Chapter 57: The Voice of the People
The monsoon clouds hung low over Lucknow that August morning, casting a soft grey light across the Singh household. The streets were damp, and the scent of wet earth rose gently through open windows. Inside the warm, bustling compound of the family's home-office hybrid, a quiet revolution was taking shape.
Ajay sat near the veranda with a mug of ginger tea in hand, listening to the distant chatter of Bharat and his cousins. Bharat, though still young, had become a fountain of bold ideas. And this morning, as he played with his notebook beside a stack of printed articles, he looked up and said, "Pitaji, people can't act unless they know the truth."
Ajay turned to him with a slight smile. "You mean awareness?"
"Yes," Bharat nodded earnestly. "We've created machines, equipment, technologies—but people need to know how corruption works. Why villages suffer. Why the middlemen steal. The people need a voice. Our voice."
Vandana came with a tray of biscuits and handed it over. "Is he talking about starting a newspaper again?" she chuckled softly.
"Not just any newspaper," Bharat insisted. "One that tells the truth."
Ajay leaned back, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "We'll need a plan. A very strong one."
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Formation of the Media and Print Division
By mid-August, the official paperwork was submitted. The media division would have four arms:
1. Daily Newspaper (Local) – Focused on Lucknow and Uttar Pradesh.
2. Weekly Journal (Scientific & Social Innovation) – Highlighting Indian research, regional inventions, and national progress.
3. Monthly Digest (Pan-India) – Covering broader themes: military, politics, economy, culture, and youth movements.
4. Broadcast Wing – Planning for audio cassettes for rural villages and low-wave community radio broadcasts.
Ajay brought together a trusted team, calling in contacts from across the country. There were heated conversations and long meetings, all held in the compound's open hall with ceiling fans humming overhead.
"We'll need reporters who care," said Sandeep, one of the new managers from the print division.
"We need truth-tellers," Bharat added, flipping through examples of foreign media. "And we need our own printing factory."
Ajay nodded. "Arrange a team. We'll lease land near the old textile yard. Start small, expand fast."
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Reaching Out to the Forgotten Voices
One humid afternoon, Kavita returned from the city college, a stack of resumes in hand.
"These journalists left their papers," she said, handing them over to the review table. "Most were fired for writing what their editors called 'too truthful.'"
"Good," Ajay said simply. "We need the brave ones."
Over the following weeks, the team recruited:
Veteran journalists dismissed from mainstream publications.
Fresh graduates from Lucknow University passionate about reform.
Village writers with deep knowledge of local issues.
Two radio broadcasters and one documentarian, frustrated with censorship.
There was one man—Ramkishore—from Jaunpur, who'd been fired after exposing grain hoarding by local politicians. His voice cracked slightly when Ajay offered him a position.
"Will I… be allowed to publish the truth?" he asked.
Ajay smiled. "Not only allowed. You'll be paid to do it."
Ramkishore laughed, then fell quiet. "It's been so long since someone said that."
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Printing Dreams on a Budget
Bharat walked through the dusty yard of the soon-to-be printing press, inspecting the machinery.
"These models are slow," said Ramesh, the press engineer. "But they're reliable. Imported models cost more."
"We'll improve them," Bharat replied. "I've been studying new pressure-feed systems. We can reduce ink waste and increase page speed."
Ajay came up behind him. "We also need cheap paper."
The research team, with help from Pooja's old lab contacts, began experimenting with pulp from agricultural waste: sugarcane husk, rice straw, even banana fibers.
In the workshop, as the smell of glue and ink filled the air, technicians worked alongside engineering interns to create lightweight, recyclable paper that could hold print well but remain affordable.
"We'll call this grade Janvani Sheet," said one of the engineers, "The People's Voice."
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The Public Interest Lab
In one room of the media facility, now dubbed Janvani Bhawan, journalists and researchers sat in close quarters, surrounded by cuttings, maps, statistics, and phone call transcripts.
"We have tips about water pipeline bribery in Faizabad," said Shalini, a researcher.
"Write it. Cross-verify with the detective agency," said her editor.
Each piece of information was carefully tagged, catalogued, and researched. There was no room for slander. Only evidence-based reporting would be published.
Kiran, a quiet but fierce journalist, raised a question during the morning roundtable. "What if they try to threaten us?"
"They will," said Ajay, entering the room. "Which is why we've provided you with body cameras, sound recorders, and silent emergency transmitters."
"You're giving us spy tech?" she blinked.
"Isn't journalism already a war?" Bharat quipped from the hallway.
Everyone laughed, but there was an edge to it—a shared understanding of risk.
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Awareness as a Weapon
One night, as thunder rolled over the city, the Singh family gathered on the rooftop. The air smelled of rain and jasmine. Over chai and boiled peanuts, Bharat spoke to the gathered group of writers, officers, and family.
"We don't want to scare the public," he said. "We want to awaken them. Help them see. If people believe change is possible, they'll support it. That's what this paper will do."
"And if we fail?" asked Parul softly.
"We won't," Vandana said, placing a protective hand on Bharat's shoulder. "Truth doesn't fail."
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The First Print
On the morning of August 28th, 1984, Janvani Dainik rolled out its first batch—10,000 copies. The paper smelled fresh, inky, and sharp, with bold letters spelling:
"This Land Deserves Better."
Newsboys ran into the streets, shouting headlines. Families crowded around tea stalls to read the free pages stuck to walls. The editorial praised public service, criticized quiet corruption, and praised small farmers. It was like a wind sweeping through the stagnant corridors of silence.
A chaiwala near Hazratganj said, "At last, someone says what we say every day."
By the end of the month, Janvani had expanded its reach to 14 districts. Its monthly and weekly versions were in production, and cassette news programs were being tested in two rural blocks.
Ajay, in a final evening board meeting, said with pride, "We may build roads and machines… but today, we built awareness."
And Bharat, smiling through the warmth of the lamp-lit office, replied, "Sometimes, the sharpest tool against injustice is a printing press."
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