Can a Translation Pay Fitting Tribute to a Linguistic Polymath?

Suryakant Tripathi ‘Nirala’ played a significant role in shaping the Chhayavaad era in Hindi literature, alongside Jaishankar Prasad, Sumitranandan Pant, and Mahadevi Varma.

Born in 1896 at Gadhakola, Unnao (Uttar Pradesh), Nirala’s literary career was marked by hardship, tragedies, a string of controversies, friendships forged and embittered, and an unmistakeable streak of iconoclasm. A self-taught polymath, Nirala was inspired by the bounty of Bengali, Sanskrit literature, and Vedanta philosophy, mastering literary Hindi only later at the insistence of his wife.

However, he wouldn’t bat an eye ridiculing the fallacies of all that moulded him intellectually, as the present anthology of Nirala’s prose fiction, A Portrait of Love, boldly demonstrates. 

A man of constant sorrow

While still in his teens, Nirala married Manohara Devi, and the family was struck routinely by tragedies: first during the 1918 influenza epidemic, when he lost his wife and four other relatives, and then in 1935, when he lost his daughter Saroj, prompting him to compose the requiem ‘Saroj Smriti’.

In the same year, he also wrote ‘Ram ki Shakti Puja’, a poem about Ram’s resolve to rein in the unruly sea that kept him from reuniting with Sita. This duality of public triumphs and private setbacks characterise the life of Nirala, as also of his fictional characters in the anthology, particularly in stories like ‘Jyotirmayee’ and the novella Billesur Bakriha. 

The prolificacy of Nirala’s illustrious literary career was oddly matched by the frequency of literary and political controversies he found himself embroiled in, his aesthetics and politics feeding off of one another. He loathed Banarasi Das Chaturvedi and said he abused his proximity to Mahatma Gandhi and Rabindranath Tagore to belittle literary rivals.

In the same spirit, Nirala publicly took to task both Gandhi and Nehru as both had egregiously erred in their attitude towards the world of Hindi letters: Gandhi had huffed that none in Hindi could match the class of Tagore while Nehru had dismissed Hindi writers as ‘darbari’ or courtly.

The poet’s prose 

Though Nirala’s literary career began relatively late in life – in the 1920s, by which time he was already a widower – he progressed boldly, distinguishing himself as a writer and an editor staunchly opposed to recondite rules of poetry. In the decades since his death, both in academic curriculums and among the readers, Nirala is recognised primarily for his poetry – neo-romantic, revolutionary and satirical. The present collection brings spotlight on another radical dimension of his writings. 

In his prose writings, fearless, provocative, and startlingly original, much like his poetry, Nirala regards the world with the eyes of a compulsive satirist, committed to laying bare its hypocrisies. In each of the stories, Nirala valiantly questions social norms, particularly those of marriage, love and caste, and calls for a radical overhauling of our moral compasses, so it could point to the right direction. A Portrait of Love – through six of Nirala’s finest stories, the celebrated novella Billesur Bakriha, and a remarkable introduction by the translator that vividly establishes Nirala’s milieu, stressing a close correspondence between his life and literature– pays homage to Nirala’s genius, calling attention to his often-overlooked prose legacy. 

Gautam Choubey, who teaches English at Delhi University, has previously translated Pandey Kapil’s Bhojpuri historical fiction Phoolsunghi (2019), shining the maiden light on the bounty of Bhojpuri literature. With A Portrait of Love, he succeeds in highlighting Nirala’s less-recognised felicity in prose.

A portrait of India in flux

The collection includes much anthologised women-centric stories like ‘Sukul’s Wife’, ‘Jyotirmayee’, and the very poignant ‘Devi’; satirical portraits of colonial urbanity in ‘Portrait of a Lady-Love’ and ‘What I Saw’; and incisive sketches of rural India, contoured by caste discrimination, in ‘Chaturi Chamar’, and Billesur Bakriha.’

The book begins with ‘Sukul’s Wife’ which celebrates of the idea of choice in marriage albeit by reversing the manner wooing games and courtships unfold. ‘Jyotirmayee’ complicates the theme further by suggesting that modern education may not have such a modernising impact of one’s matrimonial outlook. From there, the reader is taken to the intricate social fabric of Lucknow in ‘Portrait of a Lady-Love,’ exploring the nuances of ‘romance’ against the backdrop of a rapidly changing society. ‘What I Saw’ delves into the complex dynamics between writers and courtesans, offering a glimpse into colonial Calcutta’s vibrant yet morally ambiguous world.

Also read | Review: Why We Must Read ‘Nirala’

Finally, in the much-lauded (and also much-berated) ‘Chaturi Chamar’ and the novella Billesur Bakriha, Nirala’s paints a vivid picture of rural life, blending poignancy with humour, merciless in his attack on the caste and other hypocrisies. 

One of the most striking aspects of Nirala’s writing is his portrayal of women characters as clever, enterprising, and uninhibited, often using their wit and charm to prevail in the face of ruthless patriarchy. In ‘Sukul’s Wife’, it echoes in an enterprising woman’s audacity to marry a man of her choice. In ‘Jyotirmayee’, it is apparent in a widow’s her pursuit of happiness. In ‘Devi’, it takes the form of the stoic indifference that a mute beggar woman conveys.

Translating polyglossia and polyphony

According to the linguist Udaynarayan Tiwari, a contemporary of Nirala, Nirala could switch languages to suit his mood. 

When in high spirits, Nirala spoke his mother tongue, Bainswari. A conversation in Bengali, too, meant a happy disposition, since it was also a mother tongue to him. But at the faintest bout of anger, he would switch to a highly Sanskritised register of Hindi. And when furious, he spoke only in English.

The pieces included in this anthology exhibit a similar linguistic variety – from the Sanskritised Hindi of ‘Devi’ to Lakhanvi zabaan in ‘Portrait of a Lady-Love’, and from the Bainswari Hindi in Billesur Bakriha to the ‘modern/urban’ in ‘Sukul’s Wife.’ His writings also abound in references, motifs, loanwords and playful appropriations from a wide range of resources. These include Sanskrit mantras and shlokas, couplets from Ramcharitmanas, biting provincial proverbs, Perso-Arabic legends, accounts of contemporary feuds (both literary and political), anecdotes and music. 

While many of them may have been apparent to Nirala’s original readers, they’re certainly lost on those reading Nirala today, even in Hindi. Moreover, Hindi and English have different linguistic characteristics; Hindi tends to be expansive, while English is more concise. Mixing the two can result in confusion. 

Gautam Choubey deftly bridges this gap while maintaining clarity and ensuring that the essence of the original text is preserved in a way that English-speaking readers can appreciate. Choubey identifies and contextualises numerous obscure references – even the ones Nirala did not bother himself to elaborate on. What is equally praiseworthy is his effort to identify the objects that have gone into disuse or have become extinct. The following line from Billesur Bakriha, where Choubey explains to his English readers ornaments of yore, illustrates the point. 

Meanwhile, Billesur approached the village moneylender and borrowed all the jewellery he needed— kantha and mohanmala to adorn the neck, bajulla for theupper arms, pahunchi to grace the wrists and angoothi to embellish the fingers.

Nirala’s writings offer profound insights into the human condition, challenging stereotypes and celebrating the human spirit with unparalleled sensitivity. Choubey’s nuanced translation is a fitting tribute to the literary giant, ensuring that Nirala’s legacy continues to inspire generations to come.

Ashutosh Thakur is a Bengaluru-based management professional, literary critic, and curator.