A New India
Chapter 200 - 200: Words can Kill

While India and Egypt were working on the secret deal, halfway across the world the western power were busy finding something.

Something that can change the whole narrative of this battle.

The British Foreign Office was knee-deep in reports on Gamal Abdel Nasser, their attention zeroed in on his slim, unassuming book, "The Philosophy of the Revolution."

To Nasser, this book was a manifesto, a vision for an Arab world free from colonial dominance.

But here, in London's dimly lit, wood-paneled rooms, it was ammunition.

A junior analyst skimmed through Nasser's passages, his brow furrowing as he hit on one particularly bold line. "Here," he muttered to his superior, sliding the book over.

"Look at this, he's practically proclaiming himself the leader of all Arabs."

The man beside him, a seasoned diplomat who'd spent years working in Cairo, snorted. "He's not content with just Egypt. He's staking a claim over the entire Middle East."

He flipped through the pages, scanning Nasser's description of three zones: the Arab zone, the African zone, and the Islamic zone.

"This man isn't a nationalist," he said, disgust edging his voice.

"He's an emperor in waiting."

Across the Channel in Paris, similar scenes were unfolding.

French Premier Guy Mollet was meeting with his advisors.

The Algerian movement of Independence was gaining weight and now Nasser's words seemed like fuel to the fire.

One of his advisors spoke up, holding a French translation of Nasser's book. "He calls for unity across Africa, not just the Arab world. He's practically inviting Algeria to rise up."

Mollet's face darkened as he flipped through the pages.

"Africa's fight against colonial rule,'" he read aloud, then looked up. "He's painting us as tyrants, the very image we've worked so hard to erase. And yet he sits on the throne in Cairo, as self-righteous as any emperor."

The advisor nodded, his voice low. "He's dangerous, sir. The Arab world is listening to him. This is more than a canal. This is about influence."

In Washington, John Foster Dulles sat in his office with a copy of the book spread open before him. "'The Arab zone, the African zone, the Islamic zone.'"

He closed the book and looked up at his aide, his gaze hard. "This isn't just about one country or one canal. He wants an empire, one that stretches from North Africa to Southeast Asia, all with Cairo at its heart."

The aide looked uncertain. "But sir, it's just a vision, words on a page."

Dulles's eyes narrowed. "Words are dangerous. A man like Nasser doesn't write things like this without meaning them. He's trying to unite people under a banner that excludes the West. If we let this go unchecked, it's the Soviets all over again, except this time, they'll be wearing robes and keffiyehs."

The aide shifted, glancing at the book. "What do you propose, sir?"

Dulles leaned forward. "We make sure everyone knows exactly what he's after. Let's not let Nasser play the underdog. He's not fighting for Egypt's independence, he's fighting for domination."

Messages began circulating in Western capitals.

British and French diplomats spread the word that Nasser wasn't merely defending Egyptian sovereignty.

He was building an empire of ideology, one that had the potential to threaten stability across three continents.

Eden in London and Mollet in Paris began calling in their allies, framing Nasser's manifesto as more than just a personal vision.

In diplomatic circles across Europe and the Middle East, Nasser's words were being turned against him.

At a meeting with Turkish officials, a British envoy laid out the case plainly.

"He talks about the Arab zone, the African zone, and the Islamic zone as if he has a claim over them," the envoy said. "Imagine that an entire region united under one man's rule, a rule that disavows the West, rejects our values. Do you think he'll respect your borders?"

The Turkish official glanced down at the book, frowning. "And you think he can pull it off?"

"With Soviet support? Absolutely," the envoy replied. "If we don't take a stand now, he'll turn the entire Middle East and North Africa into his own bloc."

In Paris, French diplomats were equally forceful.

They brought the book to Italy, showing their counterparts the most incendiary passages, highlighting Nasser's call for an African continent free from European influence.

The French envoy leaned forward, his tone conspiratorial.

"He wants to expel us from Africa," he said, his voice low. "And once we're gone, he'll bring Africa under his thumb. We're not just talking about a visionary here. We're talking about a dictator waiting for his chance."

