27 August 1947 – 7:00 AM, All India Radio, New Delhi
The morning broadcast crackled through radio sets across the subcontinent, carrying news that would reverberate from London to Washington to Moscow. The announcer's voice, trained in the precise diction of All India Radio, delivered each word with deliberate emphasis.
"This is All India Radio. We bring to you the morning bulletin from the capital. Yesterday, the interim Parliament Session passed the National Agricultural and Industrial Credit Institutions Executive Act. Under its provisions, the Prime Minister's Office has formally recognized the establishment of the National Bank for Agriculture and Rural Development, the Industrial Credit and Investment Corporation of India, the National Infrastructure and Investment Fund, the State Bank of India, Union Bank of India, and the Indian Post Bank as executive financial bodies of the present Dominion and future Republic."
The announcer paused, allowing the magnitude of the announcement to settle before continuing.
"Experts worldwide are calling this the boldest economic restructuring undertaken by any newly independent nation. Financial observers in London, Washington, and Moscow are analyzing the implications of India's decisive break from colonial financial structures. International commentary suggests that India's new government is moving with unprecedented speed to establish sovereign economic institutions independent of British oversight."
Another pause, this one pregnant with expectation.
"And now, the world waits for Prime Minister Anirban Sen's next move."
The broadcast faded into the familiar signature music of All India Radio, leaving behind a trail of anticipation that hung thick in the Delhi morning air like the monsoon humidity that pressed against every window and doorway in the capital.
Prime Minister's Office, South Block, 7:03 AM
The small brass clock on the corner of the mahogany desk marked the hour with a gentle chime. Prime Minister Anirban Sen leaned back in his leather chair, the morning light breaking through the heavy curtains and spilling across a table covered with maps, legislative drafts, and coded telegrams from state governors and military commanders. He reached forward and turned the volume knob on the AIR receiver, silencing the announcer's voice mid-sentence as the commentary shifted to international reaction.
A faint smile crossed his face, the expression of a chess player who has moved a critical piece while his opponents are still contemplating the board. He rose from his chair with the fluid motion of someone who had not slept more than four hours in the past week but felt more energized than exhausted, buttoning his achkan as he moved toward the tall windows overlooking Raisina Hill.
"The world waits for my next move?" he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible above the ceiling fan's rhythmic rotation. "They should understand by now that the next move is already underway. It has been underway since the moment the flag was raised on August fifteenth."
He gazed through the window toward the horizon where the tricolor fluttered against the rising sun, its saffron, white, and green bands vivid against the pale morning sky. The flag represented possibility, the blank canvas upon which India would paint its future. But possibility without structure was merely chaos with aspirations. What India required now was not rhetoric about freedom but the practical architecture of governance that would make freedom meaningful for four hundred million people.
The financial institutions announced yesterday were the foundation. Today would begin the construction of the superstructure—the institutions of justice, security, and administrative capacity that would transform India from a liberated colony into a functioning republic. He turned from the window, gathered the leather folder marked "Confidential – Internal Security and Reorganization Act," and departed for the Ministry of Home Affairs.
The corridors of South Block were already busy despite the early hour. Clerks hurried between offices carrying files, military officers consulted in hushed tones about the deteriorating situation in Kashmir, and somewhere down the hall a telephone rang insistently. The machinery of government was operating at maximum capacity, stretched thin by the demands of Partition, princely state integration, refugee resettlement, and the thousand other crises that accompanied the birth of a nation. What Anirban was about to propose would add to that burden considerably. But the alternative—preserving the colonial administrative apparatus with its structural inefficiencies and embedded prejudices—would doom India to decades of stagnation.
Ministry of Home Affairs, North Block, 8:15 AM
Inside the Home Minister's spacious office with its high ceilings and tall windows admitting the morning light, Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel sat at the head of a long teak conference table that had served British administrators for generations and would now serve very different purposes. Papers, legislative drafts, and correspondence were arranged before him in precise stacks, each representing a different crisis or priority demanding immediate attention. The organizational discipline that had made Patel the architect of princely state integration was evident in every detail of his workspace.
Across the table sat Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, his eyes showing the fatigue of someone who had spent the previous night revising constitutional clauses but whose intellectual energy remained undiminished. Next to him was R.K. Chetty, the Finance Minister, who possessed the rare quality of being able to translate visionary policies into practical budgets, a skill that would be essential for what was about to be proposed.
The three men had convened at Anirban's request, summoned by a brief note that had arrived at their residences the previous evening indicating that the morning meeting would address matters of fundamental importance to the Republic's institutional architecture. They had learned in the brief weeks since independence that when Anirban used such language, he was invariably planning something that would reshape the nation's trajectory.
