‘Yes, yes. But they will get to know, just a couple of days later. And then, the natives can handle their own mess.’

Radcliffe dabbed his damp forehead. ‘Are you saying that our troops will not help with the relocation of people? There will be an absolute bloodbath if this isn’t handled properly.’

‘Our troops are going home, Cyril. The Indians have long wanted us to leave. Let the new Indian and Pakistani governments take on this challenge themselves,’ said Mountbatten, darkly amused.

Radcliffe felt a dull, cramping ache grip his stomach. ‘I frankly fail to see the point of this exercise. Butchering a country like a leg of lamb—it’s madness!’ he said through gritted teeth.

The static in the telephone line crackled. Lord Mountbatten leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, there is method to the madness, Cyril. Don’t quote me, but this Partition idea was Churchill’s brainchild, helped along by my predecessor, Lord Wavell.’

‘But why . . . what’s in it for them? We’re leaving anyway.’

‘Aha! This is where the plot thickens,’ said Mountbatten. ‘You see, it’s a clever ploy to protect Britain’s strategic interests. Churchill felt that the creation of Pakistan would allow England much-needed control over the port of Karachi, even if we could no longer have all of India. Besides, with India and Russia’s growing closeness, he reckoned that it would be useful to have a “friendly” government in Pakistan that hadn’t done jail time under British rule. Stroke of genius, if you ask me.’

Radcliffe pushed his spectacles higher up the bridge of his nose, as if that might help him see things clearer. None of this made any sense to him.

‘But I was told this Partition was being done because the Hindus and Muslims hated each other so much that they wanted separate countries?’

‘Ah, that’s just the old Divide and Rule tactic. It never fails. And frankly, it makes my job much easier.’

Radcliffe shook his head, utterly disenchanted with the whole affair.

‘By the by, I’ve suggested we hand over power on 15 August, Cyril. It’s the date that Japan surrendered to the Allies, when I was supreme allied commander. It’s a lucky date for me.’

‘What better reason could there be?’ Radcliffe muttered under his breath.

‘Sorry, didn’t catch you there? Awful lot of static in the telephone connection.’

‘Erm, it was nothing. I’ll be in touch, Dickie.’

Radcliffe put down the receiver and slumped forward on his desk, kneading his forehead with his fingers. The ceiling fan overhead whirred slowly, helping neither the heat nor the throbbing in his head.

He looked at all the papers spread out before him. Reams and reams of paper. Survey maps and census figures about the millions who lived in the Punjab and Bengal—the two states that the line would cleave through. In a fit of rage, he swept his arm across the desk, flinging the files across the room.

As the documents lay scattered on the floor, Radcliffe’s eyes fell on the papers at his feet. Staring back at him was the map of undivided India and the line he had drawn through her. As he watched, the wretched line seemed to swell up like a river of blood. A bloody river that rose off the page to engulf him. Radcliffe averted his eyes, unable to face what he’d done.