Meanwhile, in New Delhi, Prime Minister Rohan read through the British dossier with a growing sense of disdain.

Reading the Western analysis of Nasser's words, he felt a rising wave of frustration.

"Hypocrites," he muttered, tossing the document onto his desk.

K.P. Singh (MEA) seated across from him, raised an eyebrow. "They're framing him as a megalomaniac."

Rohan laughed, a harsh sound. "And what were they, for centuries? Rulers of colonies from India to Africa, kings and queens over lands they never set foot in. But when an Arab leader talks about uniting his people, they call him a tyrant."

K.P. nodded "They're using his own words to bring other nations into the fold. Turkey, Italy Iran they're all being warned that if Nasser succeeds, their own borders are at risk."

Rohan sighed, rubbing his temples. "It's brilliant, really. They're twisting his message to sound like imperialism, when all he's asking for is freedom from theirs. This conference in London, it's not about negotiation. It's a show trial, a way to drag Nasser's reputation through the mud before the world."

He sat back, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the ceiling. "They talk about stability and order, but what they mean is control. They want the world to fear him, to see him as some despot waiting to expand. But the truth is, he's a threat because he's one of them, a man with power, ambition, but this time, one who isn't European."

The minister leaned forward. "What will our position be at the conference? They'll expect us to condemn him, especially after they've spread these claims."

Rohan shook his head. "No. We'll speak the truth. We won't paint Nasser as a saint, he's not. But we'll remind them of their hypocrisy. We'll remind them that for centuries, they preached about civilization while stripping lands bare. Now they call it tyranny when a man says he wants his people to stand on their own."

Across the world, leaders grappled with the conflicting narratives.

The press in London and Paris ran articles framing Nasser as a despot, citing his vision for an "Arab empire."

In the United States, journalists debated his ideology, some sympathetic to his anti-colonial stance, others echoing Dulles's warnings of a new threat.

And in Cairo, Nasser sensed the shifting tide.

He knew the British, French, and Americans were using his book against him, twisting his words to depict him as an egomaniacal conqueror.

An aide entered his office, holding up a copy of a London newspaper. "They're calling you a dictator, saying you want an empire."

Nasser smirked, taking the paper. "They fear me," he said quietly. "Not because of my words, but because I speak their language. I know their game, and I'm playing it better."

The aide nodded, though there was worry in his eyes. "They've called for a conference in London. They're bringing in nations from around the world, showing them your philosophy as if it's a manifesto for conquest."

Nasser's smile faded, his eyes hardening. "Let them," he said. "They may twist my words, but they can't twist the truth. The Arab world knows what this is really about. This isn't about power, it's about dignity, freedom."

One of his advisors spoke up hesitantly. "Sir, their words are powerful. Even here, some question if we can stand against the West. They see your vision as a gamble, a risk that could backfire."

Nasser nodded, acknowledging the truth in his advisor's words. "I understand. They want us to be afraid, to doubt ourselves. But remember this: they've been telling us what's best for us for generations. And look where it's gotten us, poverty, dependency, borders that cut through our people like knives."

The room fell silent. Nasser continued, his voice rising. "I'm not here to conquer. I'm here to liberate. To show the Arab world, and all of Africa, that we can stand on our own feet. This isn't about me. It's about us, about refusing to live on our knees."

Meanwhile, in London, Eden and Mollet finalized their preparations for the conference.

They'd been careful in crafting the narrative, selecting passages from Nasser's book that made his ambitions seem reckless, dangerous.

Eden addressed his advisors, his tone confident. "We've done our part. We've shown the world that Nasser isn't some hero. He's a man with ambitions that could engulf the entire region."

Mollet nodded. "Now we wait. If they see him as we do, they'll stand with us. If they don't…" He left the sentence unfinished, a evil look on his face.

In Washington, Dulles watched with satisfaction as nations responded to the narrative he'd helped build.

One by one, countries expressed concern over Nasser's philosophy, fearing that his words were indeed a blueprint for a new, defiant empire.

He turned to his aide, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Sometimes, words are more powerful than any army," he said. "Let Nasser write his manifestos. We'll make sure the world sees them for what they really are, a threat."