Chapter 70 #2
His words were meant to slow the growing exodus from the party — something neither Shaurya nor the leadership could afford at that moment.
Yet openly pleading with them to stay would have projected weakness, and in politics, visible weakness only erodes authority further.
Shaurya and Mr. Subramanian understood this well, so instead, they framed the decision as a matter of the members' own accountability and long-term political survival.
The room finally settled into uneasy focus.
Outside, the media storm continued to rage. But, inside, panic had turned into cautious calculation.
Shaurya himself had not spoken a single word during the entire meeting except for his little introduction about Mr. Subramanian. He stood quietly near the window, listening as his team explained the strategy.
Because right now, he was not trying to win applause.
He was trying to outlast the storm... long enough for the tide to turn.
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"So? What's your next plan, Shaurya? I can see the tide turning, but there are still people out there opposing you for removing their favorite leader. The fact is, you didn't remove him — you only denied him a party ticket," Mr. Subramanian asked, watching Shaurya, who was deep in thought.
"Mr. Subramanian, I need a list of constituencies affected — ranked from highest to lowest based on the level of anger against me.
Mark the constituencies I have already visited in red.
Conduct approval surveys in those areas — before and after my visit.
I want real-time data on this. Assign a dedicated team to handle it," Shaurya said.
Mr. Subramanian nodded immediately. He appreciated precision. Panic could be emotional — strategy could not.
At that moment, Akansha entered the study. Shaurya stood up instinctively.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked.
"Of course... take a seat," Shaurya replied, pulling a chair out for her.
Mr. Subramanian raised his brows slightly at the gesture — not in mockery, but in observation. Shaurya Shekhawat, the Chief Minister facing a political storm, still noticed whether his wife had a chair.
"Oh! By the way, this is Mr. Subramanian — I told you about him," Shaurya said, introducing them.
Akansha greeted him politely.
Mr. Subramanian assumed she wanted privacy and began to excuse himself, but she stopped him.
"I want you to stay, Mr. Subramanian. Actually, I have an idea about Shaurya's upcoming campaign, and I'd like you to hear it."
"Gladly, Mrs. Shekhawat," he responded, amused but curious.
The woman standing before him was younger than his decades of experience — but confidence radiated from her. And after hearing Shaurya call her a visionary the other day, he genuinely wanted to witness her thinking for himself.
"I prefer Akansha. Or Dr. Akansha is fine too," she said respectfully — but firmly.
"Alright, Dr. Akansha," he replied. "Go ahead. What's the plan?"
Akansha glanced at the stationery on Shaurya's desk. He immediately understood. Without a word, he picked up a marker and handed it to her.
She began outlining her idea.
Her central thought was simple — divert public attention from the internal political drama to governance, development, and tangible benefits delivered during Shaurya's first term as Chief Minister.
Unbeknownst to her, this had already been the foundation of the PR strategy Mr. Subramanian and the team were building. But he didn't interrupt. He wanted to hear her structure it in her own way.
"I know you're planning to visit constituencies," she began.
"And yes, some people are opposing your decision to deny tickets to their leaders.
But you still have a strong base there. However, it won't take long for the opposition to create a consolidated negative narrative about you.
To avoid that, you need to address the core emotion — anger. "
She turned slightly toward Shaurya.
"Visit those constituencies. But don't address supporters. Address only the angry crowd."
Mr. Subramanian's eyes sharpened.
As a professional strategist, he had thought along similar lines — but hearing it articulated so cleanly by someone outside politics surprised him.
"Let me show you," Akansha said, drawing two circles on the board.
"This is your core supporter base. You don't need to cater to them — they already believe in you."
She marked another circle.
"This is the group that dislikes you. Hardcore opposition. No matter how much development you do, they will remain against you. Addressing them is a waste of time."
Then she shaded the middle overlapping section.
"But this... this chunk is crucial. These are the persuadable voters. They are angry — but not hateful. They can be reasoned with."
She turned back toward them.
"These people need patience. Don't respond to their anger with accusations about their leader.
That will only antagonize them further. Don't call their leader corrupt — that will make them defensive.
Instead, take responsibility. Lead them toward the truth.
Let them reach the conclusion themselves. "
She paused before continuing.
