Gained in translation
Usha Bande

Literature is power and so is translation. In a multi-lingual and plural society like ours translation of quality literature from one regional language into another is fundamental to the survival of our rich social fabric and cultural heritage. Translation is a "dialogue" whereby different languages communicate, interact and enrich each other. As Amitav Ghosh, the renowned novelist, puts it, "The thing about translation is that there is no way around it. In a country as multilingual as ours, unless you have really good translations, you are doomed." It is so because our plurality of language and sensibility is not just an intellectual position; it is essential to the endurance of our democracy, to our spirit of tolerance and sense of compromise.

The word ‘translation’ means, "to render into another language," and interestingly that "another language has mostly been English. We all who have been grilled by the "translation" and "re-translation" exercises at school and college level know the implication and significance of translation as also its humour. A favourite one is: "translate this line: ladki neeche khadi hai" (the girl is standing down below). Prompt comes the reply, "miss-under-standing" (misunderstanding), amid guffaws of laughter.

The Advanced Learner’s Dictionary defines translation as "to change something spoken or written into English language." This has specific colonial tinge because in the colonial context English, the master’s language, was accorded high status and hence was superior vis-a-vis the native languages.

By implication, the practice of translation was looked down upon as an "inferior activity," not on par with the creative spark that displayed originality. For long, the translated work, the job of translation and the translator remained unrecognised. The translator’s name never appeared on the translated work and often it was not even mentioned whether the work was translated or original. Many scholars in the field resented this second-hand status. Some scholars started using the word "transcreation," which the Oxford English Dictionary defines as "creative translation seen as producing a new version of the original work." Both "translation" and "transcreation" have the sense of "crossing" over, the latter, somehow also connotes "re-telling."

In the Indian context, this "re-telling" or translating or transcreating practice has never been problematic. Borrowing from one text to create another was always acceptable to us. Some of our finest literary texts are themselves translated/transcreated pieces; conversely, they have been the sources of many other compositions of high standard — plays, poems, stories and even folktales. The Ramayana has numerous versions — Tulsi Das’s Ramcharitmanas, Kamb Ramayan, Pompa Ramayan, Eknath’s Bhavarth Ramayan and so on. Sometimes the translated versions, have been more popular among the masses for obvious reasons. For example, Ramcharitmanas similarly, stories from the Vedas, Puranas, Upanishad’s jatakas and other sources are translated, told and re-told innumerable times without ever being questioned.

For us, translation is not an "inferior activity," it has always been a creative act, an accepted practice and never looked down upon. This liberal attitude is an eloquent commentary on the free and easy transmission of knowledge across the country. Tulsidas or Eknath are not "translators". They are our original poets. This probably speaks for the absence of an appropriate word for translation. We use the Sanskrit word anuvad but that means speaking after, even tarjuma, an Arabic word we use for translation, stands for paraphrasing. At present, new coinages like Bhashanter, Rupanter are being used in language like Malayalam, Hindi, Marathi, Bengali and others.

Translation is not a linguistic exercise only. It does not just entail transcribing words from one language to another. On the contrary, translation requires the entire synergy of the translator, his ability to go to the quintessence and with his individual personality in constant touch with the created work, to craft a work of the same appeal, same energy and power as the original. It is a great responsibility and almost, to use a cliche, a Herculean task. Khushwant Singh’s words hold relevance here. Long back Khushwant Singh, while he was translating Iqbal, was asked what difficulty he encountered in translating the great poet into English. He pondered awhile and replied that though he knew both English and Urdu well enough; he was stuck for words denoting fine cultural nuances. There can be no substitute for payal ki jhankar or chudion ki khanak. Tinkling of ankle bells or of bangles does not transmit that fine distinction. For K. Satchidanandan, translation is a difficult genre; it is like "balancing another man’s head on your shoulders."

To us today, translation is a way of reaching out to each other across the country, retrieving our histories and recording our past. Translations of great writers like Munshi Prem Chand, Karanth, Shivaji Sawant, Mahasweta Devi and a host of others who are writing in various regional languages are reaching us. We are aware that an astounding variety of literature in our native languages is available. It is again a matter of pride that translated works are being taught in English and other language departments at our universities. It would not be incorrect to hope that this will lead us to understand each other, re-invent our cultural identities and merge them into one Indian identity.

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