Ambedkar stood silently, his gaze distant, as if he were looking not at the chamber around him but at some future he could see more clearly than those present could imagine. His expression carried the weight of someone wrestling not with opposition but with his own certainties being challenged by arguments that would not yield to simple refutation.
Finally, he spoke, and his voice carried a quality that members rarely heard from him—uncertainty mixed with something that might have been hope struggling against experience.
"Minister Sinha, you have articulated concerns that I confess I had not adequately considered. The danger of permanent caste categories becoming entrenched in law, of reservation becoming a right rather than a temporary remedial measure, of the very mechanism meant to create equality instead perpetuating the divisions it was meant to heal—these are real risks."
He paused, and the chamber was so quiet that the sound of the ceiling fans seemed loud in comparison
"I have spent my life fighting for Dalit dignity and rights. I have endured humiliations that many in this chamber cannot imagine—being denied water, being forced to sit separately, being told that my very presence pollutes spaces that others occupy freely. I drafted constitutional provisions for reservation because I believed—I still believe—that centuries of systematic oppression require systematic legal remedy."
His voice grew quieter but somehow more intense.
"But I also recognize that law is a blunt instrument. It can mandate behavior but it cannot change hearts. It can create access but it cannot guarantee respect. And if, as you suggest, caste-based reservation creates new forms of stigma that undermine the very achievements it makes possible—if Dalit doctors and lawyers carry permanent asterisks beside their credentials that lead others to question their capabilities—then perhaps the remedy is worse than the disease it treats."
Several members gasped audibly. This was Ambedkar expressing doubt about a position that had been central to his political program, that had defined much of his advocacy for the past decade. It suggested either that Saraswati's arguments had genuinely persuaded him or that he was positioning for some strategic purpose that was not yet clear.
Saraswati's expression remained carefully neutral, but Anirban could see the slight relaxation in her shoulders, the way her hands loosened their grip on the podium. She had reached him—not converted him entirely, but created genuine intellectual doubt about whether his proposed solution would actually achieve his intended goals.
Ambedkar continued, his voice carrying the cadence of someone thinking aloud rather than delivering prepared remarks.
"Your proposal for economic reservation has merit. It targets actual inability to afford education rather than making assumptions about disadvantage based on identity categories. It avoids creating permanent classes of beneficiaries by excluding descendants. It maintains merit as the primary criterion while acknowledging that poverty creates real barriers to demonstrating merit."
He looked directly at Saraswati.
"And your point about stigmatization is one I cannot easily dismiss. I have seen how reservation beneficiaries in current systems face assumptions of incompetence, how their achievements are discounted because others believe they did not truly earn their positions. If we are creating legal structures that undermine the very people they are meant to help, then we need to reconsider our approach regardless of how deeply we are committed to the principles that motivated it."
The chamber was absolutely transfixed. This was not Ambedkar capitulating or conceding defeat—it was something rarer and more valuable: a serious thinker honestly engaging with arguments that challenged his foundational assumptions and acknowledging that perhaps he needed to adjust his positions in light of new perspectives.
"However," Ambedkar said, his voice firming, "I cannot in good conscience fully endorse your proposal. My concerns about the depth of caste discrimination, about the cultural barriers that transcend economic circumstances, about the urgency of providing immediate rather than future relief—these remain. I am not convinced that economic reservation alone will adequately address the specific disabilities that Dalits face."
He paused, seeming to make a decision.
"Therefore, I will abstain from the vote. I will not vote against your proposal because I recognize its merits and because I believe you are genuinely trying to solve problems rather than simply defending privilege. But neither can I vote for it because I am not certain it will achieve the social transformation that India desperately needs."
The admission was stunning in its honesty. Political leaders, particularly those with Ambedkar's stature, rarely acknowledged such profound uncertainty in public forums. The expected behavior would have been to either support or oppose, to rally followers behind clear positions. Abstaining, particularly with such frank explanation of internal doubt, was an act of intellectual courage that transcended normal political calculation.
Saraswati bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment of Ambedkar's position, her expression carrying respect for someone who had been willing to engage substantively rather than simply defending predetermined positions.
"Dr. Ambedkar, I thank you for seriously considering these arguments," she said, her voice carrying genuine appreciation rather than triumphalism.
"I hope that as we implement economic reservation and see its effects, you will continue to evaluate whether additional measures are needed. I am not claiming to have perfect answers. I am claiming that we must build systems that heal divisions rather than institutionalizing them, even when that requires abandoning approaches that seem intuitively just."
She turned to address the full chamber.