Patel adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles and glanced at the clock on the wall. "You have both heard the morning bulletin regarding our financial institutions?"
Chetty nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Indeed. I imagine the clerks at the London Stock Exchange did not sleep peacefully last night. The announcement that India intends to establish sovereign banking institutions independent of British oversight represents a direct challenge to assumptions about continued economic influence through financial dependency."
Ambedkar permitted himself a dry chuckle. "Nor will the senior officers of the old Raj who remain in administrative positions and still believe our institutions are their playground to be managed according to their preferences and prejudices. The financial reforms represent the first concrete evidence that independence means genuine sovereignty rather than cosmetic changes to colonial structures."
Before another word could be exchanged, the heavy oak door opened with the quiet authority that came from well-maintained brass hinges. Anirban Sen entered the room carrying his leather folder, his movements brisk and purposeful, his eyes reflecting the focused intensity of someone who had been mentally rehearsing the coming conversation for days. Despite the early hour and the obvious demands on his time, he appeared more energized than exhausted, drawing vitality from the magnitude of the work ahead.
Patel rose from his chair in a gesture of respect that was both genuine and strategic—the Home Minister's deference to the Prime Minister in front of witnesses established precedent and protocol for the new government. "Good morning, Prime Minister."
"Good morning, Sardaji," Anirban replied, using the honorific that acknowledged Patel's status as the elder statesman of the independence movement. "And to both of you, thank you for accommodating this early meeting. I recognize that all of us are operating with insufficient sleep and excessive demands on our attention. However, what we discuss today will shape not only the nation's present order but its capacity to function effectively for decades to come. The decisions we make in these early months will either enable or constrain everything that follows."
He placed the folder on the table and opened it to reveal the first page, which bore the heading "Institutional Framework for Internal Security and Administrative Reform" in bold typescript. The document was substantial, easily 350 pages of detailed proposals, implementation timelines, and organizational charts. This was not a preliminary sketch but a comprehensive blueprint.
The Colonial Inheritance and Its Deficiencies
Anirban remained standing, preferring to present his arguments while moving rather than sitting, a habit from his years as a professor when he had paced before lecture halls while developing complex arguments. "Yesterday we established the economic spine of our sovereignty—NABARD, ICICI, NIIF, SBI, UBI, and the Indian Post Payments Bank. These institutions will enable India to mobilize capital, finance development, and operate independently of British financial structures. That was necessary.
But economic independence without corresponding administrative and judicial capacity is incomplete. What use is economic sovereignty if justice continues to operate through colonial frameworks designed to extract compliance rather than protect rights? What benefit comes from financial institutions if corruption and inefficiency drain resources before they can be productively deployed?"
The room fell silent as the three men absorbed the implications of the question. Anirban continued, his voice carrying the measured cadence of someone presenting an argument built on extensive analysis.
"Sardaji, you have worked more closely with the police apparatus than any of us. You have seen what they became under British rule—instruments designed to enforce imperial authority rather than protect citizens. The colonial police were trained to view the population as subjects to be controlled rather than citizens to be served. Their procedures, their training, their institutional culture—all of it was shaped by the requirements of occupation rather than the needs of democratic governance."
Patel's expression tightened, the muscles in his jaw tensing slightly as memories of personal experience surfaced. He had witnessed the colonial constabulary at close range during the Bardoli Satyagraha and countless other campaigns. He had seen police officers beat peaceful protesters under orders from British district magistrates, had watched them enforce unjust laws with methodical brutality, had observed how the uniform transformed men into instruments of oppression.
He had also worked with reform-minded officers who chafed under the system but lacked authority to change it. The police were not individually evil—many were decent men doing their duty as they understood it—but they operated within a structure that corrupted good intentions through bad incentives and worse training.
"What do you propose?" Patel asked, his tone indicating that he already suspected the answer would be radical. "I understand you would not raise this matter without having developed a comprehensive solution."
Anirban's response was immediate and uncompromising.
"Reform or removal. We will provide existing police officers and civil servants with eighteen months to demonstrate that they can adapt to serving the Republic rather than serving imperial interests. Those who prove capable of this transition and who demonstrate loyalty to constitutional governance will be retained and incorporated into reformed structures. Those who refuse to change, who maintain colonial attitudes, or whose conduct reveals continued sympathy for British interests will be offered early retirement with appropriate pensions. We are not seeking revenge or punishment. We are seeking competence and commitment."
He paused to let that framework settle before continuing with the operational details that would transform principle into practice.
