16 September 1947 – Delhi
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I. The Voice of a Nation
The clock struck 6:30 a.m.
The chill of dawn still clung to Delhi's air as a thin mist drifted over Connaught Place.
The trams had begun to roll, the milk vendors shouted, and the smell of coal smoke mingled with cardamom tea.
Then, from the open windows of homes, tea stalls, post offices, and railway waiting halls, came the familiar crackle of All India Radio.
> "This is All India Radio, Delhi. Last evening, the Parliament witnessed one of the most passionate addresses since the transfer of power. Nizam Saraswati Sinha, now Member of Parliament and ruler of Hyderabad State, delivered a speech challenging the misuse of religious property laws and calling for a secular, practical, and united India…"
Every syllable carried weight.
It wasn't mere news — it was an awakening.
In Chandni Chowk, tea-sellers replayed it from loudspeakers borrowed from repair shops.
In Madras, fishermen huddled by the docks, listening through battery radios.
In Lahore refugee camps, displaced families sat around bonfires, murmuring:
> "She said, 'No different law for different faiths.' She spoke for us."
And in Hyderabad, the city she had tamed only a week ago, her portrait hung beside the tricolor, garlanded with marigolds.
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II. The Streets of Delhi
At a small tea stall near Parliament Street, morning papers arrived in bundles tied with string.
The headlines bled ink and fire:
> "THE LIONESS OF PARLIAMENT ROARS: 'NO DIFFERENT LAW FOR DIFFERENT FAITHS!'"
"NIZAM OF HYDERABAD CHALLENGES NEHRU ON SECULARISM."
"SHE FAINTS AFTER FIERCE SPEECH — ANIRBAN SEN CARRIES HER OUT OF HALL."
Groups of clerks, postmen, college students, and hawkers gathered around the stall.
The newspaper vendor's voice was hoarse from shouting:
> "Read how she silenced them all! Read how Patel smiled and Nehru froze!"
A student murmured, "She called them thieves — the British, the hypocrites."
An older man replied softly, "She only said what we all felt. For years we kept quiet — she said it for us."
A woman passing by with her children added, "If she's Nizam, then Hyderabad belongs to the people. Maybe Delhi will, too."
Every corner hummed with her name — Saraswati.
She was no longer just a political figure. She had become a symbol — the mirror of conscience for a nation unsure of its own voice.
---
III. Inside the British Embassy
At the same hour, in the pale marble halls of the British High Commission, tension was thick.
The High Commissioner, Sir Archibald Waverton, read the transcript of the speech aloud, his eyebrows knitting tighter with each line.
> "...the country of thieves that even stole the jewels of the Taj Mahal..."
He sighed, removing his spectacles.
"Mr. Jenkins," he muttered to his aide, "I believe we've found the first Indian politician with the courage to insult an empire to its face."
Jenkins, nervous, asked, "Should we send a protest to the External Affairs Ministry?"
Waverton smiled faintly.
"Protest? My dear boy, no. That woman just buried our moral authority in this land. Sending a protest would only prove her right."
He closed the file.
"Mark my words — if she lives long enough, India will not just write its own constitution. It will write its own destiny."
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IV. Diplomatic Ripples
By noon, telegrams flew across continents.
In Washington, the Indian envoy reported that U.S. senators were quoting Saraswati's words as "proof of India's independent mind."
In Paris, a journalist compared her to Joan of Arc — "the saint who dared lecture kings."
In London, the Times called her speech "incendiary but visionary."
In Pakistan, the Cabinet fumed, calling her "Hindu imperialist in sari."
Pakistan's Foreign Office even issued a statement claiming,
> "Hyderabad's accession is illegitimate. Miss Saraswati's speech shows India's dictatorial intentions."
But India was unmoved. The train of destiny had already left the station.
---
V. The Prime Minister's Chamber
In Delhi, the Prime Minister's chamber at South Block was quiet except for the slow tick of a brass clock.
The scent of fresh ink and sandalwood filled the air.
Files lay open on the table — one marked "Property of Migrated Persons, Waqf,Church and Religious institutions Bill", another "Constitution Draft Revisions."
Anirban Sen, Prime Minister of the Interim Government, stood by the window, hands behind his back.
His gaze was steady, but there was the faintest smile curling at his lips.
Across the room, Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel read the newspaper with a straight face — yet his eyes glinted like tempered steel.
Jawaharlal Nehru entered without knocking.
> "Good morning," he said curtly. "I assume you've both read the headlines?"
Anirban didn't answer. He folded his hands, as if waiting for a cue in a chess game.
Nehru threw the newspaper on the table.
> "The whole country is talking about that woman's speech. Foreign embassies are asking questions. Even the Muslim League's papers are calling it 'a fascist declaration.'
You're the Prime Minister, Anirban. Isn't it your move Anirban?"
Anirban looked up slowly, his dark eyes unreadable.
> "Maybe," he said softly. "Or maybe not."
Nehru frowned.
> "What's that supposed to mean?"
Anirban's voice was measured, calm as the Yamuna before a storm.
> "It means, Panditji… Sayed haa aur nahi bhi."(Perhaps yes, perhaps not.)
The answer infuriated Nehru.
> "You're playing riddles while the country burns in headlines!"
Patel chuckled under his breath.
> "At least headlines burn cleanly," he murmured. "Better than cities."
Nehru ignored him.
> "She insulted the judiciary, attacked religious trusts, even mocked Britain publicly! You call that discipline?"
Anirban finally turned to him.
> "Discipline," he said quietly, "is knowing when to speak truth even when it's inconvenient.
She didn't attack — she diagnosed."
Patel folded the newspaper neatly.
