A Mighty Endeavor Read Online Free PDF Page A

Indian politicians in the Congress Party. It was the kind of unofficial, back-door communications channel that the British seemed to thrive upon. One uniquely suited to India’s environment. In the frantic hours that had passed since the news had been broadcast, Sir Martyn had spoken, on an entirely unofficial basis of course, with Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, leader of the Congress Party. That conversation had not been helpful in maintaining his tranquility.
    “Your Excellency, I can quote the initial reaction of the Congress Party to this meeting. Their position is and I do quote exactly, ‘You have lost the war you forced on us, now you can leave while we make peace. Next week will be soon enough.’ They offer us help in packing our bags and making our way to the railway station.”
    “Damned cheek.” Tarrant growled to nobody in particular.
    “Gerry, they have to say that. Their own membership will tear them apart if they said anything else. Their real position is held within those two words: ‘next week’. They want to find out what the hell is going on as well before they commit themselves.”
    Lord Linlithgow frowned at Sir Martyn’s final choice of words, but let the matter pass. Everybody was frustrated and edgy from the knowledge that great things were afoot and they knew nothing of them. “I suppose it was inevitable they would demand peace. They never wanted a part of this war in the first place.”
    “They never wanted into this war, that is true, Your Excellency. To be honest, your decision to take us in was almost as offensive to them as we have found London’s treatment of us has been. That point was made, quite gently I may say, by Nehru who described the situation as ‘Karmic Justice’.”
    A smattering of laughter ran around the room. Lord Linlithgow shook his head, “I can see their point on that. In retrospect, I think the Indian declaration of war was not one of my better hours.”
    Privately, Sir Martyn agreed, but he was not going to say so. “Nevertheless, India is at war and I suspect that having found themselves in it, they do not want out of it at the abrupt and unsolicited command of a dubiously legitimate Prime Minister in London. They want to end the war by their own hand and leave it with their heads held high. To accept this diktat from London would leave them crawling way like whipped dogs. They, also, are offended, Your Excellency. Their offer to help us pack our bags and make our way to the railway station should be seen in that light. It isn’t cheek, Gerry; it’s their way of telling us they want to work with us on our departure, not against us.”
    There was a learned nodding of heads around the conference table. Subtle meanings attached to apparently inconsequential words were meat and drink for those present. There was a wealth of experience in doing just that around the table.
    “Which takes us to the next question.” Harold Hartley, known to all as HH, asked the obvious question. “Are we still at war with Germany?”
    “That, at least, I can answer.” Lord Linlithgow answered firmly. “India is a Dominion, not a colony. We declared war by our decision; we end that war by our decision. We may take our lead from London, if they deign to give us one, but the decision is made here, not there. And so, the answer is a clear yes. We are still at war with Germany and will remain so until we, or our successors, decide otherwise.”
    “That also is the Australian position, your Excellency. Prime Minister Menzies points out that Australia had its reasons for declaring war and that those are not necessarily changed by a British surrender.” Tarrant relayed that input with a certain level of relish.
    “That is absurd.” Sir Richard Graham Cardew, the Cabinet Secretary, had gone bright red. “If the India Office commands, then it is our part to obey. The final authority lies there, not here.” Cardew was one of the oldest men at this table; his experience over the last