"Simultaneously, we will recruit and train a new generation of officers whose formation occurs entirely within republican institutions and democratic values. These new recruits will be trained by Indian National Army veterans who understand discipline and duty but who also understand that their oath is to the people and the constitution rather than to authority figures. We will supplement INA trainers with army officers who have demonstrated nationalist commitments and who can instill proper conduct without colonial habits."
Ambedkar leaned forward, his analytical mind immediately identifying the challenges inherent in such an ambitious program. "That represents a significant undertaking, Anirban. Retraining and selectively replacing a police force of two hundred thousand officers while simultaneously establishing new institutions requires extraordinary organizational capacity. The logistics alone—training facilities, instructional personnel, evaluation procedures, pension arrangements for those retired—all of this will strain our administrative resources during a period when those resources are already stretched to their limits by Partition and integration."
"Not if we structure the transition systematically and leverage existing capacity intelligently," Anirban replied, anticipating the objection because he had already worked through the implementation challenges during weeks of detailed planning. "That is where the institutional framework I am proposing becomes essential. We are not simply replacing old officers with new ones. We are building parallel structures that will eventually supersede colonial institutions while maintaining continuity of essential services during the transition."
He flipped to the next page of his folder, revealing organizational charts marked with bold headings in dark ink: Central Bureau of Investigation, National Forensic Service, Central Industrial Security Force, People's Prosecutor Office, Enforcement Directorate. Each heading was followed by detailed subdivisions showing command structures, reporting relationships, and functional responsibilities.
"First," Anirban began, his finger tracing the organizational chart for the CBI,
"we will establish the Central Bureau of Investigation as the Republic's premier investigative agency for matters of national importance. The CBI will investigate corruption, espionage, organized crime, and cases of public misconduct that exceed the capacity or jurisdiction of state police forces. It will also handle complex criminal cases involving homicide, major accidents, and other matters requiring specialized investigative expertise that local authorities cannot provide."
He looked up from the document to ensure his audience was following the logic of the institutional design.
"The CBI will be structured on the principle of operational independence combined with constitutional accountability. It will answer to Parliament through the Ministry of Home Affairs for budgetary and administrative purposes, but its investigative decisions will be protected from political interference through statutory independence similar to what we are designing for the Comptroller and Auditor General. No minister, including myself, will have authority to direct or terminate specific investigations. The CBI's loyalty will be to law and constitutional procedure rather than to political convenience."
Patel studied the organizational chart with the practiced eye of an administrator who had built political structures from the ground up. "And its jurisdiction? You are proposing an investigative agency that can operate across state boundaries without requiring permission from state governments?"
"Precisely. Pan-Indian jurisdiction without federal restrictions. If corruption or serious crime occurs in Madras or Patna, in Punjab or Bengal, the CBI will possess equal authority to investigate regardless of state boundaries or local political considerations. This is essential because many of the most serious threats to the Republic—organized corruption networks, espionage operations, interstate criminal enterprises—do not respect administrative boundaries. Our investigative capacity must match the scope of the threats we face."
Patel nodded slowly, his expression indicating both approval and concern about the political implications. "You are giving India something the British never permitted themselves—a police force designed for justice rather than imperial control. But you are also creating an institution with extraordinary power that could be misused by future governments less committed to constitutional restraint."
"Which is why the structural safeguards are essential,"
Anirban acknowledged. "The CBI will be led by a Director appointed for a fixed term through a process involving the Prime Minister, the Chief Justice, and the Leader of the Opposition in Parliament. Removal of the Director will require a parliamentary supermajority, making political interference difficult. Officers will be selected through merit-based examination by the UPSC—which I will address shortly—and promoted through transparent procedures based on performance rather than political connections. And crucially, the CBI will be subject to oversight by parliamentary committees and judicial review. Power without accountability corrupts. Accountability without power accomplishes nothing. We must design institutions that balance both requirements."
Ambedkar was taking careful notes, his legal training evident in his focus on procedural safeguards and structural checks on power. "The constitutional provisions for this will need to be precisely drafted to prevent future amendments that undermine independence while maintaining legitimate accountability. I will ensure the relevant clauses receive appropriate attention."
Anirban turned to the next section of his proposal. "The CBI's effectiveness will depend substantially on scientific support, which brings us to the National Forensic Service. The British maintained rudimentary forensic capabilities primarily for political cases—analyzing evidence that supported prosecutions they wished to pursue while ignoring evidence that contradicted preferred narratives. What India requires is a comprehensive, independent forensic service that serves the interests of truth rather than political expedience."
He distributed additional pages showing the proposed structure of the NFS, including organizational charts depicting central laboratories, regional facilities, and functional divisions organized by scientific specialty.
