Poetic Licence

PANDIT OMKAR NATH CHATURVEDI claims to be a direct descendant of Tulsidas’ disciple, Pandit Ganapati Upadhyay. Vikram Pande and Neelesh Kulkarni wrote a remarkable book, In the Footsteps of Rama (2021). Following Rama’s footsteps, they travelled to different parts of India. This included Rajapur, the birthplace of Tulsidas. There, they met Pandit Omkar Nath Chaturvedi. “For over an hour, Pandit Omkar Nath regales us with the history of the epic and other texts written by Tulsidas (1511-1623). Twelve works, he says, are considered to be written by the poet—six major and six minor. Based on their language, they have been classified into two groups—those written in Awadhi being the ‘Shri Ramacharitamanas’, ‘Rama Lalla Nahachu’, ‘Barvai Rama­yana’, ‘Parvati Mangal’, ‘Janaki Mangal’ and ‘Ramaagya Prashna’, while those written in Braj Bhasha being ‘Krishna Gitavali’, ‘Gitavali’, ‘Sahityaratna’, ‘Dohavali’, ‘Vairagya Sandipani’ and ‘Vinaya Patrika’. Besides these twelve works, four other works are popularly attributed to Tulsidas: ‘Hanuman Chalisa’, ‘Hanu­man Ashtak’, ‘Hanuman Bahuk’ and ‘Tulsidas Satsai’.” Unless conversant with Tulsidas and his works, most people will have heard of only ‘Shri Ramacharitamanas’ and ‘Hanuman Chalisa’.

While the authorship is contested, the case made out by popu­lar attribution is fairly strong. (One reason for authorship being contested is that commentaries on ‘Hanuman Chalisa’ are of recent vintage, the text not being included in some early editions of Tulsidas’ works.) As the name suggests, ‘Hanuman Chalisa’ consists of 40 verses. These are chaupais, quatrain verses with four syllables in each line. But all texts of ‘Hanuman Chalisa’ have three additional verses, two dohas (couplets) at the beginning and one at the end. Verse 39 takes Tulsidas by name. There is also a beautiful story in the biography authored by Priyadas in 1712. Hearing about Tulsidas’ mi­raculous powers, Emperor Akbar summoned him. Busy with his writing, Tulsidas refused. At this, Emperor Akbar imprisoned him in Fatehpur Sikri. Imprisoned, Tulsidas wrote ‘Hanuman Chalisa’ in forty days. Once that was done, monkeys descended on Fatehpur Sikri and wrought havoc. Akbar begged forgiveness. On Tulsidas’ request, he abandoned Fatehpur Sikri and returned to Delhi. There are several stories about Tulsidas meeting Hanuman, such as when Hanuman assumed the form of a leper before showing himself to Tulsidas. Tulsidas established the Sankat Mochan Hanuman Temple (Varanasi) at the spot. Therefore, the debate about whether Tulsidas actually wrote ‘Hanuman Chalisa’, or whether it is merely attributed to him, is a pointless one. Given everything else, we might as well assume he wrote it.

‘Hanuman Chalisa’ has been stupendous in impact, espe­cially in some parts of India. Those 40 (or 43) verses are recited routinely. The text is permeated in bhakti, especially towards the second half. Hundreds of people know the text by heart. It has featured in classical and folk music. For most Indians, Awadhi shouldn’t be that difficult to understand. But there are some who would like a translation in English. English and Indian languages differ in grammatical structures. Translat­ing prose works into English is difficult enough. When it comes to a poem, like ‘Hanuman Chalisa’, it becomes close to impossible. How does one capture the rhyme, rhythm and metre? At best, one can do a prose translation, translating the words, with notes, so that one understands ‘Hanuman Chalisa’. In such an event, one would miss out on the poetry.

