CHAPTER 75: CHAPTER 68: CONSCIENCE OF THE CONSTITUTION

Delhi – Dr. Ambedkar’s Residence – 17th December 1948

The light from the lamp flickered over the pages that were spread out on Dr. B.R. Ambedkar’s desk. Drafts of the Constitution, articles, and legal notes, all of them carrying the weight of a nation’s future. He rubbed his tired eyes and leaned back in his chair.

The leather creaked softly in the quiet room.

Delhi was sleeping under a winter fog, but he couldn’t sleep. How could he? He had gotten the copy of the draft Constitution from K.M. Munshi, and it was right in front of him.

No, it wasn’t just a draft of the constitution; it was a puzzle, and he was starting to see how it all fit together. "A republic that is sovereign, culturally rooted, technologically advanced, militarily secure, and fair." The words of the preamble stared back at him, looking quite noble and inspiring.

But there was something empty about them, like an echo in a room that wasn’t full. Dr. Ambedkar had seen a lot of changes in the past forty years, but nothing like this year. During the chaos of Partition, a relatively young history professor named Arjun Mehra somehow became Prime Minister.

What happened next was beyond what anyone could have imagined. The first thing that happened was a sudden conflict that crushed Pakistan in barely three months. Then India’s dramatic entry into the UN Security Council.

Land reforms that ended hundreds of years of feudalism in a single night. Unusual deals with other countries that have fueled industrial growth. And as if this was not enough, next came the state re-structuring bill that redrawn the map lines like an expert putting toy blocks back together.

It was very impressive. And at the same time, very scary. Ambedkar remembered the shocking headlines in the newspapers. Pakistani agent killed Nehru and Maulana Azad.

After that, Indian politics became eerily quiet. The philosophical voices of the old guard of Congress, who used to fill party meetings with heated, and sometimes pointless debates, had simply... disappeared from public view.

Some people said they were going to retire right away. Others said they had health problems. Some said they wanted to be with their family. But Ambedkar knew these guys, they were all about politics.

He couldn’t prove it, but their retreat at the same time felt wrong to him. He can see that not many of them are getting older, and with the recent news about Nehru, Maulana Azad, and Gandhi, some of them may have decided to leave politics. But all of them?

Then came the strangest development of all. The Bharatiya Jana Dal had emerged as the new opposition party, complete with conservative rhetoric and nationalist fervor.

It was the majoritarian leaning party in disguise, something that he was firmly against. But the thing was, one of the leading figures this movement, aside from Savarkar, was none other than Indira Gandhi, daughter of the very Nehru who had championed the values of socialism and secularism.

Ambedkar shook his head at the absurdity. A young woman, barely in her thirties, suddenly becoming the frontier of opposition to the government that had supposedly killed her father. Just like Mehra. What the hell was happening? Was it so easy for young people to lead the politics nowadays?

It made no sense, unless...unless there was more to it than meets the eye. He picked up his pen and tapped it against the desk, a habit from his student days. As a member of the ’revamped’ Congress, he had closely watched the new Prime Minister work.

The man was brilliant, no question. His policies showed results. But there was something unsettling about his methods, the way dissent simply melted away, how decisions were implemented with machine-like precision.

Ambedkar’s eyes returned to the constitutional draft. On paper, it looked magnificent. Fundamental rights for all citizens. Freedom of speech, religion, assembly.

Revolutionary concepts for a nation emerging from colonial rule. But the devil, as always, lay in the details. "Freedom of Thought, Faith, and Expression," he read aloud, then continued in a whisper, "except when endangering national unity or inciting violence."

The phrase seemed innocent enough. Who could argue against protecting national unity? Who would defend violence?

[A/N: If only he knew]

But Ambedkar had seen how such language could be twisted. Who would decide what endangered national unity? The same government that had so efficiently silenced its critics? He flipped to the section on property rights.

"Right to Property, subject to national development needs." Again, that careful qualifier that could justify almost anything. Need to seize someone’s land? Simply declare it necessary for national development.

Want to shut down a newspaper? Claim it threatens social harmony. Every freedom came wrapped in duties to the state. Every right balanced by responsibilities that the government could define as it pleased.