"The National Forensic Service will operate under the administrative oversight of the Ministry of Home Affairs but will maintain scientific and operational independence similar to the National Physical Laboratory or other research institutions. It will provide forensic services to courts, to the CBI, to the People's Prosecutor Office, and to state police forces upon request. Its findings will be available to both prosecution and defense, ensuring that scientific evidence serves justice rather than conviction rates."
Ambedkar looked up from the documents, his expression indicating recognition of the broader implications. "You are describing an institution whose loyalty is to evidence and scientific methodology rather than to political authority. This represents a philosophical commitment to empiricism in the justice system that exceeds what most established democracies have achieved."
"Because India cannot afford to waste resources pursuing false leads or convicting innocent people while guilty parties escape justice," Anirban responded. "Every rupee spent investigating crimes that did not occur, every hour devoted to prosecutions based on false evidence, every wrongful conviction that leaves the actual perpetrator free—all of these represent inefficiencies that a developing nation cannot afford. Forensic science disciplines the justice system by requiring evidence to meet objective standards."
He continued outlining the operational structure. "The NFS will be headquartered in Delhi with regional laboratories in every state capital. Each facility will be equipped for analysis of physical evidence—ballistics, toxicology, document examination, fingerprint analysis—as well as more advanced techniques as they become available. We will recruit scientists from universities, train them in forensic applications, and provide them with career paths based on scientific expertise rather than seniority."
Patel raised a practical concern that reflected his focus on implementation realities. "The equipment and expertise required for such laboratories will be expensive and difficult to source, particularly given our foreign exchange constraints. Scientific instruments must largely be imported, and training personnel in specialized techniques will require either sending them abroad or bringing foreign experts here. How do you propose to finance this within our current budgetary limitations?"
Chetty, who had been quietly calculating financial requirements throughout the discussion, interjected with his characteristic precision. "The capital costs for establishing forensic laboratories will indeed be substantial—I estimate approximately two crore rupees for the central facility and perhaps fifty lakh rupees for each state laboratory, accounting for equipment, construction, and initial staffing. However, these costs can be distributed across multiple budget years and partially offset through foreign assistance. Both American and British sources have expressed willingness to provide technical support for institution-building, partly because they wish to maintain influence and partly because effective law enforcement serves their interests in regional stability."
Anirban nodded acknowledgment. "Chettyji is correct. We will sequence the laboratory construction beginning with the central facility and major regional centers in Bombay, Calcutta, and Madras during the first year, then expand to other state capitals as resources permit. Foreign assistance for scientific institution-building is less politically sensitive than assistance for military or industrial capacity, making it easier to accept without compromising sovereignty."
The Central Industrial Security Force: Protecting Economic Infrastructure
Patel, whose responsibilities as Home Minister included internal security, raised the next topic himself. "You mentioned CISF in your list—the Central Industrial Security Force. What function does this serve that existing security arrangements do not provide?"
Anirban turned to the relevant section of his proposal. "India's economic independence will depend on industrial infrastructure that must be protected against sabotage, theft, and disruption. Ports, airports, power plants, refineries, defense production facilities,
telecommunications infrastructure—all of these represent critical nodes whose failure would cascade through the economy. Current security arrangements rely on private guards with minimal training and questionable loyalty, or on local police who lack specialized knowledge of industrial facilities and whose attention is divided among numerous competing priorities."
He laid out the organizational structure for the CISF. "The Central Industrial Security Force will be an armed, uniformed service under the Ministry of Home Affairs, separate from the army but trained to military standards of discipline and effectiveness. CISF personnel will be recruited specifically for industrial security duties, trained in facility protection, access control, emergency response, and counter-sabotage operations. They will guard critical infrastructure while freeing the army to focus on external defense and allowing local police to concentrate on civilian law enforcement."
Patel studied the proposal with growing interest. "You are essentially creating a specialized paramilitary force for economic protection. This addresses a genuine vulnerability—industrial facilities are indeed targets for sabotage by hostile elements, whether Pakistani agents seeking to disrupt our economy or communist agitators attempting to paralyze production. But such a force must be carefully structured to avoid becoming a corporate security apparatus that protects capital interests rather than national interests."
"Which is why CISF will be a government service rather than a contractor available for hire," Anirban clarified. "Facilities will be designated for CISF protection based on national security importance rather than private payment. A port handling military cargo receives CISF protection because its disruption affects defense capability. A power plant supplying electricity to millions receives protection because its failure constitutes a public emergency. A private factory, regardless of its owner's wealth or political connections, does not receive CISF protection unless its production directly affects national security. This prevents the force from becoming private security for industrialists while ensuring genuine critical infrastructure receives professional protection."
