Date: 21 August 1947
Location: Constituent Assembly, New Delhi
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The chamber of the Constituent Assembly was thick with the humid heat of an August afternoon, made heavier by the smell of ink, paper, and tension. The tricolor draped behind the Speaker's chair fluttered slightly with the ceiling fan's lazy rotations. The echoes of Independence still lingered in the city outside — drums, firecrackers, and spontaneous cries of Jai Hind! — but here, inside this grand hall of debate, the air was different.
This was the new battlefield — one of words, vision, and the fragile birth of a nation.
Anirban Sen sat in the Prime Minister's seat, quiet yet watchful. He didn't interrupt much these days; he preferred to observe. His pen tapped gently on the mahogany desk before him, the sound a faint metronome to the chaos around.
Mountbatten had already been stripped of real power. The Assembly had, to its credit, agreed upon the flag and emblem without much drama. But as the agenda turned toward education and minority rights, the old colonial habits returned — shouting, moral posturing, and endless, meaningless arguments.
That was when Saraswati Sinha rose from her seat.
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The Rising Voice
"So," she began, her voice slicing cleanly through the noise, "it seems that many people here don't have any vision of what's important."
The murmurs ceased. Even the Speaker straightened in his chair. Saraswati's posture was calm, composed — regal almost, though she had never flaunted her birthright as the eldest daughter of the Nizam of Hyderabad. Her eyes, sharp and unflinching, scanned the hall like a teacher studying an unruly class.
"It's India," she said simply.
"A country that you guys want to be a secular country. Meaning every community will have the same rights — and will be under the same laws. That's what secularism means. But I think you don't understand meaning of that word that's why you giving some communities special privileges. stripping women and children of their rights because of someone's medieval book. You have a Pakistan next door. I'm sure they'll take you in."
The chamber exploded. Shouts rose from benches of conservative members — some in shock, others in outrage. One man slammed the table and began shouting over her words.
Saraswati didn't even flinch.
"No shouting in Parliament," she said, with the dispassionate tone of a judge. "You're ruining the decorum and wasting the nation's time. Every second wasted here is a loss to the country."
A hush fell over the room — not from agreement, but submission. Even the loudest of critics seemed momentarily unsure whether to argue or apologize.
"Anyway," she continued, "unlike some of you, I've prepared a draft for one of the most important issues — education. Mr. Speaker, may I present it?"
"Permission granted," the Speaker said quickly, sensing both danger and relief.
She placed a thick, fifty-page document on the central podium. A few clerks hurriedly began distributing printed copies. Anirban leaned slightly forward, lips curling into the faintest smile.
He had seen this side of her only once before — the ferocity beneath the scholar's grace. It was the same intensity he'd seen in revolutionaries before a march, in generals before a battle.
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The Prelude
"While the printer finishes giving everyone a copy," Saraswati said, "I'll begin with the prelude."
She flipped to the first page.
"Let's start with why education is important — and which kind of education we need."
A few Congress members rolled their eyes. She ignored them.
"I'll begin," she said, "by quoting one of the greatest thieves in the history of the world — a British one, of course — Thomas Babington Macaulay."
A ripple of nervous laughter passed through the chamber. Anirban could barely hide his grin.
"At that time," she continued, "India's literacy rate was over 95%. England's was below 20%. So, to 'civilize' us, Macaulay decided to introduce an education system from a backwater island that didn't even have a language of its own. English, for a fact, is a Germanic tongue."
Some laughter again, nervous but honest this time.
"We, on the other hand, have thousands of languages — each a world in itself — developed by our ancestors. Macaulay didn't just rewrite our education; he rewrote our history. He took everything from us — our science, our mathematics, our literature — and stamped it with his own empire's name."
She turned a page. "The entire number system — from natural to irrational — was discovered here, in India. What did the British do? They left us an 'O' for zero and credited the rest as Arabic!"
Someone chuckled loudly, and even the Speaker couldn't resist a smile.
"Calculus," she went on, "wasn't discovered by Newton. Gravity neither. Madhava of Kerala developed calculus a century before Newton was born. But the British conveniently erased him from history. The same with geometry, astronomy, medicine — everything rewritten to suit the empire's ego."