"I recognize that many of you remain unconvinced. I recognize that my proposal asks you to trust that economic intervention will address problems that have historically been understood as primarily social rather than economic. But I ask you to consider this: every alternative that has been proposed—caste-based reservation, religious minority protection, tribal autonomy provisions—requires making identity categories permanent in law. Once we do that, we create political incentives for communities to maintain those identities rather than transcending them."
Her voice carried a warning edge.
"We will have succeeded when no one knows or cares about anyone else's caste, when religious identity is private choice rather than public marker, when tribal heritage is cultural pride rather than legal category. But we cannot reach that goal by making caste and religion the basis for state benefits. We can only reach it by saying: these categories end here, they cease to have legal meaning, and every citizen is equal before the state regardless of birth or belief."
The Speaker, who had been silent throughout the extraordinary exchange between Saraswati and Ambedkar, finally intervened as the evening had stretched toward nine-thirty and exhaustion was becoming palpable throughout the chamber.
"The hour is late and the debate has been thorough," he said, his voice carrying the authority of someone who recognized that further discussion would generate more heat than light. "I propose that we proceed to vote on the Policy as presented by Minister Sinha, incorporating the structures and reservation provisions she has outlined. Members will have three options: vote yes in support of the proposal, vote no in opposition, or abstain if they are uncertain."
He paused, scanning the chamber.
"Given the significance of this vote and the complexity of the issues, I will allow a brief recess—fifteen minutes for members to consult with colleagues, to consider the arguments they have heard, to make final decisions about how they will vote. We will reconvene at nine forty-five for the actual vote."
The gavel fell, and immediately the chamber erupted into motion. Members clustered in groups according to various affiliations—party, caste, region, ideological orientation.
Heated discussions broke out as people tried to convince each other, as those who remained uncertain sought guidance from those with clearer positions, as political calculations collided with genuine moral convictions.
Anirban remained in his seat, watching the dynamics unfold with the careful attention of someone who understood that these informal consultations often mattered more than formal debates. He could see Jagjivan Ram in intense discussion with other Scheduled Caste representatives, clearly wrestling with whether to oppose Saraswati's proposal despite Ambedkar's qualified acceptance of its merits. He could see Muslim League members arguing among themselves about whether economic reservation would actually protect their community's interests or whether they needed to hold out for explicit religious minority provisions.
He could see Congress members torn between party loyalty—supporting a minister appointed by their own Prime Minister—and ideological commitments to social justice as they had understood it during the independence movement. He could see traditionalists who had opposed Saraswati on curriculum now facing a different question: whether to support her on reservation because it avoided giving legal sanction to caste categories they philosophically objected to, or to oppose her because economic criteria might still result in many Dalit beneficiaries.
Patel made his way over to Anirban's position, moving with the careful deliberation of someone whose energy was finite and had to be husbanded carefully.
"This is going to be close," he said quietly, settling into the chair beside Anirban. "Too close to predict. Ambedkar's abstention helps—it gives permission for others who respect him to vote yes without feeling they are betraying Dalit interests. But many members remain convinced that economic reservation alone is insufficient."
Anirban nodded, his expression troubled.
"Sardarji, regardless of how this vote goes, we have set something in motion today that will not easily be contained. The Congress Working Committee will certainly call me to account within days. They will demand explanations for why I appointed someone who challenged party orthodoxy so fundamentally, who has created divisions where they expected consensus."
Patel's smile was thin but genuine.
"Yes, they will. And you will face that challenge when it comes. But beta, look around this chamber. This is democracy functioning as intended—not as rubber stamp for predetermined positions but as genuine deliberation where arguments matter, where minds can change, where the outcome remains uncertain until votes are counted."
He paused.
"Whether you win or lose this vote, you have demonstrated that serious governance is possible in India. That we can debate difficult issues without descending into violence, that we can consider multiple perspectives without fracturing into irreconcilable factions, that we can make hard choices based on evidence and reasoning rather than just emotion and tradition."
Anirban appreciated the perspective but could not entirely suppress his anxiety about the political consequences. This was not just about education policy—it was about establishing precedents for how the new government would operate, about demonstrating whether merit and evidence-based policymaking could triumph over identity politics and historical grievance.
The fifteen minutes passed quickly. Members slowly returned to their seats, conversations dying as the Speaker prepared to reconvene the session. The chamber's atmosphere had changed subtly—the earlier anger and passion had given way to something more subdued, as if everyone recognized that they were about to participate in a decision whose consequences would echo far beyond education policy.
At nine forty-five precisely, the Speaker's gavel fell.
"The session is reconvened. We will now proceed to vote on the Education Policy proposal as presented by Minister Saraswati Sinha. Members will vote by rising when their choice is called. All those in favor, please rise."