Anirban turned his attention to R.K. Chetty. "Chettyji, your Ministry of Finance will parent another essential institution—the Enforcement Directorate. The CBI will investigate corruption and serious crime. The Enforcement Directorate will follow the money trail that makes such activities possible and profitable."
Chetty leaned forward with evident interest as Anirban outlined the ED's mandate and structure.
"Economic crimes—foreign exchange violations, money laundering, illicit wealth accumulation, smuggling operations, tax evasion networks—require specialized financial expertise that traditional police investigators do not possess. The Enforcement Directorate will employ economists, accountants, financial analysts, and forensic auditors to trace illegal transactions, identify concealed assets, and build cases that connect criminal activities to their financial foundations. When the CBI identifies corruption, the ED traces where the money came from and where it went. When customs officials suspect smuggling, the ED analyzes financial flows to identify the networks and seize the proceeds."
Chetty's methodical mind immediately grasped the utility of such an institution. "This addresses a fundamental weakness in current enforcement—the inability to follow complex financial transactions across jurisdictions and through intermediaries. Criminals who understand finance can currently operate with near impunity because investigators lack the expertise to unravel their schemes. An Enforcement Directorate with proper authority and expertise would substantially increase the risks associated with economic crimes."
"Exactly," Anirban confirmed. "And critically, the ED will have authority to seize assets that represent proceeds of crime. Every rupee stolen from the public treasury, every bribe paid to corrupt officials, every illegal transaction that undermines legitimate commerce—all of this wealth will be subject to confiscation and return to the public. This serves both justice and fiscal efficiency."
He then introduced the incentive structure that would make the enforcement mechanism self-sustaining and attractive to capable personnel.
"To ensure vigorous enforcement and reward effective work, I propose that investigative teams who successfully recover illicit wealth receive a share of the assets seized—approximately ten percent distributed among the officers involved in the case. This applies to CBI, ED, and other enforcement personnel who build successful cases resulting in asset recovery. The amounts will be paid as tax-free bonuses after legal proceedings conclude and assets are formally transferred to government control."
The room fell silent as the three ministers absorbed this proposal, which represented a significant departure from conventional thinking about public service and incentives.
Patel spoke first, his tone cautious. "You are proposing that government officers receive financial rewards for performing their duties. This could be interpreted as legitimizing a form of legal corruption—officers pursuing cases based on potential personal gain rather than public interest."
Anirban had anticipated this objection and had prepared his response through careful consideration of the moral and practical dimensions. "With respect, Sardaji, I believe the opposite is true. We are creating a system where fighting corruption is financially rewarding rather than financially punishing. Currently, honest officers who resist corruption earn less than their dishonest colleagues who accept bribes. They face threats and intimidation without compensation. Their careers suffer because they offend powerful interests. We are asking men to be honest while making honesty economically painful. This is neither fair nor sustainable."
He continued, building the argument systematically. "Consider the practical reality. A CBI officer who successfully prosecutes a major corruption case involving ten crore rupees in illicit assets faces years of difficult investigation, personal risk, and career uncertainty. If he is honest, he receives his normal salary—perhaps two hundred rupees per month—while the corrupt officials he investigates possess wealth beyond imagination. If the officer succumbs to temptation and accepts bribes to drop the investigation, he immediately improves his financial position. We have created incentives for corruption while expecting virtue to overcome self-interest."
Ambedkar, whose understanding of structural oppression and incentive systems was unmatched among Indian leaders, slowly nodded his agreement. "Anirban is correct that the current system rewards dishonesty and punishes integrity. The question is whether his solution creates different problems—officers manufacturing cases to generate seizures, or targeting wealthy individuals regardless of actual guilt because the potential rewards are larger."
"Which is why the rewards are tied to successful legal proceedings rather than mere seizures," Anirban explained. "The ten percent share is distributed only after courts have ruled on the case, confirmed that the assets represent proceeds of crime, and ordered their forfeiture to the government. This requires building legitimate cases with solid evidence, obtaining convictions or settlement agreements, and surviving judicial scrutiny. Officers cannot simply seize property and claim rewards. They must prove their case to independent judges applying legal standards. This channels their financial incentive toward building strong cases rather than conducting aggressive raids."