Her tone hardened. "And then they created propaganda to justify it — the so-called Aryan Invasion Theory. A complete lie. There's no evidence for it. In fact, texts like the Battle of Ten Kings prove migrations went out of India, not in. My own research, including genetic studies, confirms that so-called 'Aryans' and 'Dravidians' are nearly identical — while Europeans are genetically distant."
Her words landed like cannon fire in the Assembly. Some members whispered frantically. Others scribbled notes as if trying to keep up with her logic.
Anirban, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, watching the storm unfold with quiet amusement.
> She speaks like a weapon, he thought. Every word sharpened by truth, not ideology. If only the old men here could see that.
---
The Educational Reformation
Saraswati continued:
"The colonial education system destroyed our Gurukul model, replaced it with Christian convents built from stolen Indian wealth, and then used those same schools to brainwash us into self-hatred."
Her voice lowered, calm again, but every word was deliberate.
"To undo that," she said, "we must start fresh. Hence, I propose the creation of a Central Board of Education (CBE) — the only body authorized to print and distribute core subject textbooks nationwide. Whether a school is private or public, it will follow the same standard for mathematics, science, and civic education."
Gasps filled the room. This was radical — national control of curriculum, unheard of in a land barely born.
"Each state," she added, "can add regional material — local languages, geography, history — but the core of education must remain Indian and scientific. I have already prepared textbooks from Kindergarten to Class 10, and for Class 11 to 13 in Mathematics, Physics, and Chemistry, written in Inglish — a simplified form of English for Indian students that's oversees by My University ."
Someone muttered something about religious schools. She paused, then said firmly:
"Religious schools cannot be called schools. Their certificates will hold no educational value."
The chamber erupted again. Some members pounded their desks in protest.
Anirban smiled — the smile of a man watching a thunderstorm he secretly prayed for.
> This is what it should sound like, he thought. Not endless poetry and platitudes, but truth — raw, uncomfortable, unstoppable truth.
---
The Duel
Maulana Azad and Neheru and there inner circle started to protest against it.
The Speaker tried to calm the room. "Everyone will get the chance to speak."
Saraswati looked directly at Maulana Azad. "Mr. Speaker, I'd like to debate Mr. Azad on education — since he was, apparently, Mr. Nehru's choice for the Education Ministry."
The chamber held its breath.
"I was raised in a Muslim household," she said evenly. "I had home tutoring before I studied abroad. So I'm not unfamiliar with religious education. Let's discuss what real education is."
Azad nodded slowly. "Very well."
Saraswati's eyes glinted. "If you were the Education Minister, would you have included the Direct Action Day Genocide in our history books — its causes and consequences?"
"Of course," Azad replied, though uneasily. "In Class 12, perhaps."
She raised an eyebrow. "You do realize most students never study history past Class 10? By your plan, only future teachers would even read it."
Azad looked trapped. Saraswati pressed on.
"You say it's too graphic for children. Then what about Jallianwala Bagh? The 1857 War? The Red Fort Trials?"
"Well—" he hesitated.
"So you'll teach British massacres but not those caused by our own?" she asked sharply. "The Bengal famine? Mothers feeding opium to starving children? Wells filled with corpses?"
The hall went silent again.
"Our children have seen worse," she said quietly. "You underestimate them. They deserve to know the truth — raw and unfiltered — so that it doesn't happen again. That's what education is. Not selective memory. Not polite lies."
---
When she finally sat down, the chamber was stunned into silence. Even her loudest critics seemed momentarily thoughtful.
Anirban closed his pen and leaned back, hiding his smirk behind a thoughtful pose.
> This, he thought, is the India I wanted to see — one where truth is debated, not feared. Where intellect leads, not lineage. Maybe Patelji is right — maybe Saraswati is the mind this century will remember.
He glanced at the draft copy before him, the heading printed in bold:
"The Saraswati Model of National Education"
(Draft I — For Discussion and Revision)
And for the first time that day, Anirban allowed himself to think —
> Perhaps I am not alone . Seeing Saraswati how she handling this Anirban say in his heart that there are many who can help him to achieve the goal he dream.