Pirani & Other Short Stories is an English translation of Jamal Abro's collection of short stories published originally in the Sindhi language. Abro is considered to be amongst the best writers in Sindhi. The book comprises sixteen short stories that capture the essence of the land and the people of rural Sindh. Pirani & Other Short Stories arrests the reader's interest with its diversity, specific characteristics, and penetrating depiction of Sindhi's social order. These classic short stories are accompanied by an informative introduction exploring the background of the stories and appreciating the significance of the finer points of the plot and the rendition. The work also includes two enlightening profiles of the author. The translation remains faithful to the style and mode of the original Sindhi text and adds to the authenticity of the narrative. This book certainly fills a gap in the dearth of accessible Sindhi literature available to the English readership.

Jamal Abro was born in May 1924 at Sangi, a small village in Mehar Taluka, Sindh, Pakistan. He completed his matriculation from Bombay University (1941) and studied at the Bahauddin College in Junagadh, Gujarat. He graduated with a degree in law from Shahani Law College, Larkana (1948) and began his career as a lawyer. Abro entered public service in 1952 and was posted as a sub-judge in a number of areas in Sindh. In the latter part of his career, he served as a judge in the labour court and as secretary to the Provincial Assembly of Sindh. Meanwhile, he wrote actively with the Sindhi Adabi Sangat. Later in his career, he ranked among the pioneers of the Sindhi short story and his collection, Pishoo Pasha, had set a new trend in Sindhi literature. As a prolific writer, he has also published a five-volume autobiography. The author also wrote articles on social issues, particularly on karo-kari. Jamal Abro died on 30 June 2004 at the age of 80.

SAEEN JAMAL ABRO CAME INTO MY LIFE AT THE AGE OF TEN S when I was a student of N. M. High School. It was probably 'Khameesay Jo Coat' that had left me dumbfounded with its stark, eerie, and melancholic pathos. I was, and still am, a keen reader of Urdu and Hindi short stories, mostly through English translations. Jamal Abro is survived by a talented son, Badar Abro, who has indeed performed the arduous task of rendering or translating a great artistic genius whose 'unpolluted and impeccable' Sindhi diction is simply 'untranslatable'.

ALTHOUGH A TRANSLATION IS LIKE PRESERVING A FLOWER in chemicals'- one may preserve its shape and colours but take away its fragrance-I feel as if I have achieved a very important life goal. When you translate a story or novel into another language, you are actually translating one culture into another. No two words or phrases are equal; two cultures are different worlds.