Vikram Seth is a poet and novelist, much-awarded and much-feted. Any work of poetry requires a poet to translate it and what Seth has done in the Hanuman Chalisa is phenomenal

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Vikram Seth is a poet and novelist, much-awarded and much-feted. Any work of poetry requires a poet to translate it and what Seth has done in The Hanuman Chalisa is phenome­nal. Let me give an arbitrary example. This slim volume has the Awadhi text (in the Devanagari script, so to speak), an English transliteration of the text and the Seth translation. At random, let me take verse 18. The original text reads, “juga sahasra jojana para bhaanoo/leelyo taahi madhura phala janoo.” At random, I fished out an English translation from the internet. “Hanumanji gulped, the sun at distance of sixteen thousand miles considering it to be a sweet fruit.” An alternative version states, “On your own you dashed upon the sun, which is at a fabulous distance of thousands of miles, thinking it to be a sweet luscious fruit.” Seth has, “Far in the distance, the Sun burned so brightly. Like a sweet fruit, you just swallowed it lightly.” With poetic quality a vital element in any transla­tion, there is no question about which is supe­rior. Notice that none of these translations have notes. To quote from the author’s Introduc­tion, “I was at first tempted to add a few notes. These would have discussed the history of the poem; its basic structure and movement; references to the names and events mentioned within the poem; and (dear to the heart of a poet) a detailed analysis of the rhythm and prosody of the dohas and chaupais (including exceptions to the standard beat-count of syllables, as well as Tulsidas’ lively syncopation across divisions within a line of his chaupais. But I eventually decided against this on the grounds that it would encumber a simple transla­tion with too much by way of apparatus.”

Perhaps, simplicity is a strong argument. Notice the word jojana (yojana) in verse 18. The two internet-based translations have struggled to translate the word, while Seth has simply finessed the problem away. A note would have made the reader wiser. Or for that matter, the word Bhanu. It does mean sun. But Tulsidas chose it, as opposed to other possible words for sun. Seth captures the nuance, but not the other two translations.

Having said this, there are a couple of occasions where I thought the author could have done better. Verse 3 is an example. “Sturdy-limbed and brave past telling, Friend of the good, all evil dispelling.” Or verse 4, which follows immediately. “Golden-bodied—in fine robes appearing, Curly haired—on each side an earring.” I am sure these are capable of improvement.

In the Introduction, Seth writes, “I dedicate this translation to Bhaskar (from A Suitable Boy), who learned the poem before he was five, but who spent his fifties fighting the chauvinism and intolerance to which this and many other well-beloved religious texts and rituals have been put. Nothing could be further from the humanity and inclusivity of the best of Hinduism than the self-aggrandisement and wilful cruelty of those who use the religion in which—in the lottery of life— they happen to be born, in order to attack or demean others.” This suggests an additional motive behind publishing this translation, beyond the obvious one of conveying the ever-lasting beauty of a perennial text like ‘Hanuman Chalisa’.

I read and re-read the translation and it is indeed a skilled poet at work, a master of his craft. He makes Tulidas come alive, up to a point. I wondered what was missing and was re­minded of The Wonderful World of Oz. More specifically, I was reminded of the Tin Woodman, who lacked a heart. In similar vein, the defining attribute of ‘Hanuman Chalisa’ is bhakti, which this translation lacks. This is an intangible, difficult to define. No matter how much of an intangible and regard­less of how difficult it is to pin it down, bhakti explains the immense popularity of ‘Hanuman Chalisa’. However cleverly and masterfully done, this lowers the bar of the present book. The bhakti is missing and it shows. Unlike Tulsidas, the au­thor is not immersed in Hanuman. Therein lies the difference. It is not as if there are no texts in English with bhakti. Faith and devotion cut across the language barrier. In other words, despite this wonderful translation, there is no substitute to reading the original ‘Hanuman Chalisa’. It is not that difficult to understand. Once one does so, one will realise why it is recited and why it is learnt by heart. It is an immortal text.

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Bibek Debroy

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