Sunday, February 15, 2004


A complex narrative
Tejwant Singh Gill

The Eye of a Doe
by Mohan Bhandari and translated by Rana Nayar. Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi. Rs 70. Pages 164.

The Eye of a DoeTHE book under review comprises seven stories written by Mohan Bhandari, originally in Punjabi. It brought him the prestigious Sahitya Akademi Award in 1998. As is the practice with this body, it has got it translated into English. The translator is a Professor of English in a university in this part of the country.

The vogue for English translation of Punjabi literature in general and fiction in particular began in the 1950s. It was the Sahitya Akademi that initiated this move. To disseminate the message of unity in diversity, its policy has been to encourage translation of works in all the scheduled languages. In this regard, English is no exception. In fact, it is translation into English that has drawn more attention. Similar is the situation with regard to the translation of Punjabi literature, albeit fiction into English.

To begin with, the persons whom this job was assigned were those who could write with felicity in both English and Punjabi. Sant Singh Sekhon, for example, would do creative and critical writing in both languages. If Gurbachan Singh Talib taught English all his life, he did substantial writing in Punjabi as well.

Translating was so integral to the literary activity of these outstanding writers and critics that, if ever it failed to rise to the occasion, it was not due to any intrinsic flaw in their competence. Some extrinsic factor, impinging upon their time, could be the reason for the indifferent work done by them.

Translating has become highly problematic. On one hand it has grown in quantum, while on the other, its worth has shrunk. The task of translation, as Walter Benjamin fondly called, is to award afterlife to writing in a language, different from the one in which its author may have given it life. It is a lofty ideal that translation may fail to achieve in all its fullness. That it need not lurk anywhere at the horizon cannot be justified at all.

The new crop translating Punjabi novels and stories into English is largely ignorant of this norm. Translation of these stories is an exception, though not a felicitous one. Partly, it may be because in the words of the translator: "each story sets out to unmask a familiarly unfamiliar face of terror, in the process turning into a rich and layered narrative, surprisingly complex and varied in its range of characters, situations and the profusion of detail."

As far as stories like The Pigeon, The Eye of a Doe, Sharing and, to some extent, Hurt go, there is no disputing this contention. The other three stories, however, fail to deliver.

The drawback appears most obvious when the author resorts to quasi-direct discourse in narration. This sort of stylistic device was quite common in the 19th century Russian fiction. Charmed by Chekhov’ storytelling, Bhandari seems to have acquired it for indiscriminate use. It is rather odd to reproduce it the same way in English translation. To give the impression of fidelity to the original, the translator practices the same, as a result of which, the alternative device, in tune with English, that should have been forged, gets nowhere in sight. He also interpolates as such Punjabi expressions.

The translator is at his best when his focus is upon the emotional dilemma of the character. Here his effort acquires creative urge without violating the specificity of the Punjabi text itself. The Eye of a Doe and Sharing are its best example. "Out of her big, round, wide-open, left eye rose a tear before it rolled down her cheeks, imperceptibly, almost," is how the protagonist recalls the sight of the fear-stricken woman when she stepped into his house for shelter.

In Pigeon, this effort flounders when the translator resorts to the use of howlers. Unaware of the fact that in Gurbani, kooker comes for the servile dog keeping a watch at the door of its master, the translator takes it as a cock waiting at the threshold. Likewise, to translate upram as detached, jan-manas as simpleton, lila as way, chanchal as restless soul, is to undermine, if not subvert, his commitment to translation. That in future the translator will do better is not only my hope, but conviction as well.

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