Place In the Sun: What If Italy Joined the Central Powers? (1.0)
- Thread starter Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth
- Start date
England: "Well, the French made several mistakes while dealing with their revolts... Let us do the same in India, too. Surely it will work in our case! Somehow."
And it keeps happening, and it keeps escalating... Nice chapter! Looks like Britain is in for some interesting times.
The odds are, "Animal Farm" is going to be quite different in TTL. I wonder, what will young Orwell be doing in the near future?
And the map helps, but there's something that is driving me crazy: is there a (4) in the text, for Footnote 4? For some reason I just can't find it!
And it keeps happening, and it keeps escalating... Nice chapter! Looks like Britain is in for some interesting times.
The odds are, "Animal Farm" is going to be quite different in TTL. I wonder, what will young Orwell be doing in the near future?
And the map helps, but there's something that is driving me crazy: is there a (4) in the text, for Footnote 4? For some reason I just can't find it!
Thanks very much! Check out my test thread for a sketch of a TTL Orwell short story... I'll have to have a think about his life in this world. You're right about my having forgotten (4)- I've added it. Thanks as always for reading and commenting!
Fingers crossed indeed! I think the "fragmented" nature of this revolt will definitely damage pan-Indian unity, especially as so many Indians are just sitting back and watching the fight without helping their kin.
Balkanized India? Seems more likely now as everything on the subcontinent is on fire.
The question is, what will the new borders look like, and will the princes of India choose to maintain a close association after the British are gone?
Also, the Congress and pan-Indianists will do everything they can to get a united India. If they figure significantly enough in the events that follow, they may get their wish of a united India... with a system similar to OTL Indonesia, which would be... interesting, to say the least.
Then again, the royalists will do all they can to maintain their power and influence as well, so it remains to be seen.
India might even devolve into a civil war between royalists and unionists after their likely temporary truce to drive the British out, kinda like OTL China.
Would be especially funny if a communist movement also arose in India in the midst of such chaos... and would end to be positively hilarious if India ends up a communist country whil China stayed a republic.
So many possibilities.
Also, the Congress and pan-Indianists will do everything they can to get a united India. If they figure significantly enough in the events that follow, they may get their wish of a united India... with a system similar to OTL Indonesia, which would be... interesting, to say the least.
Then again, the royalists will do all they can to maintain their power and influence as well, so it remains to be seen.
India might even devolve into a civil war between royalists and unionists after their likely temporary truce to drive the British out, kinda like OTL China.
Would be especially funny if a communist movement also arose in India in the midst of such chaos... and would end to be positively hilarious if India ends up a communist country whil China stayed a republic.
So many possibilities.
Yes. Sadly, though, I don't think we'll see that here- but it could be fun for later down the road...
All good ideas; the situation could go in any number of directions. It'll be fun to write (and hopefully to read); less fun for the participants in TTL!
Sacred Pastures, by Eric Blair
Excerpt from Sacred Pastures, by Eric Blair (1940). The short story, ostensibly a children's tale, was an allegory of Blair's being forced to flee India during the 1917 revolt, when he was just a small boy.
"Trouble ahead", said the old donkey. "You mark me words, trouble ahead."
"How d'you mean?" Rupert the pig took a bite of hay- not the freshest he'd ever had, but not too bad.
"Well, it's like this, see. Haven't you noticed? The cows seem a bit... on edge?"
"On edge?" Rupert frowned. He hardly ever thought about the cows. He'd been born on the farm and grown up side-by-side with them. Of course, everyone knew the rule- pigs were above cows- but that was only on paper. Rupert liked cows. Some of his best friends were cows. "Why would they be on edge?" He snorted and lifted his leg- the old donkey turned up his nose.
"Haven't you any decency, Rupert? Do that someplace else. Anyhow"- he descended into a brief coughing fit- "they seem on edge. I've heard them talking to one another, complaining about the way of life on the farm. I hear everything, you know." That was true. The donkey had been around, well, for donkey's years, and occasionally joked that he'd been born before their grandfathers. Rupert and all the other animals trusted him instinctively- perhaps it was no surprise that he'd been able to overhear the cows. "One of them even said that they were sacred."
"Sacred?" Rupert's ears perked up. "What a load of cobblers. That's just one of them silly myths they tell, innit? Sacred." He lifted his leg again and took a great bite of hay, belching a moment later. "I hope you told 'em where to 'ead in."
"I did no such thing! Really, Rupert, you can be uncouth at times. No, I would never have done that. Imagine what they'dve thought."
