June 15, 1989
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Raj sat in his office, the summer heat of Mumbai pressing against the air-conditioned windows. The System's interface hovered invisibly before him, displaying streams of data from across the world. For months, he had been monitoring the Soviet Union with intense focus. The signs were unmistakable: Gorbachev's perestroika and glasnost were unraveling the empire faster than even the original timeline suggested.
Economic shortages worsened daily—empty shelves in Moscow stores, strikes in the coal mines of Ukraine and Siberia. Nationalist movements surged in the Baltic states; Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania pushed for sovereignty. The Berlin Wall's fall loomed on the horizon, though not yet realized. Oil prices remained low, starving the Soviet budget of its primary revenue. Gorbachev's recent visit to China in May had been overshadowed by student protests in Tiananmen, a humiliating backdrop that exposed the fragility of communist regimes worldwide.
In India, the mood shifted too. Rajiv Gandhi's government grappled with the escalating Bofors scandal—allegations of kickbacks in the Swedish artillery deal dominated headlines. Public trust eroded; inflation lingered from the drought years, and rural discontent simmered despite pockets of improvement from ventures like UFT.
Raj saw opportunity. The Soviet Union's decline could weaken Congress's traditional pro-Soviet leanings, portraying them as tied to a failing ideology. BP—Bharatiya Party—could position itself as forward-looking, nationalist, and anti-corruption.
He summoned Ravi Sharma, editor-in-chief of The Bharat Front, and Suraj Patel for a closed-door meeting.
"Ravi," Raj began, sliding a folder across the desk. "We launch a series starting next week. Title it 'The Crumbling Bear: Lessons from a Failing Empire.'"
Ravi opened the folder, scanning the outlines. "Boss, this is bold. Exposés on Soviet economic mismanagement, KGB meddling in Indian affairs during the Indira era, unreliable arms supplies—the MiG crashes, delayed spares. Tie it to Bofors: while Congress clings to outdated allies, a superpower crumbles under corruption and inefficiency."
"Exactly," Raj nodded. "Use declassified hints—nothing traceable. Interview defectors anonymously, quote Western reports on shortages and strikes. Frame it as a warning: blind allegiance to failing systems drags nations down. Contrast with BP's vision—self-reliant India, cultural revival, clean governance."
Suraj leaned forward. "And the angle on Rajiv's pro-Soviet tilt? His 1985 and recent meetings with Gorbachev—paint them as outdated."
"Subtly," Raj cautioned. "Highlight how Gorbachev's 'new thinking' admits failures that Congress ignores. Run parallel pieces on Western tech successes—computers, consumer goods—that India needs, not Soviet heavy industry relics."
The series launched on June 20. Front-page headlines screamed: "Empty Shelves in Moscow: The Cost of Centralized Planning." Inside pages detailed bread lines, black market thrives, and miner strikes. A sidebar compared Soviet arms reliability issues with Bofors—implying Congress's deals were similarly flawed.
Circulation spiked. TBF's 1.5 million daily readers devoured the reports; regional editions translated them into local languages. Street discussions buzzed—truck drivers in Punjab tea stalls debated "Why stick with a sinking ship?" Urban middle-class readers, already angered by Bofors, nodded at the parallels: corruption in high places, promises unfulfilled.
BP workers distributed free copies at rallies. Party leaders quoted the series: "Congress dreams of Soviet-style planning while the Soviets themselves abandon it." In rural Maharashtra, UFT farmers—wearing new Bata shoes, banking with Luxmi—heard the message: BP meant progress, not stagnation.
Raj monitored reactions closely. System projections updated: BP support in urban centers rose 8-10% in polls. Anti-Congress sentiment, already fueled by Bofors, sharpened with this new narrative. Rajiv Gandhi's image as a modernizer clashed against the "outdated ally" label.
By mid-July, the series expanded. A special edition exposed historical KGB influence—subtle references to funding Indian media and parties in the 1970s, without naming Congress directly. Sources: anonymous "former intelligence officials." TBF sales hit record highs.
Netflix Europe benefited indirectly—subscribers in the UK and Netherlands, exposed to Western views of Soviet decline, sought more "free world" content. Pragarti quietly prepared expansion into potential post-Soviet markets.
In August, Gorbachev faced mounting crises—Baltic declarations intensified. Raj authorized a final salvo: "As the Bear Weakens: India's Opportunity for True Independence."
The impact crystallized in September opinion polls: BP surged to projected 60-70 seats in upcoming Lok Sabha elections, enough to play kingmaker. Congress defenses—denouncing TBF as "anti-national propaganda"—fell flat amid Bofors fatigue.
Raj reviewed the numbers with satisfaction. The Soviet bear wasn't dead yet, but its roars grew feeble. By highlighting the cracks, he had chipped away at Congress's foundation—portraying them as yesterday's party in a changing world.
In Kochi, Priya and Kishanlal celebrated Bata's record quarter, oblivious to the deeper strategy. Jyoti worked on a new book inspired by "rising nations." ASUR monitored ISI reactions—Pakistan, alarmed by Soviet wobbles, probed borders more aggressively, but Punjab remained calm under preemptive strikes.
Raj closed the projections. The series had cost little—printing and research—but yielded immense leverage. As Eastern Europe stirred and the Wall's fall approached, India's political landscape tilted further toward BP.
The crumbling bear had become Raj's unintended ally. He has used Soviet as pawn in indian politics.
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