In plain words
This book is a very big one; did anyone help you in writing it?’ he asked. He in turn greeted his friend very warmly, sat him down on the sofa, and while they chatted told his wife to bring coffee for his friend. She brought glasses of coffee for the two of them on a tray. The friend: ‘Did you write it all by yourself? Did anyone else help you?’ he asked again. Then the scholar says: ‘My friend! Could I have written such a book all by myself? No. My good wife gave me a great deal of help,’ he said. She heard this. ‘What is this? Scholars have all made a habit of always telling lies like this. I gave him no help at all. When this book was being written I was not even at home. I had gone to my parents' house. Yet he is giving my name! What is this?’ she thought, amazed. She thought of asking about it then and there, right in front of the friend. But, thinking of the family's honour, she held her peace: she should not ask at such a time. The scholar's friend left. Evening came. Once more he sat down writing something. At that time she came up to him. ‘Really! All you scholars write is nothing but lies! All you say is nothing but lies! You have won a great name as a scholar; what does it mean?’ she asked. Then the scholar: “What! Is what I wrote a lie? What lie have I told? I would never speak Asatya. ‘Paṇḍitaḥ samadarśanaḥ’: in me there is always evenness alone. That is why I do not speak Asatya,” he said. Then she said, “Not now, sir; a few hours ago you lied that your wife gave you a great deal of help in writing this book, didn't you?” ‘I told no lie at all in this,’ said the husband. ‘When you were writing the book, I had gone for my confinement and stayed three months at my parents' house. How could I have helped you at that time?’ she said. ‘That is the help you gave me,’ he said. ‘When you are at home, all my time goes in fetching the things you need.