Chetty, ever focused on fiscal implications, performed rapid calculations. "If enforcement teams recover even one hundred crore rupees in illicit wealth during the first several years of operations—which seems conservative given the scale of corruption we inherited from the Raj and the opportunities created by Partition—the ten percent distribution would amount to ten crore rupees in bonuses. This is substantial but represents value for the government, since ninety crore rupees returns to the treasury while the ten crore purchases exceptional effort and expertise from enforcement personnel. The effective cost is zero, since we only pay when recovery occurs."
"Precisely," Anirban agreed. "This is not an expenditure but an investment that funds itself through recovered assets. And the psychological effect on potential corrupt actors will be substantial. Currently, the risk of corruption is primarily reputational and legal—if caught, you face prosecution and imprisonment. Under this system, corruption also becomes financially dangerous because enforcement teams are incentivized to pursue cases aggressively, and when they succeed, the corrupt official loses not only his liberty but his accumulated wealth. The expected return on corruption decreases substantially when confiscation becomes likely."
Patel remained skeptical but was being persuaded by the logic. "I maintain concerns about the principle—paying officers to perform their duties seems contrary to ideals of public service. However, I acknowledge that idealism without pragmatism produces failure. If this system motivates effective enforcement where current arrangements produce lassitude and corruption, it may be necessary despite my philosophical reservations. I will withhold final judgment until we observe how it operates in practice."
Anirban turned to Dr. Ambedkar with particular attention, recognizing that the next proposal would require his legal expertise and constitutional authority to implement effectively.
"Doctor Sahib, the Republic requires a prosecutorial institution that combines independence with accountability, authority with restraint. I propose the establishment of the People's Prosecutor Office as an autonomous constitutional body similar to the Comptroller and Auditor General or Now propose CBI—independent of executive control but responsible to Parliament and subject to judicial review."
Ambedkar's interest was immediately evident in his posture and expression. He took the detailed draft Anirban passed across the table and began reading with the intense focus he brought to legal documents, his eyes moving rapidly across the pages as he absorbed the structural details and constitutional implications.
"The PPO will possess several categories of authority,"
Anirban explained while Ambedkar read. "First, independent investigative capacity. If prosecutors suspect wrongdoing based on reports, complaints, or their own analysis, they may initiate investigations directly or direct the police or CBI to investigate on their behalf. This prevents situations where police refuse to investigate powerful individuals or where investigations are prematurely terminated due to political pressure."
He continued outlining the prosecutorial framework.
"Second, complete discretion regarding prosecution decisions. The PPO determines whether evidence warrants prosecution, whether to proceed with charges or seek alternative resolution, and how to prioritize limited resources among competing cases. No minister or political authority can compel prosecution or prevent it. Prosecutors answer to the law and their professional judgment."
"Third, authority to issue arrest warrants directly in cases meeting specified criteria, particularly involving flight risk or evidence destruction. Currently, prosecutors must apply to magistrates for warrants, creating delays and information security risks. In the PPO framework, senior prosecutors may issue warrants that are immediately enforceable, though subject to subsequent judicial review to prevent abuse."
Ambedkar looked up from the document, his expression thoughtful. "You are describing an institution with extraordinary power—greater than prosecutors possess in most legal systems. The ability to investigate independently, to decide whom to prosecute without political input, and to issue arrest warrants directly represents consolidation of authority that could be dangerous in the wrong hands."
"Which is why appointment procedures and oversight mechanisms are critical," Anirban acknowledged. "The Chief Prosecutor will be appointed through a process similar to the CBI Director—involving the Prime Minister, Chief Justice, and opposition leadership, with a fixed term and removal only through parliamentary supermajority.
Subordinate prosecutors will be selected through UPSC examination emphasizing legal knowledge and ethical judgment. Their decisions will be subject to judicial review—courts can dismiss cases where prosecution appears vindictive or unsupported by evidence. And Parliament's standing committee on justice will review prosecutorial decisions and resource allocation, providing democratic accountability without enabling political interference in specific cases."
He then introduced the provision that had generated the most internal debate during the drafting process.
"Additionally, the PPO will possess suo moto authority to investigate and prosecute cases involving infrastructure failure, public endangerment, or negligence in matters affecting public safety. If a bridge collapses, if a dam fails, if public buildings prove structurally unsound—the PPO can investigate whether negligence, corruption, or incompetence contributed to the failure. They will work with engineers, auditors, and technical experts to determine culpability. This ensures that public officials and contractors understand that failures resulting from their misconduct will face legal consequences."
Patel immediately recognized the political implications.
"Such authority will make you intensely unpopular with construction contractors, public works officials, and state governments who prefer to attribute failures to acts of God rather than human negligence. Every accident will potentially become a criminal investigation exposing corruption and incompetence."