"I dunno...mate." No one knew the donkey's birth name. "All seems a bit daft, you ask me. Besides, us porkers run the place! Not as if..." The donkey kicked him as lightly as possible, his hoof stinging Rupert's side. "What was that for, you-"
Harranda walked in. He was a hulking, five-year-old Holstein with a brown-and-white coat. "Evening, sir." He nodded his big head to Rupert, who wagged his tail. "And to you." The donkey bleated a wordless greeting. "Is there anything for me, sir Rupert?"
"Er, let me 'ave a look." Rupert took one last gulp of hay, filling his stomach, and trotted off. "Yeah, you can have some of that, but leave us a bit of water. And be quick about it! There's a good lad." Chuckling, Rupert dashed out of the barn and leapt into a nearby mud puddle, squeaking with pleasure as he rolled about, splashing mud everywhere. That's the ticket.
"Really, Rupert!" The donkey had a fresh mudstain on his hide and looked none too pleased. "Haven't you any class?"
"What d'you mean? I'm a bona fide porker, I am. Course I got class."
"Treating Harranda like that- and you wonder why the cows are unhappy." The donkey shook his head. "And you dirtied my coat- I shall have to splash in the river to get this off!" Like a naughty schoolboy, Rupert chuckled and dashed off behind the barn. Two roosters devoid of many feathers were fighting over something. "Evening lads."
"Look here!", screeched one of them, "why don't you sort it out, Rupert? Paul"- he gestured to the other bird- "wants to deprive me of all my grain and I will not stand for it!"
"How dare you, Georges? That is a barefaced lie!" And they were at it again, pecking, scratching, and clawing. A moment later, however, they squawked in terror and took wing for a few moments. The farm's dachshund Willy dashed up to Rupert, a bone in his mouth.
"Ah, hello Rupert. I trust you are well?" Willy was the fattest dog Rupert had ever seen, his belly stretching to the ground, and an accident many years ago had left one of his paws deformed. Despite that, he was a bloody fast animal. "Silly hens."
"Allo Willy." The pig spoke cautiously- he'd never got on well with the dog and didn't trust him. "Wot d'you want?"
"Well, I've been having a chat with the cows, you see. They are, eh, none too pleased with you, ja?"
"Why?" Rupert frowned, scratching the ground with his hoof. What had he done?
"They say, my friend, that they want to take this farm back for themselves! It was theirs once, you know." That's ridiculous. Rupert had been born on the farm, and so had all the other animals- it didn't belong to the cows any more than it belonged to Willy, or to the bickering roosters. "I don't believe it, mate." Before Willy could reply, the sound of heavy footsteps came his way. Harranda and half a dozen other cows approached, scowling as much as a cow can scowl.
"Ah, there you are! Now, we have been thinking." Have you? First bloody time for everything. Given that he was surrounded by none-too-friendly animals quite capable of beating the pulp out of him, making the wisecrack seemed ill-advised. "About this place, and about you porkers."
"Ha...have you? Listen 'ere, I'll have you know that..."
"It was a paradise before you lot came here!" Harranda stomped his hoof. "We had it all to ourselves- grass as far as the eye can see, clean rivers to drink from, everything a bovine could want. All animals were equal, there were no great mud puddles for your use-"
"What on earth's wrong with mud puddles? We 'ave em everywhere; they keep you clean!"
"We cannot abide it, Rupert. You and all your porkers- out. That is our final word." Rupert couldn't speak. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide and his tail drooping. It just wasn't possible. All this- the farm on which he'd grown up, his favourite mud puddle, all of it- was it now gone? How was he guilty for having been born here? How was he at fault for enjoying this farm as his birthplace just because he was a swine? "Get knotted, mate. This is my home too, you know, and I won't stand for..."
He never finished his sentence.
Harranda brought his hoof down on Rupert's curly pink tail, crushing it. He howled in pain and scurried free, dashing off the farm. Freedom? He scoffed. The cows might have their freedom, but he had lost his. Everything he had on the farm was gone.
Rupert would have to make his way back home... somehow.
"Trouble ahead", said the old donkey. "You mark me words, trouble ahead."
"How d'you mean?" Rupert the pig took a bite of hay- not the freshest he'd ever had, but not too bad.
"Well, it's like this, see. Haven't you noticed? The cows seem a bit... on edge?"
"On edge?" Rupert frowned. He hardly ever thought about the cows. He'd been born on the farm and grown up side-by-side with them. Of course, everyone knew the rule- pigs were above cows- but that was only on paper. Rupert liked cows. Some of his best friends were cows. "Why would they be on edge?" He snorted and lifted his leg- the old donkey turned up his nose.
