The expeditionary force began to dominate Southeast Asia by recruiting defeated soldiers

Chapter 720 The monarch of Hyderabad is in a panic and wants to flee?

On July 20, Kolkata was filled with the stench of corpses.

The streets were littered with burned-out houses, broken doors and windows, and scattered debris.

There were also corpses.

If no one claims the body, the person who claims it may also become a corpse.

White police officers no longer dare to go out alone on the streets; they go in groups, carrying guns, their eyes filled with fear.

They occasionally fired shots to disperse the crowd, but it was of little use.

The riots spread like a plague from one block to another.

Delhi was naturally affected as well.

Viscount Wavell stood on the balcony of the Governor's Palace, looking through binoculars at the smoke rising in the distance.

He put down the binoculars, his hands trembling.

"How many days is it?" he asked the adjutant behind him.

"On the third day, Your Excellency, the death toll... is still not fully tallied. It's estimated to have exceeded eight hundred."

“Eight hundred,” Wavell repeated the number.

He recalled that during World War I, a battalion was wiped out in an hour on the Somme River, which was about the same number.

Now, in his city, three days, eight hundred.

"Where are the reinforcements?"

"Two companies were transferred from Mumbai. But the roads... the roads aren't safe either. Rioters attacked military vehicles."

Wavell turned around and walked back to his office. He picked up the phone and dialed the hotline for the Fog City.

It took a long time to get through.

“Mr. Prime Minister,” he said wearily, “Calcutta…is out of control. I need more troops. At least a Home Rifles Regiment, or even better, the Royal Highlands Regiment.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a while.

Then came a similarly weary voice: "Wavell, you know we can't send a single regiment. The army is being demobilized, and there's a lot of pressure domestically. And... and ultimately, the matter of India has to be resolved by the Indians themselves."

"Solve it themselves?" Wavell almost laughed. "They're using machetes and Molotov cocktails."

“We will urge the Congress faction and the Crescent Moon Alliance to restrain their supporters. A political solution, Wavell, remember, a political solution.”

The phone hangs up.

Wavell held the receiver for a long time without putting it down.

A political solution? That's too easy to say.

At the same time, in the study of the monarch's palace in Hyderabad.

The seventh Nizam (monarch), Mir Ali Khan, paced back and forth on the floor covered with expensive Kashmiri carpets, wearing a magnificent silk robe and with his hands behind his back.

He was nearly sixty years old, slightly overweight, with a signature gray beard, and his complexion was not good.

On the table beside him were many telegrams, all with similar contents, concerning the escalating conflict and killings in Calcutta and the surrounding area.

The death toll was updated every few hours, jumping from a few hundred to a few thousand, and then to a chilling two or three thousand...

Violence and chaos are spreading like a plague across the subcontinent.

“Rao.” Ali Khan stopped, anxiously tugging at his beard. “What’s the situation at our border?”

Upon hearing the monarch's question, an elderly man with a lean face, dressed in a traditional long gown, standing in the shadows, bowed slightly.

He was Rao, Ali Khan's personal chief advisor. After considering his words, he began to speak:

"Your Majesty, the border outposts have reported intercepting at least five small groups of armed personnel attempting to infiltrate. Most of them are fleeing soldiers or rioters who have escaped from the chaotic northern regions. Among them are fanatical Sindhu extremists as well as irrational Crescent mobs."

Our guards are still in control for now, but the pressure is mounting.

Moreover… signs of instability have begun to appear in some cities within the state, especially in towns where Sindhu believers are the majority, and rumors are spreading rapidly.”

Ali Khan closed his eyes in pain.

He was a devout and conservative follower of the Crescent Moon and Star Cult, but in the princely state of Hyderabad that he ruled, more than 80% of the population were Sindhu Muslims.

This delicate religious demographic structure was able to maintain a balance in peacetime through traditional authority, relatively just governance, and a powerful royal guard.

But stimulated by the hellish scenes in Calcutta and incited by the extreme antagonistic slogans of the Sindhu and Crescent Moon sects, this balance is as fragile as a thin layer of ice.

At the same time, the Congress faction tore up the relatively harmonious and inclusive nation-building plan proposed by Governor John Wavell, insisting that Ali Khan relinquish his power and allow the Hyderabad princely state to fully accept the rule of the newly independent Sindhu central government.

This put immense pressure on Ali Khan.

“I feel like I’m sitting on a giant powder keg, Rao.” Ali Khan’s voice sounded panicked. “No, the entire powder keg. Someone outside has already lit the fuse, and sparks are flying all over the place.”

What are those John Doe in Delhi doing? What are Nehru and Jinnah doing? What can they do besides arguing and tearing up agreements? Are they planning a massive riot that will sweep across India?!

Rao remained silent, knowing that no words could soothe the monarch's panic at this moment.

In fact, he himself was also filled with unease.

Hyderabad is the largest and wealthiest princely state in India, possessing independent administrative, financial, and even postal systems, much like a country.

But this immense wealth and autonomy, in the face of impending nationwide chaos and power restructuring, has become the most tempting target.

If things go wrong, the entire principality might erupt into riots in the next second.

Then comes the much-anticipated step of hanging streetlights.

Indeed, as a relatively benevolent monarch, Ali Khan at least spent money to complete the initial electrification of the major cities in his kingdom and build streetlights.

“Maybe…” Thinking that his 200-plus-pound body might be hanging under the streetlights swaying back and forth, Ali Khan took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind, and turned to Rao, lowering his voice.

"Perhaps we should consider... a temporary departure. I still have some assets in Bern, and my stocks on the Singapore Stock Exchange are growing rapidly."

Perhaps we can wait until the situation becomes clearer...

“Your Majesty,” Rao couldn’t help but speak, his face full of disapproval, but before he could continue, there was a gentle knock on the study door.

Three tones, rhythmic, neither too fast nor too slow.

Ali Khan and Rao exchanged a glance. Rao quickly walked to the door, asked in a low voice, and then opened the door.

A guard stood outside the door, respectfully stepping aside to let a figure enter.

The man was in his thirties, tall and well-proportioned, wearing a well-tailored dark-colored Southeast Asian-style stand-up collar suit. He had a calm expression and a habitually gentle smile on his lips.

He was Chen Wentai, the Special Representative of the United States of Southeast Asia to Hyderabad.

Chen Wentai's family was one of the earliest Chinese businessmen to prosper in Penang. During the difficult years when Zhang Chi was fighting the Japanese in Bago, the Chen family was one of the few local families who dared to provide full support, offering crucial funds and connections.

After Zhang Chi came to power, he naturally reciprocated by giving many opportunities to the Chen family members.

Sending Chen Wentai to Hyderabad, a key princely state with enormous potential and crucial to future strategy, is both an affirmation of his abilities and a significant political asset.

According to unwritten international practice, if Hyderabad can maintain its independence or high degree of autonomy in the future, Chen Wentai, as the special representative, will naturally become the first ambassador, with a promising future.

“Your Majesty Ali Khan, I apologize for disturbing you so late at night.” Chen Wentai spoke fluent Onsa language, and while he appeared polite on the surface, he got straight to the point, “I think you might need some news and advice from friends at this moment.”

Ali Khan waved for him to sit down, then sat back in his large, high-backed chair, trying to maintain his monarchical demeanor, but the eagerness in his eyes betrayed him:

“Mr. Chen, you’ve come at the right time. You must be aware of the situation outside. I’m very… worried.”