The judiciary section made his stomach turn. Yes, there would be a Supreme Court, but the appointment process gave the executive significant influence. The "Nyayagati Yojana" promised swift justice, but swift for whom?

The Law Enforcement Officers (LEO) sounded more like a private army than a judicial body. Then came the criminal code. Ambedkar’s hands trembled slightly as he read the definitions of serious crimes.

Forced conversions, rape, communal incitement, terrorism, sedition, espionage, national sabotage, all punishable by decades in prison or death. The definitions were breathtakingly broad.

What constituted "communal incitement"? Could his own speeches about caste discrimination be twisted to fit that description? What about "national sabotage"? Could criticism of government policy be interpreted as sabotage if it undermined public confidence?

But the cruelest stroke was perhaps the political disqualification clause. Anyone convicted of these broadly defined crimes would lose their citizenship rights forever. Not just imprisoned, but civically dead.

It was elegant in its brutality. No need for midnight arrests or mysterious disappearances. Simply expand the definition of treason, convict your enemies in court, and they ceased to exist politically.

Ambedkar stood and walked to his window, gazing out at the sleeping city. Somewhere out there were millions of his people, the Dalits, the Scheduled Castes and Tribes who had suffered under caste oppression for centuries. They had believed independence would bring them justice.

His eyes quickly fell upon something that made his heart race with conflicting emotions, Article XII: Anti-Segregation Law. He read and reread the clauses again and again, his pulse quickening with each word.

These clauses were his lifelong dreams, now enshrined in the highest law of the land. For a moment, tears blurred his vision as he contemplated the magnitude of what he was reading. A direct, frontal assault on the very concept of caste, stronger and more absolute than he had ever dared hope in his most optimistic moments.

The brilliance of it, the radical intent, was undeniable. He could almost feel the weight of centuries of oppression beginning to lift from his shoulders and the shoulders of his people. This was the kind of change he had fought for his entire life.

And yet, even within this Article, there was no mention of reservations. No explicit guarantee of positive discrimination to lift up those who had been pushed down for so long.

The clause "Birth shall no longer determine any category of entitlement; only merit, verified hardship, or proven capability shall" seemed progressive on the surface, but it directly countered the need for affirmative action to overcome centuries of systematic disadvantage.

It was a brilliant, cynical twist, abolishing caste while denying the tools his people would need to truly rise above their imposed limitations. It meant they would compete on a level playing field created by law, but still burdened by the crushing legacy of millennia.

How could a Dalit child, whose family had been denied education and opportunity for generations, compete purely on "merit" with a Brahmin child born into privilege, connections, and accumulated advantages?

The preamble spoke beautifully of equality, but equality without acknowledgment of historical injustice was just another form of oppression.

"Equality where no entitlement exists without equal accountability." The phrase mocked him. How could there be equal accountability when people started from such unequal positions?

He slammed his fist on the windowsill, startling a crow from its perch outside. The bird flew away, free to seek better shelter. But what about those who couldn’t fly away from injustice? The anti-caste provisions would win praise from progressives worldwide.

They would make headlines, inspire speeches, and cement Arjun’s reputation as a reformer.

But without reservations, without affirmative action, without acknowledgment that centuries of oppression required more than legal prohibition to overcome, these beautiful words would remain largely symbolic.

Ambedkar had spent his life fighting for the voiceless. He had written books, given speeches, endured ridicule and threats. All for the dream that one day, the lowest could stand equal with the highest.

Now that dream was being strangled in the cradle by beautiful words and legal loopholes. Walking back to his desk, he picked up the telephone with steady hands. The operator, Prime Minister’s secretary, connected with him quickly.

"Please inform Prime Minister Mehra," he said with his firm voice, "that I request a meeting with him at the earliest. The matter is reading constitutional draft, and urgent. Such matters cannot wait."

He hung up and looked once more at the draft constitution. Tomorrow, he would face the architect of this new India. Not with violence or crude opposition, but with the one weapon that had never failed him, the truth.

The clock chimed midnight as he began preparing his arguments. Dawn would bring a reckoning between two visions of what India could become. One built on control disguised as order, the other on justice that acknowledged hard truths.

Dr. B.R. Ambedkar had never backed down from a fight for his principles. And he surely wasn’t about to start now.