The Parliament session continued into the evening.
The air was heavy, the kind of silence before a storm.
Dr. B. R. Ambedkar stood up, his voice measured but firm.
He was not a man of hollow slogans. He was a man sculpted by time, by suffering, by cold necessity.
He did not rely on ideology — he relied on experience.
But Saraswati Devi had seen how those very experiences, when weaponized as law, could cripple a nation for centuries.
Ambedkar's tone was calm yet charged.
> "While I think reservation in education for the poor is good," he said,
"we also need social justice. Reservation for the lower castes and tribes is also necessary."
Saraswati looked at him.
Her eyes didn't hold anger — they held dissection.
> "I know where you're coming from," she said. "Before we go further — you also agree that descendants of those who have already benefited from reservation shouldn't receive it again, right?"
Ambedkar nodded slightly.
> "Of course. My idea was for reservations to exist only for ten years. But this… this is also a good approach."
> "Good," Saraswati continued, her tone steady. "Now, to your point."
She paused for a breath, her voice gaining the rhythm of a teacher before a class.
> "You want reservation for the Shudras and various tribes — because many castes have suffered under the old order, under untouchability.
Why did that happen?
Because occupation became caste. Flexible jobs became hereditary prisons. The British made it worse — they drained our wealth and left behind a hollowed society where financial poverty bred social poverty."
She stepped closer to the podium.
> "But tell me, if you give reservation to those you sympathize with, what's stopping others from doing the same?"
The chamber rustled.
> "There is casteism in Islam too — Ahmediyas live in constant fear of death—"
Maulana Azad sprang to his feet.
> "There is no casteism in Islam! Everyone is equal before Allah!"
Saraswati didn't flinch.
> "Every religion claims equality. Yet every community finds new ways to divide itself. Even castes have sub-castes within them.
Religion never taught casteism — people did, twisting divine words to create hierarchies.
Even the Uttarkand of the Ramayana, where Sita is exiled — a fabrication. Not written by Valmiki."
The hall buzzed.
She continued, unfazed.
> "Shudras suffered — so they demand reservation.
Brahmins and artisans were lower castes under the Islamic sultanates — should they demand it too? Remember the Jizya tax?
Two Sikh Gurus were martyred by the Mughals — so Sikhs will demand reservation.
For centuries, everyone has suffered.
But that doesn't mean we destroy merit and the chance of those who can actually excel."
Her voice sharpened.
> "Fifteen percent reservation — from middle school to undergraduate — is enough."
Ambedkar's tone hardened.
> "But social respect cannot come only from marks, Saraswati Devi. Just because someone has money does not mean they are respected."
Saraswati's reply came like a blade.
> "Then why seek respect from those who don't respect you?
I received death and rape threats because I left Islam.
I am here only because I had money. Do you see me demanding reservation for apostates?"
The entire Parliament fell silent.
> "In the end," she said, "money is everything. You want to end caste by institutionalizing caste. You are building a rigid caste system under a new name."
Her voice rose — not in anger, but in clarity.
> "Do you know what will happen?
First SC, then ST.
Then one politician will say — 'my community deserves this too' — OBC.
Then another will say — 'my ancestors suffered from 500 BC to 1000 AD' —
and bit by bit, half the nation will demand seats not by merit but by memory of pain.
Riots will follow. Envy will follow.
The very people you wanted to uplift will be disrespected even more!"
She slammed her hand on the table.
> "A struggling child who worked harder but lost a seat to another just because of caste will hate the system — and the person.
Poverty does not discriminate — everyone is struggling!
This is not some 'my pain is greater than yours' contest!"
She took a deep breath.
> "You don't like your surname because it defines you? Change it.
I changed mine — to Saraswati, because I wish to be 19% like the goddess of knowledge.
To Sinha — because I wish to be 1% as fearless as Devi Durga."
Her voice dropped to a fierce whisper.
> "Look at the British.
Their surnames — Carpenter, Butler, Taylor — were once castes too.
They disappeared when people rose above the label.
We can too. But not if we make discrimination legal."
The Parliament sat frozen.
She looked straight at Ambedkar.
> "Those trying to institutionalize caste in the name of justice will bear the responsibility for a divided India."
Then, slowly, she picked up the printed draft of the Education Bill.
> "I will not allow such destructive discrimination to pass while I am alive.
Until this ends — I will not eat. I will not drink.
I will fast — not for religion, but for equality."
She threw the paper onto the table.
The echo rang across the hall like a verdict.
And without another word, Saraswati Devi walked out of Parliament.
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