"That is precisely the intention," Anirban replied without hesitation. "India will be constructing massive infrastructure over the coming decades—dams, bridges, highways, power plants, public buildings. If contractors are permitted to substitute inferior materials to increase profits, if officials accept bribes to approve substandard work, if engineers falsify safety certifications—eventually people die when structures fail. The threat of PPO investigation and prosecution creates incentives for competent, honest work. Yes, this will make contractors and officials uncomfortable. That discomfort is preferable to bridges collapsing and killing citizens because corners were cut."
He added a provision that had particular resonance given recent experiences. "The PPO will also possess authority to investigate and prosecute judges and prosecutors themselves if evidence suggests corruption or gross misconduct. No one is exempt from legal accountability. If a judge accepts bribes to rule in favor of particular parties, if a prosecutor manipulates evidence to secure convictions, the PPO can investigate and indict them. This addresses a fundamental weakness in most justice systems—the difficulty of holding legal officials accountable for their own misconduct because they control the investigative and prosecutorial machinery."
Ambedkar set down the document and removed his glasses to clean them, a habitual gesture when he was thinking through complex implications. "Anirban, what you are describing is a fusion of prosecutorial authority and accountability mechanisms that together constitute a fourth branch of government—neither executive, legislative, nor judicial, but possessing characteristics of all three. It can investigate like the executive, legislate practical legal standards through prosecution decisions, and exercise quasi-judicial authority through warrant issuance and case prioritization. This is philosophically radical."
"It is structurally necessary," Anirban countered. "Traditional separation of powers assumes that each branch will check the others. But prosecutorial authority sits uncomfortably within that framework. Prosecutors who are purely executive agents face political pressure that compromises independence. Prosecutors who are purely judicial officers lack investigative capacity and enforcement authority. The PPO resolves this by creating an institution that is independent but accountable, powerful but constrained by law and judicial review. It possesses authority sufficient to act effectively but operates within constitutional limits that prevent tyranny."
After a long pause, Ambedkar spoke with the careful precision that characterized his most important legal judgments. "I will incorporate this framework into the constitutional provisions for prosecution and justice administration. However, I insist on several additional safeguards beyond what you have outlined. First, prosecutors must be required to explain in writing their decisions not to prosecute when evidence appears sufficient, creating a record that can be reviewed. Second, any person arrested on PPO warrant must be brought before a magistrate within twenty-four hours for review, preventing indefinite detention without judicial scrutiny. Third, courts must possess clear authority to dismiss prosecutions that appear politically motivated or discriminatory, providing a check against prosecutorial abuse."
"Agreed on all points," Anirban said immediately. "Those safeguards strengthen rather than weaken the institution by ensuring its power serves justice rather than personal or political agendas."
Patel, who had been following the discussion intently, raised the fundamental question that connected all these proposals. "These institutions—CBI, NFS, CISF, ED, PPO—all require personnel of exceptional quality and proven integrity. You are proposing to create multiple new agencies requiring thousands of officers while simultaneously reforming existing police forces and civil services. Who will recruit these people? Who will evaluate their qualifications and fitness for service? The current examination system is entirely inadequate for such demands."
Anirban had anticipated this question because it represented the linchpin of his entire reform program. Without effective recruitment and selection mechanisms, the institutional architecture he was proposing would collapse into incompetence or corruption regardless of its structural design.
"We will establish two new bodies to professionalize the entire recruitment process—the Union Public Service Commission and the Subordinate Service Commission. The UPSC will handle recruitment for senior administrative positions, including the Indian Administrative Service, Indian Police Service, Indian Foreign Service, and the specialized services we are creating. The SSC will manage recruitment for lower-level positions across all government ministries and agencies. Both will be autonomous constitutional bodies protected from political interference through fixed terms for commissioners, transparent examination procedures, and appointment processes involving multiple stakeholders."
He distributed organizational charts showing the proposed structure of both commissions.
"The UPSC will conduct comprehensive examinations emphasizing analytical ability, ethical judgment, administrative competence, and subject matter expertise. Candidates will be evaluated through written tests, interviews, and background investigations to ensure both competence and integrity. Selection will be entirely merit-based without reservations for political connections or personal relationships."
Patel studied the organizational structure carefully. "You are proposing examinations that assess judgment and ethics rather than mere factual knowledge. This represents a philosophical shift from the current system that emphasizes memorization and rule-following."
"Because India does not need clerks who mechanically apply regulations," Anirban replied. "We need administrators who can analyze complex problems, make sound judgments under uncertainty, and adapt to changing circumstances while maintaining ethical standards. The colonial examination system selected for compliance and rule-following because those qualities served imperial interests. Independent India requires different qualities—initiative, analytical ability, ethical judgment, and genuine commitment to public service."
