles, Italian machine guns, Soviet bullets. Someone's giving these groups real military equipment. Someone with a lot of money and a lot of hate for India."

The Khan's mind raced. He'd wondered about those weapons too. "You think the Iranians are involved in this? But I never saw them being hostile to India"

"The Iranians, yes. But that's just a cover." Mehra's voice got harder. "We have high suspicions that western intelligence officers are working with Tehran. They want to open up a new front against India, and they want to use Balochistan to do it. They're trying to connect what's left of Pakistan with Iranian backing."

The Khan felt his face go pale. "That's impossible. How did western intelligence even get into Pakistan? Isn't Pakistan surrounded by the buffer zone?"

Arjun nodded at the valid question, "They most probably infiltrated during the recent aid operations few months ago, disguised as helpers."

Khan shook his head, "Regardless, my people would never allow their goals to succeed!"

"Your people aren't the problem, Your Highness," Mehra said. "The problem is your current status gives these enemies a way in. You're independent enough that we can't completely control your borders, but dependent enough that when someone attacks you, it becomes our problem."

Patel finally spoke, his voice rough. "Foreign agents are already working in your territory, Khan sahib. They're recruiting from the tribes, handing out money, stirring up old anger. How long before they have enough people to really cause serious trouble?"

The Khan wanted to argue, but he knew they were probably right. His spy network wasn't what it used to be, and the tribal areas were huge and hard to watch.

"So what are you suggesting?" the Khan asked, though he was starting to get scared of the answer.

Mehra got up and walked to the window. He looked out toward the old city before turning around. "The time for protectorates is over, Your Highness. India can't afford to have half independent territories on our borders anymore. The world's gotten too dangerous."

Those words hit the Khan hard. He grabbed the arms of his chair. "You're talking about taking over. You want to destroy Balochistan's independence."

"I'm talking about staying alive," Mehra shot back. "You and us both. Look what happened to Pakistan when they tried to play games with their borders. Look what happened to the princely states that thought they could stay independent while everything fell apart around them."

The Prime Minister came back and sat down. He never stopped looking at the Khan. "I'm going to be straight with you, Your Highness. India has already decided. Balochistan is going to become a full state in the Indian Union. That decision is final."

The Khan felt like someone had punched him. "You can't do this. We have treaties. The world won't stand for it. That makes you no different from the Britishers."

"The world," Patel said flatly, "isn't going to save you. Pakistan's finished. The British have their own mess to deal with. The Americans are busy with Europe and China. Nobody's coming to rescue Balochistan."

Mehra leaned forward again. "But this doesn't have to be a disaster for your people, Your Highness. Actually, it could be the best thing that ever happened to Balochistan."

The Khan laughed bitterly. "You're going to tell me that losing our independence is good for us?"

"I'm going to tell you that your independence is already gone," Mehra said bluntly. "The question is whether you lose it to chaos and foreign manipulation, or whether you trade it for something better."

Mehra stood up and started pacing. "As a full state in the Indian Union, Balochistan gets representation in Parliament. Your people get a real voice in Delhi for the first time ever. We'll put money into your roads, your schools, your hospitals. Those mineral deposits that have been sitting there doing nothing for hundreds of years will finally get developed."

The Khan shook his head. "Nice words. The British made the same promises."

"The British wanted to use you," Mehra said. "We want to make you part of us. That's completely different. The British saw Balochistan as a buffer zone. We see it as part of India, deserving the same development as anywhere else."

Patel jumped in. "Look at what we've done with the other princely states, Khan sahib. Look at Rajasthan, at Mysore. We didn't destroy their cultures. We made them stronger."

The Khan wanted to believe them, but he could feel the weight of all those centuries his family had ruled independently. "And if I say no? What happens then?"

Mehra stopped pacing. The room went quiet. When he spoke again, his voice was calm but final. "Then India does whatever it has to do to make our borders safe. We won't let Balochistan become a base for anti-Indian forces, no matter who's running it. The integration is going to happen whether you help us or not.

Remember Your Highness, India had suffered under British for 2 centuries, after which we managed to get our hard fought independence, I am willing to crush any attempt to undermine Bharat's sovereignty in it's very infancy."

The Khan felt his last options disappearing. "You're not giving me any choice."

"I'm giving you the most important choice you'll ever make," Mehra said. "You can lead your people into a good future as equal partners in a strong India. Or you can sit on the sidelines and watch everything spiral out of control."

The Khan looked around the room. He saw the maps, all the communication gear, how efficiently everything was organized. These weren't like the British with their distant rule. These were Indians who had fought for their own independence and won. They understood power.

"How much time do I have?" he asked quietly.

"Twenty-four hours," Mehra said. "The Constituent Assembly is ready to pass the integration law as soon as we get your agreement. We want to make this transition smooth, and we need your help."

The Khan stood up slowly. He felt every one of his sixty years. "What about my title? My authority?"

"You'll be the first Governor of Balochistan state," Mehra said. "We'll need your knowledge and leadership during the transition. Your dignity and your family's honor will be protected."

The Khan walked to the window and looked out toward old Khuzdar. His ancestors had ruled these lands back when Delhi was just another city. Now Delhi was offering to make him a provincial governor in exchange for everything his family had built over the centuries.

But what choice did he really have? The world had changed too fast. All the old certainties were gone. Pakistan was as good as dead. The British were pulling out everywhere. In this new world, maybe joining a strong India was better than trying to stand alone against forces too big to fight.

"I need some time to think," the Khan said finally.

"Of course," Mehra said. "But remember, Your Highness, time isn't on your side. Every day we wait gives our enemies more chances to create chaos. Every day Balochistan stays in limbo is another day closer to the kind of violence that tore Pakistan apart."

As the Khan walked out into the blazing sun, he could see old Khuzdar's fortress in the distance. He knew his world had just ended. Whether something better would come from what was left would depend on choices he never thought he'd have to make. Behind him, he could feel Mehra and Patel watching, waiting for his answer.

The proud Khan of Kalat got back into his Land Rover. His colorful robes felt like a costume from a play that was over. Twenty four hours to choose between keeping his dignity and watching everything get destroyed. Twenty four hours to decide what would happen to everything his ancestors had built.

The convoy pulled away from the base and headed back into the vastness of Balochistan. But that emptiness felt different now. It felt like waiting. Like the quiet before a storm that would change everything forever.

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[A/N: So I recently found out that entire Balochistan didn't came under Khan of Kalat, but a portion of it, so, in order to fix this plot hole, let's just pretend that in this reality Khan control entirety of Balochistan or that the rest of the Balochistan areas merged into Kalat after Pakistan's fall]

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