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March 1946 - Lahore Province
Harshad Mehta clutched the telegram in his trembling hand as he stood on the platform of Lahore Railway Station. The British officers had begun to eye him with suspicion. His involvement with the Quit India movement had finally caught up to him.
"Your train leaves in twenty minutes, sir," the porter said, setting down Harshad's single leather suitcase.
Harshad nodded, his mind racing. The message from his contact in Delhi was clear: They know. Leave immediately. Don't use your name.
At forty-two, Harshad had spent nearly two decades in the independence movement. A professor of economics at Delhi University, he had used his position to funnel funds to freedom fighters across northern India. But last week's raid on their meeting house had changed everything. Three of his closest allies were arrested, and rumors of torture and forced confessions swirled through their networks.
"Last call for boarding! Flight 217 passengers to Karachi, please proceed to transport vehicles!"
Harshad froze. He wasn't booked on a flight—he was supposed to take the train to Amritsar. Flight 217 was for British officers and wealthy businessmen. But something in his gut told him to change plans.
With a quick decision that would alter the course of his life, Harshad approached the airport transport desk and purchased a ticket using the false papers his network had provided: Ahmed Khan, spice merchant from Karachi.
April 1946 - The Crash
The headlines in the Lahore Tribune were unambiguous:
DEADLY CRASH CLAIMS 18 LIVES
Independence Movement Leader Among the Dead
Sipping tea in a small rented room in Karachi, Harshad—now living fully as Ahmed Khan—read his own obituary. The small twin-engine aircraft he was supposed to have been on had crashed in the mountains north of Karachi. No survivors.
"A tragedy," muttered the tea shop owner. "They say it was mechanical failure, but who knows what the British are capable of these days."
Ahmed nodded solemnly. "Indeed. May they rest in peace."
That night, lying on his simple cot, Ahmed made his decision. With the British believing him dead and his identity as Ahmed Khan secured, he would start anew. The independence movement would have to continue without him.
The Moment:
Two months later, Ahmed had established himself in a small village outside Karachi. He'd taken a job as a bookkeeper for a local textile merchant and rented a modest home. His economics background served him well, though he downplayed his education.
One sweltering afternoon, he noticed a group of children tormenting a skinny cat that had been scavenging for food. The animal was cornered against a wall, hissing in fear.
"Stop this at once!" Ahmed shouted, rushing toward them.
The children scattered as Ahmed knelt beside the trembling creature. Its ribs showed through matted fur, and one eye was crusted shut with infection.
"Come here, little one," he murmured, carefully lifting the cat. "You and I are both survivors, aren't we?"
His neighbor, Fatima, a widow with two young children, witnessed his rescue. That evening she appeared at his door with a small bowl of milk.
"For your new friend," she said with a shy smile. "It's good to see a man with compassion."
Ahmed thanked her, and for the first time since leaving Delhi, he felt a connection to his new world.
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