He continued outlining the training framework. "After selection, candidates will undergo intensive training at new administrative academies"
Ambedkar raised a practical concern. "The training you describe it will need infrastructure—multiple national academies, specialized centers, comprehensive curricula—requires substantial investment in facilities, faculty, and time. Constructing these institutions from nothing while simultaneously recruiting and training thousands of officers within eighteen months appears logistically challenging."
"We will not construct everything from nothing," Anirban clarified. "Several existing facilities can be repurposed. The British maintained training centers for colonial officers that can be converted for our purposes with modifications to curriculum and instructional staff. The military possesses training infrastructure and expertise that can be leveraged for CISF and specialized police training. Universities can provide faculty for academic components of the training programs. We are not creating every element from scratch but rather assembling existing resources into new institutional frameworks."
He outlined the phased implementation strategy. "During the first six months, we establish the UPSC and SSC as functioning bodies and conduct initial recruitment examinations. Simultaneously, we convert existing facilities into training academies and develop comprehensive curricula. Months seven through twelve focus on intensive training for the first cohort of officers selected through the new examination system. During the final six months before January 1949, these trained officers are deployed to their assignments while we conduct second-round examinations and training for subsequent cohorts. By Republic Day, we will have approximately five thousand newly trained officers in various services, with additional cohorts in training to reach full strength over the following two years."
Chetty was conducting financial calculations throughout this explanation. "The capital costs for facility conversion and the operational costs for conducting examinations and training programs will require substantial appropriation. However, these expenditures are investments in administrative capacity that will generate returns through improved governance and reduced corruption. I can structure the financing through a combination of current budget allocations, foreign technical assistance for training programs, and special appropriations from the Constituent Assembly."
Patel leaned back in his chair, his expression reflecting both admiration and concern about the scope and ambition of what was being proposed. "Anirban, you are describing the wholesale reconstruction of India's administrative and law enforcement apparatus within eighteen months. The scale is unprecedented. The British built their system over decades, albeit a system designed for different purposes than what we require. You propose to replace it in a fraction of that time."
"The British had the luxury of time because they were consolidating control over a conquered territory," Anirban responded. "We face different circumstances. India is independent but institutionally fragile. Pakistan is hostile and conducting irregular warfare in Kashmir. Princely states remain partially integrated with uncertain loyalties.
Communal tensions continue generating violence despite Partition. Economic disruption from divided markets and disrupted trade patterns threatens stability. We do not have decades to gradually reform institutions. We have months to establish the administrative capacity necessary to address these challenges before they overwhelm us."
He continued with deliberate emphasis on the urgency of the situation. "Every month that passes with colonial institutions intact is a month where corruption continues unchecked, where incompetent administration wastes resources, where citizens receive poor treatment from officials who view them as subjects rather than citizens. Every delay in establishing effective law enforcement is a delay in addressing crime and corruption that undermine public confidence in the new government. Speed is not optional. It is essential to regime survival and national stability."
Then they discusse more how to implement it how to give face so the civil servants who are loyal to British can get voluntiery retirement, how to create situation so all of the bills face minimum sabotage.
As the meeting approached its conclusion after nearly three hours of detailed discussion, Anirban stepped back from specific institutional details to articulate the broader vision connecting these reforms.
"What we are proposing today extends beyond establishing new agencies or reforming existing ones. We are defining what kind of nation India will be. The British governed through fear, through the implicit and explicit threat of violence against subjects who disobeyed. They created institutions designed to extract compliance rather than encourage cooperation. Their police enforced order through intimidation. Their courts delivered justice selectively to protect imperial interests. Their civil service administered regulations designed to benefit the colonizers."
He paused, looking at each of the three men in turn. "Independent India can follow one of two paths. The first path preserves colonial institutions with cosmetic modifications—we replace British officers with Indian ones but maintain the same procedures, the same attitudes, the same structural logic. This path is easier because it requires minimal disruption. It is also catastrophic because it perpetuates systems designed for purposes contrary to democratic governance and economic development."
"The second path requires us to reimagine governance from first principles. What institutions does a democratic republic require to protect rights, deliver services, maintain order, and promote development? Not what institutions did the British use to control subjects, but what institutions do free citizens need from their government? This question leads to the framework we have discussed today—independent investigative agencies, scientific forensic services, professional prosecution, merit-based civil service, and incentive structures that align personal interest with public duty."
And that's how in a morning the entire Law- Justice-Beaucacy system change or its foundation laid.
Algorithm working with Better Input, but if it can produce better output only time can tell.