Stars on an <i>amabashya</i> night
Riveting is how Ditio Syed-Haq feels about a translation
I first read Shesher Kabita in its original form many years ago when I was a first-year student at Dhaka University. I was eighteen at the time, I was desperately in love and it was the girl who had laid claim to my heart that gave me a volume of collected works by Tagore and suggested that I read it. Little did I suspect the hidden message that she may have wanted to convey at the time! She cried as she gave it to me, I cried as I read it and we both cried afterwards as if the banks of the mighty Jamuna had erupted and overwhelmed our tender, young lives with waves of bittersweet sorrow. Melodramatic bordering on the absurd, it felt as if our lives had been torn asunder despite the fact that we both sat there holding hands, bunking class and casually shelling peanuts on the grounds of Modhu's Canteen. Years later, having thankfully passed through that indistinct phase of life where a man is told that he must not cry, I can unashamedly admit that Radha Chakravarty's thoughtful translation, Farewell Song, has made me cry once again. But the tears this time have been of a different sort. In youth, they were for the vast expanse of life and longing and immeasurable unknown that stretched out like an ocean before me. Today, they are the product of looking over one's shoulder into the distant past and cherishing the memories of events we wish we could live once more. This in itself demonstrates the timeless appeal of Tagore and how effortlessly his works span the generational divide. This is a story that will take on different meanings for different people at different phases of their lives and I can present you here only with my humble opinion as it reveals itself to me. To truly do justice to Shesher Kabita, one must first step into the shoes of Tagore at the time it was penned. The year is nineteen twenty-nine and the world is on the verge of the Great Depression. The literary horizon of Bengal is awash with greatness, with the likes of Buddhadev Basu, Saratchandra and Nirad Chaudhuri. Tagore is faced with a dilemma. There are those who claim that his writing has become lacklustre. Others are maliciously promoting the works of alternative writers in protest against his prominence and domination of the literary scene. A sensitive and highly-strung Tagore picks up the only weapon that he has at his disposal. He takes up his pen. To his myriad detractors and dissenters and enemies and critics, Shesher Kabita is a lyrical rejoinder from the Bard of Bengal. An idealistic, charming young man from an affluent family retreats to the mountain paradise of Shillong to get away from the high society that he shuns. Amit Raye is a brilliant poet at heart and yet feels little need to reveal this to the world. His chief grudge is against the stranglehold of Tagore in the literary field. A chance encounter places him face to face with the demure and reserved Labanya, an avid follower of the poet that he so resents. Labanya is a philosopher, an intellectual and realist of the harshest sort and it is possibly this aspect of herself, so contrary to Amit's world-view, which makes him fall hopelessly in love with her. It is a match set never to last in reality, but to live on forever in their hearts. Eventually, it is to the very society that he denounces that a defeated Amit must return. In fact, it is in the formation and exchange between these two characters that Tagore presents us with the duality and conflicting emotions within his own creative self. With a few deft strokes of the pen, Tagore dismisses his critics, putting into words the divine dichotomy within -- that he is that which he is not; that he can be that which he will never be. Few writers in the entire past history of the written word have succeeded in putting across this universal affliction of the creative mind with such elegance and poetic grace. When read in context, Shesher Kabita transforms itself from a simple story of unrequited love into something entirely different and utterly profound. I feel compelled at this point to add a few footnotes on the quality of Radha Chakravarty's effort. Having quite recently turned my hand towards translation myself, I can tell you that this is no mean feat. The translator is faced with the insurmountable challenge of taking human thoughts and emotions expressed in one set of symbols, sifting these carefully through the sieve of one's own creativity and transforming them into another set of symbols altogether whilst retaining the essence of the original form. It is creative alchemy of the highest order. Translation can be a thankless job simply because many people fail to appreciate this fact. But if translating prose is a challenge, I can assure you that translating verse is much, much harder. Thus, it was with more than a touch of admiration that I read and re-read Chakravarty's painstaking transformation of the lyrical passages in Shesher Kabita into their English equivalent. They are nothing short of exquisite and one would be hard-pressed to recognise that the source of her lovingly crafted words lies embedded, in fact, within the intricate language of Bengal. Readers who have been following my reviews will know that I take no prisoners when it comes to critical appreciation of a work and so, this is an observation that I make with conviction and from the heart. The translator's succinct and subtle introduction to the book in itself demonstrates the deep reverence and scholarly humility with which she approaches the master's pen. If you have yet to experience the wonder of Tagore, then I can think of no better work than this by means of introduction. In parting, perhaps I need not stress that this review is directed not towards those learned elders who have probably had cause to study Tagore to an extent more than I shall do in my lifetime. It is for the benefit of those English-speaking readers both at home and abroad who may be, for whatever reason, unaware of the glittering universe of literary brilliance that resides in our own backyard. Like stars on an amabashya night, it shimmers; it refuses to be ignored. Read, revere and remember. Ditio Syed-Haq is a writer. His translation of Syed Shamsul Haq's short story "Taash" is due for publication soon.
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