Free This Is Not That Dawn: Jhootha Sach by Yashpal

among new writers. Jai Puri is still young, but his literary maturity has left its mark on the forefront of world literature.’
    Emissaries of various newspapers and magazines would seek out Jaidev and convey personal requests from their editors for his short stories, light essays and humorous sketches. No one ever talked of any payment for his work; as if they did not want to insult the writer by equating his immense talent with a few measly rupees. But Puri kept rolling in the throes of torment because he was unable to earn anything to help his family.
    What’s the worth of my talent, he’d ask himself, if I have no place to work, not even a writing desk to practise that talent! I sit twiddling my thumbs while my father breaks his back working. My mother is overworked, always tired and short-tempered. My sisters worry over their clean clothes as if their lives depended on it. I don’t have proper, decent clothes for going out. Should I go and ask for work in some newspaper, he thought many times, those people are the least likely to refuse me. But buoyed up by the good reviews and compliments his stories had received and awash in a feeling of self-worth, he waited for a job to be offered to him. The problem was: what would he do until that offer came?
    Puri got a novel to translate from Adayara Munavvar, an Urdu publisher. He completed a part of the work in a week’s time, hoping for payment, but the publisher was not too anxious to bring it out. Lekhram Sharma, a sub-editor at
Pairokaar
and an old acquaintance of Puri, knew about hisdilemma. Beside his newspaper job, Sharma occasionally did translation work for Naya Hind Publications. He suggested to Puri, ‘Why don’t you meet Pandit Girdharilal, the owner of Naya Hind? There might be a chance of some tutoring work. You have a good knowledge of Hindi.’
    Kanak, the second daughter of Pandit Girdharilal, was studying for her MA in English literature and wanted to sit for a Hindi exam. There was a recent wave of interest in Punjab, especially among women, to learn the Hindi language. Puri, too, had passed the Prabhakar, an exam of competency in Hindi, when he was in the first year of his MA.
    Pandit Girdharilal was an old nationalist of liberal views; his daughters could wear sari in public. Under her father’s influence, Kanak had begun to lean towards the Student Congress, the youth wing of the Congress party. She had often taken part in demonstrations and meetings at the time of the 1942 movement. Clad in a fine white khaddar sari, she stood out from the rest of the crowd. Puri had noticed her, but they’d never had occasion to speak to one another.
    Panditji knew only Urdu and English. He was interested in literature; rather his interest in literature had led him into the publishing business. Kanak had been taught some Hindi at school, but her bent had been towards Urdu. She wanted to do her MA in English literature, and then pass the Munshi Fazil exam in Urdu. In a surge of nationalist feeling, she decided to appear for the Hindi Prabhakar exam.
    Puri received a message that Panditji wanted to consult him about guiding Kanak in the study of literature, especially in the Hindi language. He found Kanak to be interested in literature and particularly respectful towards him as her tutor. She had read all the short stories and some poems that Puri had published; she had even read two of the stories to her literature-loving father. She introduced Puri to Mahendra Nayyar, her brother-in-law, as if it was Nayyar’s good fortune to meet him. Nayyar had a law practice in the high court, and lived in his own bungalow in Model Town.
    Panditji broached the subject in a roundabout way. He was aware, he said, that time given by anyone with Puri’s reputation was worth a lot. Would Puri be able to help Kanak study Hindi language and literature three times a week, or whenever it was convenient for him to teach? Considering his time was valuable, what would be an appropriate