Hell’s angel
Vikramdeep Johal

Tohellwithyou Mitro
by Krishna Sobti.
Trans. Gita Rajan and Raji Narasimhan.
Katha, New Delhi.
Pages 120. Rs 200.

If you can enjoy a classic in the original, what’s the point of reading its translation? Ironically, and unfortunately, Krishna Sobti’s path-breaking work Mitro Marjani—written in our so-called national language—won’t be as easily available in bookstores across the country as its translation in the international language. Moreover, there is a category of readers who are familiar with Hindi but prefer English because it’s fashionable and convenient to do so.

Whatever may be their reasons for reading this book, most people are not going to regret (or forget) it. The story of Mitro, a free-spirited girl married into a middle-class Hindu family of traders, is outrageous even today, over four decades after it first ruffled many a conservative feather.

It’s easier to describe the protagonist than to define her. She has a wicked sense of humour, a shrewd brain, a voluptuous body and an apparently insatiable libido. She feels no shame in showing off her breasts to her chaste Jethani or mocking her husband’s sexual incompetence. Nothing’s sacred or scary for this courtesan’s daughter, who is more than a match for any man. Though not really cut out for connubial life, she decides not to become a social outsider like her unwed mother.

Mitro’s mystique is well summed up by her mother-in-law Dhanvanti: "No one can fathom this girl. When she’s good, she’s better than the best. When she’s bad, she’s worse than the worst." The vampish bahus of soap operas are nothing but inferior versions of this hell-raiser, who is undoubtedly one of the most fascinating characters in Indian literature.

Sobti’s crisp and sharp language loses some of its punch in English. For instance, "Wah re kamzat billay, malai dekh moonh marne aaya hai!" becomes merely "You alley cat come drooling after the cream!" Still, plenty of lines are provocative enough to make an impact even in angrezi.

The translators have playfully preferred to retain quite a few words, such as "Jethani", "Devrani", "Samdhin", "Jamai" and "Bhaujai" (It’s amusing to hear Mitro ask her mother, "Why ri, why?"). However, conspicuous by its absence is a glossary, which would have been of help particularly to foreign readers.

This novella is the perfect introduction to Sobti’s rich oeuvre, which includes Daar Se Bichhudi and Sahitya Akademi award-winning novel Zindaginama. Go for the original, if you can. Otherwise, this handsomely produced translation-cum-tribute is the next best thing.

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