> "She did what none of us could in this hall — she told the people what secularism actually means.
And for once, the people understood."
Nehru leaned forward, eyes flashing.
> "You think her words will help the republic? She's setting fire to its foundation!"
Patel met his gaze with granite calm.
> "Sometimes, Jawaharlal, you must burn weeds before you can plant the field."
Silence settled.
The only sound was the slow turn of the ceiling fan.
---
VI. Saraswati's Recovery
Meanwhile, in her temporary residence at York Road, Saraswati woke to the sound of birds.
Her head still throbbed faintly from the fainting spell, but she was already seated on the balcony, pen in hand, notebook open.
The table beside her was stacked with newspapers — most praising, some condemning.
Rohini entered quietly with tea.
> "You've caused an earthquake, Didi," she said with a grin. "Half of Delhi's debating your speech."
Saraswati smiled weakly.
> "Good. Earthquakes are better than stagnation."
She took a sip of tea and flipped open her notebook.
On the first page, she wrote a single heading in bold strokes:
> "BNS — Bharatiya Nyaya Samhita"
(To replace the Indian Penal Code of 1860)
She had been thinking of it for months — how the IPC, a colonial skeleton, treated Indians like subjects, not citizens.
How it punished without understanding.
How it presumed guilt where it should have sought reform.
Now, after last night, she knew the time had come.
Her pen moved quickly:
> "Laws made by conquerors must be buried by the free.
Justice cannot breathe in borrowed language.
The Bharatiya Nyaya Samhita shall begin where conscience meets equality."
She underlined the last sentence twice.
Then she looked out toward the hazy skyline of Delhi.
The domes of the Assembly gleamed in sunlight.
A faint smile touched her lips.
> "Now the real battle begins."
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VII. Conversations Over Tea and Telegrams
Back in South Block, Anirban poured tea for himself and Patel, ignoring Nehru's pacing.
> "Do you know what she's writing right now?" he asked Patel.
Patel raised an eyebrow.
> "Let me guess — another speech?"
> "Worse," Anirban said with a faint grin. "A new legal code."
Nehru stopped pacing.
> "What?"
> "The Indian Penal Code is an imperial relic," Anirban said. "She wants to replace it with something Indian — Bharatiya Nyaya Samhita."
Patel leaned back in his chair.
> "Hmm. Ambitious. But timely."
Nehru sighed.
> "And what next? Replace English with Sanskrit? Replace Parliament with a Gurukul?"
Patel's tone hardened.
> "Don't mock her, Jawaharlal. You've spent too much time in Europe to recognize conviction when it's homegrown."
Anirban finished his tea and placed the cup down with quiet finality.
> "She speaks what many of us think but cannot say.
The people trust her because she doesn't hide behind philosophy. She acts."
He looked directly at Nehru.
> "If she's wrong, history will correct her.
If she's right, history will remember her."
---
VIII. Across the Nation
By afternoon, her words had become part of everyday speech.
In Bengal, young lawyers debated at coffee houses.
In Bombay, industrialists sent telegrams offering to fund her proposed Delhi Local Train System.
In Lucknow, law students copied her speech by hand as study material.
In Amritsar, refugees named their new settlement "Saraswati Nagar."
The Times of India editorial declared:
> "In one night, India's moral axis has shifted from idealism to realism."
The Indian Express wrote:
> "Saraswati Devi has forced the nation to confront its illusions — and it will not be the same again."
Even in London, the Financial Chronicle grudgingly admitted:
> "The woman has succeeded where empires failed — she has made Indians argue about principles."
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IX. The Private Meeting (Evening, 16 September)
At dusk, the trio met again — Anirban, Nehru, Patel — in the Prime Minister's residence.
The city glowed outside in gaslight and monsoon mist.
Through the window, faint echoes of radio chatter drifted — AIR was replaying Saraswati's speech excerpts every hour due to public demand.
Nehru stood by the gramophone, frowning.
> "She's dangerous, Anirban," he said finally. "People adore her too easily. That kind of emotion in politics— it's combustible."
Anirban leaned forward, elbows on his desk.
> "Emotion built this country, Pamditji. Logic will keep it alive. And she embodies both."
Patel chuckled.
> "Besides, she's your antidote. While you dream in poetry, she writes in fire."
Nehru's irritation softened to weariness.
> "Maybe you're right," he muttered. "But how long before that fire burns even us?"
Patel folded his arms.
> "Then we learn to stand closer to the flame without turning to ash."
---
X. The Radio Announcement
At exactly 8:00 p.m., the radio in the corner crackled again.
The voice of the announcer, calm yet charged with meaning, filled the room.
> "This is All India Radio, Delhi.
The Prime Minister's Office has just confirmed that under the direction of Prime Minister Anirban Sen and Law Minister Dr. B. R. Ambedkar, a new Legal Drafting Committee is being formed.
The Committee's mandate: to prepare a new code to replace the Indian Penal Code of 1860.
The new framework shall be provisionally titled the Bharatiya Nyaya Samhita."
A pause.
Then the announcer continued, his tone almost reverent:
> "This decision follows the Parliament's recent discussions on legal and property reforms, and is seen as a step toward decolonizing India's justice system."
Silence followed — a silence that was neither shock nor surprise, but destiny.
Patel rose slowly, adjusting his shawl.
> "Well, gentlemen," he said, "the age of borrowed laws is over."
Anirban smiled faintly.
> "If lioness roared. Then it's our duty to listened it."
Nehru stood still, eyes on the floor.
> "And now?" he asked softly.
Anirban looked toward the window, where the lights of Delhi flickered like restless stars.
> "Now," he said, "we write our own rules."