The Governor's office in Lahore was a world away from the dust of the canal colonies. Here, the air smelled of beeswax, old leather, and imported pipe tobacco. A large map of the Punjab hung on the wall, color-coded by revenue and risk.
Sir Geoffrey de Montmorency, Governor of the Punjab, stood by the fireplace, warming his hands. He was a man who had seen everything India had to offer: famine, riots, durbars, and rebellion.
"So," the Governor said, turning to Harrington, who sat in a plush leather armchair. "Let me understand this correctly. We gave Mr. Jinnah charge of ten lawless villages—a buffer zone notorious for banditry—and he did not ask for more rifles?"
"No, Your Excellency," Harrington said, balancing a crystal tumbler of brandy on his knee. "In fact, he refused the offer of a police reinforcement detachment. He claimed they would be too slow and too expensive."
The Governor raised a bushy eyebrow.
"A man who refuses guns in the Punjab is usually hiding something," he muttered. "Does he plan to raise a private militia? Is he training these 'Farabis' to be a Brown Shirt army?"
"That was my fear as well, Sir," Harrington admitted. "But the intelligence reports suggest... the opposite."
1. The Opposite of Mutiny
Harrington opened his briefing folder.
"Instead of arming more men, he has thinned his existing force. He has spread his thirty Farabis across ten villages—three men per post. To fill the gaps, he has hired locals."
"Mercenaries?"
"Watchmen, Sir. Unarmed. He gave them whistles and lanterns. And women."
The Governor paused, his glass halfway to his lips. "Women?"
"Midwives and widows, mostly," Harrington explained. "He calls them 'Rural Health Visitors,' but in practice, they are a surveillance network that can enter the zenana. They distribute quinine for malaria and gather gossip. He has effectively turned the entire population into a sensor net."
Harrington shook his head, a look of grudging admiration on his face.
"It is not a militia, Sir. It is a municipality. He isn't training them to fight the Crown; he is training them to clean their drains, boil their water, and report strangers."
Harrington took a sip of brandy and sighed.
"To be honest, Your Excellency, it makes me somewhat jealous. I have been trying to get my District Superintendents to implement such a reporting system for five years. Jinnah did it in three weeks."
"Jealousy is a sin, Harrington," the Governor chuckled, though he looked relieved. "But efficiency is a virtue."
2. The Request
"He has sent a list of requirements," Harrington said, handing over a sheet of paper. "He isn't asking for ammunition. He is asking for licenses."
The Governor took the paper.
License for 10 Primary Schools (Curriculum: Reading, Mathematics, Hygiene).
Certification for 15 Female Health Visitors (to dispense Quinine and basic First Aid).
Permit for one Central Processing Plant (Ginning/Spinning) at Railway Halt 4.
"Schools and nurses," the Governor mused. "Hardly the shopping list of a revolutionary."
"He says," Harrington quoted, "that 'an educated weaver counts threads better than an illiterate one,' and 'a healthy tenant pays rent on time.'"
The Governor walked back to his desk and sat down. He looked at the map of India on his wall. Somewhere far to the south, Gandhi was marching to the sea to make salt. In the east, revolutionaries were throwing bombs at trains. In Delhi, the Congress was threatening to boycott the census.
"You know, Harrington," the Governor said reflectively, "I sometimes wish the other Indian leaders were more like this. Look at the Congress. They spend their days devising ways to stop the machinery of the Empire. They block roads, they burn foreign cloth, they fill the jails."
He tapped Jinnah's list.
"And here we have the President of the Muslim League—or at least, a faction of it—who seems to understand that the purpose of governance is actually governing."
"He is a constructive opposition," Harrington suggested.
"Precisely," the Governor agreed. "He argues with us, yes. He is prickly, arrogant, and speaks English better than half the House of Lords. But he is practical. He wants the trains to run and the fever to stop. I can work with a man who wants the trains to run."
3. The Approval
The Governor dipped his pen in the inkwell.
"Approve it," he said, signing the document with a flourish. "Give him his schools. Give him his nurses' licenses. Let him drown in administrative duties."
"You are not worried he will use this influence politically?" Harrington asked.
"Let him," the Governor shrugged. "If he succeeds, he stabilizes our most volatile district. If he fails, he looks foolish. But more importantly, Harrington, while he is busy calculating the cost of quinine tablets and hiring schoolteachers for peasant children, he is not in London arguing for Dominion Status."
The Governor handed the signed paper back.
"We have found the perfect containment strategy for Mr. Jinnah," the Governor said with a satisfied smile. "We haven't put him in prison. We have put him to work."
4. The Irony
Harrington stood up, tucking the approval into his jacket.
"I will wire the approval to Montgomery immediately. The machinery is already en route."
"Good man," the Governor said. "Keep an eye on him. But don't interfere. If he wants to turn Sandalbar into a model of British-style efficiency, let him. It serves the Empire."
Harrington walked out of the office, past the guards in their red turbans.
He couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. The Governor saw a man being kept busy. But Harrington, who had walked the fields of Sandalbar and seen the look in the Farabis' eyes, saw something else.
He saw a man who wasn't building a model of the British Empire.
He was building a replacement for it.
But he kept that thought to himself. The brandy was good, the Governor was happy, and for the first time in months, the Montgomery district was quiet. Why spoil it with paranoia?
Harrington got into his car. "To the Telegraph Office," he told the driver. "Tell Jinnah he has his schools."