Throughout the chamber, members stood—some immediately and confidently, others after brief hesitation, still others looking around to see who else was standing before committing themselves. Anirban counted quickly, his mind tallying numbers automatically even as his anxiety increased with each moment the count continued.
The clerks moved through the chamber with practiced efficiency, recording names and confirming counts. After several minutes that felt like hours, the head clerk approached the Speaker and whispered the result.
"Those voting in favor: one hundred and eighty-four," the Speaker announced, his voice neutral.
"All those opposed, please rise."
Another wave of standing members, this time clearly fewer but still substantial. The counting process repeated, and after another interval the Speaker received the result.
"Those voting in opposition: one hundred and sixty-one."
The mathematics were immediately obvious to everyone present. With a total membership of four hundred and two in the Provisional Assembly, and with one hundred and eighty-four in favor and one hundred and sixty-one opposed, that left fifty-seven who had abstained—following Ambedkar's lead or simply unable to decide.
"The measure passes," the Speaker declared, and his gavel fell with finality that seemed to echo beyond the chamber walls, beyond the evening darkness, into futures that none of them could fully envision.
The margin was narrow—twenty-three votes—close enough that different speeches, different arguments, different political maneuvering might have changed the outcome. Close enough to be frightening for those who supported it, knowing how easily it might have failed. Close enough to be maddening for those who opposed it, knowing how close they had come to defeating it.
But it had passed.
The chamber erupted in mixed reactions. Some members applauded, others sat in stunned silence, still others gathered in angry clusters clearly preparing to organize opposition that would not end simply because the vote was complete. This was not conclusion but beginning—the start of implementation battles that would test whether the passed policy could survive contact with political and social realities.
Saraswati stood at the podium, her expression carefully neutral despite what must have been profound relief. She had achieved what she set out to accomplish, had navigated perhaps the most treacherous political terrain imaginable for a first-time minister, had convinced enough members to support a radical departure from expected policy despite fierce opposition and her own controversial background.
But she was too intelligent to celebrate. She knew what Anirban knew: that narrow victories created as many problems as they solved, that the minority who opposed would not simply accept defeat but would work to undermine implementation, that the real test would come not in legislative chambers but in classrooms and examination halls and university admissions offices where policy met reality.
As members began filing out of the chamber, their conversations continuing in the corridors beyond, small clusters remained behind—those seeking to process what had occurred, to understand implications, to begin planning next steps whether those involved defending the new policy or organizing against it.
Ambedkar walked slowly toward the exit, his expression distant and troubled. As he passed near where Saraswati still stood gathering her materials, he paused briefly.
"Madam Minister," he said quietly, his voice carrying none of the public formality but instead something more personal, "I support you. But I cannot agree with you. That is why I abstained."
Saraswati turned to face him directly, and for a moment they stood in silence—two brilliant minds who had genuinely engaged with each other's arguments, who had found common ground even while remaining divided on fundamental questions.
"Dr. Ambedkar, I thank you for your honesty and for seriously considering these arguments," she replied, her voice equally quiet. "I hope that time will demonstrate whether this approach can achieve the social transformation we both seek. If I am wrong—if economic intervention proves insufficient—I will be the first to acknowledge it and advocate for corrections."
Ambedkar nodded slowly, then continued toward the exit, leaving Saraswati alone with her thoughts and her uncertain victory.
Anirban made his way toward where Patel stood watching the chamber empty, and together they observed the various reactions playing out in real time.
"After today the CWC will surely question you regarding this in few days," Patel said, his tone matter-of-fact rather than worried but clearly flagging a political challenge that could not be avoided.
"Nehru in particular will be angry—he has staked his reputation on being the voice of minorities and marginalized communities, and this policy cuts against his entire approach to social justice."
Anirban nodded, having anticipated exactly this consequence.
"Let them question. I will explain that competent governance sometimes requires challenging party orthodoxies, that we cannot build a functional nation by simply following paths of least political resistance. If they want to remove me over this, they are welcome to try—but they will have to explain to the public why they dismissed a Prime Minister who was actually getting things done."
Patel's expression suggested he appreciated Anirban's defiant stance even if he worried about the political costs.
"The vote was closer than I would have liked," he observed.
"Twenty-three votes is a narrow margin. Any significant defections and this would have failed."
"But it did not fail," Anirban replied. "And that matters more than the margin. We demonstrated that evidence-based policy can triumph over identity politics when arguments are made clearly and forcefully. That precedent will serve us well in future battles."
They fell silent, watching the last members depart,
observing the particular dynamics of who left with whom, which conversations seemed friendly versus hostile, who was already planning opposition versus who might become allies in implementation.
Near the exit, a cluster of members who had voted in favor were engaged in animated discussion, their voices carrying back into the chamber despite the late hour and obvious exhaustion.