"Haven't you any decency, Rupert? Do that someplace else. Anyhow"- he descended into a brief coughing fit- "they seem on edge. I've heard them talking to one another, complaining about the way of life on the farm. I hear everything, you know." That was true. The donkey had been around, well, for donkey's years, and occasionally joked that he'd been born before their grandfathers. Rupert and all the other animals trusted him instinctively- perhaps it was no surprise that he'd been able to overhear the cows. "One of them even said that they were sacred."
"Sacred?" Rupert's ears perked up. "What a load of cobblers. That's just one of them silly myths they tell, innit? Sacred." He lifted his leg again and took a great bite of hay, belching a moment later. "I hope you told 'em where to 'ead in."
"I did no such thing! Really, Rupert, you can be uncouth at times. No, I would never have done that. Imagine what they'dve thought."
"I dunno...mate." No one knew the donkey's birth name. "All seems a bit daft, you ask me. Besides, us porkers run the place! Not as if..." The donkey kicked him as lightly as possible, his hoof stinging Rupert's side. "What was that for, you-"
Harranda walked in. He was a hulking, five-year-old Holstein with a brown-and-white coat. "Evening, sir." He nodded his big head to Rupert, who wagged his tail. "And to you." The donkey bleated a wordless greeting. "Is there anything for me, sir Rupert?"
"Er, let me 'ave a look." Rupert took one last gulp of hay, filling his stomach, and trotted off. "Yeah, you can have some of that, but leave us a bit of water. And be quick about it! There's a good lad." Chuckling, Rupert dashed out of the barn and leapt into a nearby mud puddle, squeaking with pleasure as he rolled about, splashing mud everywhere. That's the ticket.
"Really, Rupert!" The donkey had a fresh mudstain on his hide and looked none too pleased. "Haven't you any class?"
"What d'you mean? I'm a bona fide porker, I am. Course I got class."
"Treating Harranda like that- and you wonder why the cows are unhappy." The donkey shook his head. "And you dirtied my coat- I shall have to splash in the river to get this off!" Like a naughty schoolboy, Rupert chuckled and dashed off behind the barn. Two roosters devoid of many feathers were fighting over something. "Evening lads."
"Look here!", screeched one of them, "why don't you sort it out, Rupert? Paul"- he gestured to the other bird- "wants to deprive me of all my grain and I will not stand for it!"
"How dare you, Georges? That is a barefaced lie!" And they were at it again, pecking, scratching, and clawing. A moment later, however, they squawked in terror and took wing for a few moments. The farm's dachshund Willy dashed up to Rupert, a bone in his mouth.
"Ah, hello Rupert. I trust you are well?" Willy was the fattest dog Rupert had ever seen, his belly stretching to the ground, and an accident many years ago had left one of his paws deformed. Despite that, he was a bloody fast animal. "Silly hens."
"Allo Willy." The pig spoke cautiously- he'd never got on well with the dog and didn't trust him. "Wot d'you want?"
"Well, I've been having a chat with the cows, you see. They are, eh, none too pleased with you, ja?"
"Why?" Rupert frowned, scratching the ground with his hoof. What had he done?
"They say, my friend, that they want to take this farm back for themselves! It was theirs once, you know." That's ridiculous. Rupert had been born on the farm, and so had all the other animals- it didn't belong to the cows any more than it belonged to Willy, or to the bickering roosters. "I don't believe it, mate." Before Willy could reply, the sound of heavy footsteps came his way. Harranda and half a dozen other cows approached, scowling as much as a cow can scowl.
"Ah, there you are! Now, we have been thinking." Have you? First bloody time for everything. Given that he was surrounded by none-too-friendly animals quite capable of beating the pulp out of him, making the wisecrack seemed ill-advised. "About this place, and about you porkers."
"Ha...have you? Listen 'ere, I'll have you know that..."
"It was a paradise before you lot came here!" Harranda stomped his hoof. "We had it all to ourselves- grass as far as the eye can see, clean rivers to drink from, everything a bovine could want. All animals were equal, there were no great mud puddles for your use-"
"What on earth's wrong with mud puddles? We 'ave em everywhere; they keep you clean!"
"We cannot abide it, Rupert. You and all your porkers- out. That is our final word." Rupert couldn't speak. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide and his tail drooping. It just wasn't possible. All this- the farm on which he'd grown up, his favourite mud puddle, all of it- was it now gone? How was he guilty for having been born here? How was he at fault for enjoying this farm as his birthplace just because he was a swine? "Get knotted, mate. This is my home too, you know, and I won't stand for..."