"That's step one. Step two — and this is important — make the entire state witness your outreach to these angry voters. A targeted approach. Let people see who you really are. Calm. Composed. Calculative. Visionary. A man who doesn't fear change. A leader who works for people — and people alone."
She met Shaurya's eyes directly.
"I'll post these videos on my account as well. The opposition keeps trolling you about your family life. Seeing your wife publicly support your campaign will be a masterstroke."
She went on to explain further layers — amplification cycles, digital engagement strategy, timing of releases, narrative framing.
When she finished, Shaurya was smiling — not as a politician, but as a husband who felt proud.
Mr. Subramanian began clapping slowly.
"I've been in this profession for forty years," he said.
"I believed no one could match my thinking.
Most of what you just said was already part of our framework — but there are insights I can incorporate from you.
I wanted you actively involved in the campaign, but Shaurya specifically instructed me not to involve you. "
"I still stand by that, Mr. Subramanian," Shaurya cut in firmly.
He turned to Akansha.
"I'll follow everything else you said. But not this. I don't want to drag you into this mud. I'll handle it."
Akansha shook her head.
"My social media is under my control, Shaurya. You don't get to dictate that. I'll do what I think is right."
She turned to Mr. Subramanian with a slight smirk.
"And you know what needs to be done, don't you?"
He smiled knowingly. He understood perfectly — amplification through strategic distribution.
"Of course, Dr. Akansha."
She left before Shaurya could continue the argument. He made a mental note to convince her later.
Mr. Subramanian watched her leave.
"Seems like you don't need me anymore. You have an excellent strategist at home."
"I told you you'd enjoy meeting her. She's a visionary," Shaurya replied. "But you will not amplify her involvement. I don't want to use my wife or my child to win elections."
"You're not using them. She wants to support you," Mr. Subramanian countered.
But Shaurya was immovable.
Mr. Subramanian sighed and nodded. Shaurya's stubbornness was frustrating — and ironically, it was the same trait that had made him hire the young man years ago.
Implementation begins...
Over the next few days, Shaurya began executing the layered strategy — structured jointly by Mr. Subramanian and Akansha.
His convoy entered Bhairavgarh constituency without fanfare.
No grand stage.
No party flags.
No celebratory music.
Only a modest community hall — already echoing with angry voices.
This constituency belonged to one of the senior leaders denied a ticket. Shaurya did have support here — but he had deliberately chosen to engage the persuadable yet angry segment first, just as Akansha had advised.
And they were not quiet.
"Go back!"
"Traitor!"
"You used him and threw him away!"
Security tightened instinctively, but Shaurya raised his hand slightly — signaling restraint.
Inside, barely fifty chairs were filled. Outside, hundreds shouted.
Local workers sat stiffly, unsure whether to defend him or distance themselves.
Shaurya picked up the mic without introduction.
"I know you're angry."
"You destroyed our leader's career!" someone shouted.
"You sit in AC rooms and talk about honesty while we struggle!" another voice accused.
A man walked toward the stage, finger pointed. Security stepped forward again — but Shaurya gestured them back.
"Say everything you want," he told the man calmly. "You deserve to speak."
For nearly fifteen minutes, accusations flew.
Betrayal.
Ego.
Political drama.
Personal vendetta.
He did not interrupt.
When the shouting slowed, he finally spoke.
"If you believe I acted out of personal hatred," he said quietly, "then you shouldn't vote for me."
The room fell silent.
"I didn't come here to convince you in one meeting. You trusted this party before you trusted me. I respect that loyalty. But I will not ignore wrongdoing simply because someone was powerful."
No slogans.
No emotional theatrics.
Just uncomfortable honesty.
"So you think we're fools for supporting him?" someone challenged.
"No," Shaurya replied steadily. "I think you supported someone you believed in. And now you feel that belief has been insulted. That's human."
A woman stood up.
"Then why didn't you act earlier?"
He didn't evade.
"Because I trusted the wrong people for too long. That is my mistake."
Phones recorded everything.
The meeting ended without applause.
Some still shouted outside.
Some refused to look at him.
But one clip went viral that evening:
A Chief Minister standing alone, letting anger pour over him — and responding without anger.
Accountability.