"I voted yes because Ambedkar abstained," one was saying, a Scheduled Caste representative from Bihar whose initial inclination had clearly been opposition. "If he could not bring himself to oppose it despite his reservations, then perhaps there is merit in this approach that I had not adequately considered."
Another member, a Congress loyalist from Bombay, responded with clear discomfort in his voice. "I voted yes because the Prime Minister appointed her and I trust his judgment. But I am not convinced this will work. Economic reservation seems inadequate to address problems that are fundamentally social rather than economic."
A third voice, belonging to a young member from Madras who had been part of the progressive wing of Congress, offered a different perspective. "I voted yes because I am tired of politics based on grievance and identity. We need to build a forward-looking nation rather than constantly relitigating historical injustices. If this policy fails, we can adjust—but at least we are trying something new rather than simply perpetuating systems that have not worked elsewhere."
In another cluster near the opposite exit, members who had voted against the measure were conducting their own post-mortem analysis, their tones carrying frustration mixed with determination to continue fighting despite the legislative defeat.
"This is betrayal of everything we fought for during independence," one was saying, a passionate voice that carried genuine moral conviction. "We promised marginalized communities that freedom would bring justice, that the new India would actively correct historical wrongs.
And now we tell them: compete on merit against those who have always held every advantage? This is not equality—this is abandonment dressed up as principle."
Another responded with tactical rather than ideological concerns. "The vote was close. Twenty-three votes. We can organize opposition during implementation, we can demand amendments, we can use state-level assemblies to create supplementary reservation provisions that achieve what this national policy denies. This is not over."
A third member, older and more pragmatic, offered caution that suggested experience with political battles that continued long after votes were counted.
"Be careful about opposing implementation too aggressively. The public mood right now favors merit-based systems—there is exhaustion with identity politics after partition's horrors. If we are seen as demanding special treatment for our communities while the nation is still bleeding from communal violence, we will lose sympathy and political capital that we will need for future battles."
The conversations continued as members dispersed into the night, each processing the day's events through their own ideological frameworks and political calculations, each beginning to position for the next phase of struggle whether that involved defending or attacking what had been passed.
Anirban and Patel remained in the chamber after everyone else had departed, the two of them alone among the empty benches and scattered papers, the detritus of democratic process that would be cleaned by morning staff before the next day's session.
"She is remarkable," Patel said finally, breaking the contemplative silence. "I have seen many talented people in my years in politics. But rarely have I encountered someone who can combine intellectual rigor with political courage the way Saraswati Devi demonstrated today. She did not just present policy—she waged intellectual warfare against deeply held beliefs and emerged victorious despite every disadvantage of age, gender, and controversial background."
Anirban smiled faintly.
"Yes. She is exactly what I hoped to find when I took this position—someone who understands that building a nation requires more than good intentions and stirring speeches. It requires willingness to make hard arguments, to challenge comfortable assumptions, to accept political costs in service of policy goals that might not bear fruit for decades."
He paused, then added more quietly, "The question is whether India can sustain such people. Whether we can create space for those who prioritize evidence over emotion, who refuse to be bound by orthodox positions, who insist on intellectual honesty even when it is politically inconvenient."
Patel stood slowly, preparing to depart, but he placed a hand on Anirban's shoulder in a gesture that conveyed both support and warning.
"That question will be answered in the coming weeks and months, beta. The Congress Working Committee will not be gentle in their interrogation. Nehru will be particularly harsh because you have implicitly rejected his entire approach to social justice. Regional leaders will resist implementation because economic reservation gives them less patronage to distribute than caste-based systems would. And traditionalists will attack from the other direction, claiming you have not gone far enough in dismantling caste categories."
His grip tightened slightly.
"You will need to defend her and this policy with the same force she used to advocate for it. You cannot allow political pressure to lead you to compromise away the principles she articulated. If you do, if you begin making exceptions and accommodations to placate various constituencies, the entire framework will collapse and we will end up with the worst of both worlds—neither genuine merit-based competition nor comprehensive social support, just a chaotic patchwork that satisfies no one."
Anirban met his eyes.
"I understand, Sardarji. And I will not compromise. Not because I am certain this policy is perfect—I recognize that implementation will reveal problems we cannot currently anticipate. But because the principle must hold: we are building a nation of citizens, not a federation of identity groups competing for state resources. That principle cannot be negotiated away regardless of political pressure."
Patel nodded, satisfied with the answer even if uncertain about whether Anirban would be able to maintain that stance when facing the full force of Congress opposition.
As they finally departed the chamber together, walking through corridors that were now dark and empty except for occasional guards maintaining nighttime security, Anirban found his mind drifting between the Whats happened now what will be it's consequences.