For a long minute after Saraswati Devi left, the hall stayed wordless.
Her empty chair looked like an accusation.
Then, slowly, Prime Minister Anirban Sen rose.
He didn't shout. His voice came low, the way thunder sounds when it's still far away.
> "Friends, we are here to build a nation, not burn one in argument."
He looked first at Ambedkar, then at the doorway through which Saraswati had gone.
> "Both of them are right—partly.
Saraswati speaks for merit, Ambedkar for justice.
And both forget that when money and opportunity change hands, people change too.
A man who gains wealth often stops being the same victim he once was.
Power transforms both the oppressor and the oppressed."
He walked slowly toward the centre table.
> "So let's take a middle road.
For the next decade, reservations will be economic-based and social-based—a two-tier system.
One list will protect those below defined poverty lines; another will recognise those facing genuine social discrimination verified by census and independent review.
Every ten years, Parliament will reopen this debate.
We'll look at new data, new realities, new definitions of who needs the hand up.
No privilege will be permanent; no disadvantage eternal."
He turned to the Speaker.
> "This clause must be written into the Education Bill—automatic parliamentary review after ten years.
No government shall skip it."
There was murmuring across the benches—some relief, some resentment—but no open protest.
For the first time that day, the chamber felt less like a battlefield and more like a forge.
Anirban Sen folded his hands.
> "Let this be recorded. India will not build its future on resentment.
We'll build it on opportunity, reviewed by truth."
Outside, news cameras were already waiting for Saraswati's response.
Inside, Ambedkar sat silent, tapping the desk—thinking.