I cannot think of anything better in these times of upheaval and distress than the Hanuman Chalisa given to us in English by Vikram Seth. It was waiting for me when I came home from giving a Ramayana lecture one evening and my heart soared, as if Hanuman himself had come to tell me not to worry, to let him take over the weight of my discomforts and the troubles of the world. He is, after all, the sankata-haran, “crisis dispeller,” as Seth defines him in translation.
The Hanuman Chalisa, Vikram Seth, Speaking Tiger, 2024.
Seth’s translation is pitch perfect – this is no small achievement with a text written in tight couplets with a strict metrical scheme, a text with rhyme and rhythm and a text that is well-known and well-loved. Seth talks extensively in his interviews about the difficulty of confronting the falling, ‘feminine’ metres of the original and finding something equally aurally compelling for the English. You scarcely notice this for Seth’s Chalisa is smooth, bouncy, exuberant, playful, reflecting the sweetness of Hanuman’s nature. But Seth has also found the numen that suggests the presence of divinity and is able to share the overwhelming sense of love and devotion with which the poem is imbued.
The Chalisa is attributed to the Awadhi poet Tulsidas, whose grand composition is the Ramcharitamanas, the story of Lord Ram composed in the 16th century. Tulsidas was a Hanuman bhakt, believing that it was the strong, courageous and big-hearted monkey who was the doorway to Ram’s infinite grace and all-consuming love. For all that Tulsi’s Manas is steeped in devotion to Ram, it is this lyrical and joyous incantation that celebrates the marvellous monkey who is both the paradigmatic bhakt and a metaphor for the human soul’s relationship with the divine. Ram’s perfection might be intimidating, but Hanuman is accessible to everyone – the Chalisa expresses this openness more than any other text.
What is it that makes this poem so beloved? After all, it is pretty simple in form and content. Chaupais have an attractive rhythm, they are easy to learn and to remember and to recite. The Chalisa’s chaupais and dohas introduce Hanuman with epithets and list his many good qualities – son of the Wind, ocean of knowledge, and so forth. Then they describe his beloved form with his tawny, tightly curled fur and his massive arms, his gold earrings, the mace he carries on his shoulder. They move on to speak of his exploits and adventures in Ram’s quest for Sita, they recount his courage, his wit, his wisdom, his selfless devotion. The Chalisa ends with a litany of blessing that Hanuman showers upon those that love him and all that a bhakt will gain by worshipping him, including boons from Sita and access to Ram himself.
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Surely, the magnetic power of the Chalisa has to do with the popularity of Hanuman as a character. He stands apart in a magnificent story that is filled with heroic and charismatic creatures, to say nothing of God himself. Anyone who was watched a Ramlila will know the lifting of the spirit when Hanuman comes on stage – children and grandfathers alike will cheer when the monkey arrives, there will be cheers and whistles and hooting and clapping. Grandmothers will weep gentle tears of love and wipe their eyes and smile. The tension of the story has broken and we are relieved, for everyone knows that from this point on, Ram’s quest will bear fruit, Ravan will be vanquished and Sita will be rescued, unharmed. Even readers of the Ramayan experience this same sense of relief when Hanuman makes his appearance in the Kishkindha Kanda – the dark clouds that have hitherto accompanied the exiled prince whose wife has been abducted have parted to let in a ray of sunshine. Or, rather, they have been blown away by Pavanasuta, Hanuman, the Son of the Wind.
Most of us from northern India know the Chalisa to be the constant companion to millions and millions of people and a particularly dominant chorus in the soundscape of any morning. It is recited in temples and homes, it is accompanied by the ringing of bells, it is muttered in walks to the market, it is spoken in the mind and with the voice. It is owned equally by those who are are sad and by those who are happy, it provides comfort as well as courage. It is truly everywhere and all the time. However, it would be remiss to ignore the fact that the Chalisa belongs almost entirely to men, more so in the public realm. Hanuman lies at the centre of an essentially masculinist cult, be it as patron of police forces or as a totem in wrestling akhadas. He has also been the inspiration for private vigilantes such as the Bajrang Dal and other quasi-military groups.
It goes without saying, however, that the Hanuman of the Chalisa could not be even a distant cousin of these groups nor of the aggressive Hanuman decal that has recently come to adorn both private and public vehicles.
The last ten years have seen this increasingly militant Hanuman, not just in iconography but also in remade, remixed and newly musicalised versions of the Chalisa. The beautiful poem has become martial and is often accompanied by war-like images of destruction on video. Seth’s translation reclaims the text from this aggression. He gives the Chalisa back to those of us who have always loved it and presents it as it should be known and understood to those who are not familiar with it and to those who have been persuaded to misunderstand it. How fitting it is that the book is released at a time when so many of us are ready to reclaim so much of what has been take away from us. May Hanuman be with us as we fight the rakshasas.
Arshia Sattar is a translator and teaches classical Indian literatures at various institutes across the country.