He never finished his sentence.
Harranda brought his hoof down on Rupert's curly pink tail, crushing it. He howled in pain and scurried free, dashing off the farm. Freedom? He scoffed. The cows might have their freedom, but he had lost his. Everything he had on the farm was gone.
Rupert would have to make his way back home... somehow.
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Ah, good Orwell! Never change, regardless of the timeline... Subtle as a hammer!
I think I may have a plan for the man in this universe- I see a spot for him in the notes for my British canon.
Thanks for commenting!
I like this one...I feel like you did quite well in writing in hos style, so kudos for that
Oh, thanks! Very kind of you. I tried really hard to ape his style... nice to know I did alright.
IT was a children's book so it didn't have to be as meaty as his other work
Glaring error - the Nizams of Hyderabad were Muslim, their widows would never commit sati and such a thing would absolutely never be expected of or even contemplated by a Muslim widow. It is completely un-Islamic and haram, totally alien to Islamic beliefs and Muslim culture. Muslims are also forbidden from being cremated so her dead husband wouldn’t even have a funeral pyre for her to burn on. Sati was a strictly Hindu practice and had been outlawed by the British for decades in India.
I’m also a bit surprised at the ferocity of the four main Rajput princes against the British, as traditionally they were very content and loyal under British rule. Also while the Rajputs, a specific aristocratic warrior caste, give their name to the historical region of Rajputana, most of the inhabitants of this deeply stratified region are not Rajputs but rather the lower caste people the Rajputs reign over. The British (and Mughals before them) were conscientious about maintaining the upper caste position and privileges of the Rajputs, which guaranteed their loyalty to the Crown. It doesn’t make sense to me for these staunch aristocratic Rajput princes to join a mass rebel movement that is supported by Indian commoners. They certainly wouldn’t call their fellow Rajputs, even if they are minor princelings that they want to conquer, “un-Indian”, as they don’t have an attachment to the concept of “India” as a nation-state. Also, the collective name for inhabitants of this area is Rajasthani, not Rajputunanian.
Sorry if it seems like I am being very critical, just wanted to highlight some areas that break believability in your otherwise excellent story. I am enjoying reading it very much. This board has several India experts (I am certainly not one) who you might like to consult if you want good info about India. @Madhav Deval is the most knowledgeable imo.
I’m also a bit surprised at the ferocity of the four main Rajput princes against the British, as traditionally they were very content and loyal under British rule. Also while the Rajputs, a specific aristocratic warrior caste, give their name to the historical region of Rajputana, most of the inhabitants of this deeply stratified region are not Rajputs but rather the lower caste people the Rajputs reign over. The British (and Mughals before them) were conscientious about maintaining the upper caste position and privileges of the Rajputs, which guaranteed their loyalty to the Crown. It doesn’t make sense to me for these staunch aristocratic Rajput princes to join a mass rebel movement that is supported by Indian commoners. They certainly wouldn’t call their fellow Rajputs, even if they are minor princelings that they want to conquer, “un-Indian”, as they don’t have an attachment to the concept of “India” as a nation-state. Also, the collective name for inhabitants of this area is Rajasthani, not Rajputunanian.
Sorry if it seems like I am being very critical, just wanted to highlight some areas that break believability in your otherwise excellent story. I am enjoying reading it very much. This board has several India experts (I am certainly not one) who you might like to consult if you want good info about India. @Madhav Deval is the most knowledgeable imo.
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@Kaiser Wilhelm the Tenth this is correct, and honestly, I can't believe I didn't catch this myself. The Nizam would instead have been buried, while if Sir Pershad wanted to get the Nizam's wives out of the way, he might have had them sequestered, or have convinced the most important of them to back him up. Nevertheless, expect the harem to be a hotbed of intrigue.
Wow, thanks for commenting! I am certainly not an India expert (more of a China man) and apologise for my lack of knowledge! Thanks for providing suggestions as to what's wrong; I will absolutely get rid of the sati line.
My apologies for confusing Rajput/Rajasthani- will fix pronto.
No need to worry about being highly critical- there's nothing better for me than constructive criticism, and it shows that you care enough about the TL to want to make it better!
I'll edit out the bit about sati when I get a chance- but the Nizam's widow will have to find herself suffering a tragic accident before too long. Thanks for commenting!
The poor kid... being forced to leave one's home at 14 must be awful. You're right about Blair being different in this universe... there's a reason why I'm not calling him "George Orwell"...