TRANSLATION
A masterpiece re-launched
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The novel is a breathtaking narrative of crumbling orthodoxy and the creeping in of modernity.
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THE Jnanpith Award winner Indira Goswami's masterpiece Dontal Hatir Une Khowa Howdah, written originally in the Kamrupi dialect of Assamese, has been translated by the author into English. One reads in "A Few Words from the Author" in the beginning of the book: "...it would have been difficult to get it translated by any other person than the author herself. Not many people from Assam are conversant with this dialect. Besides, many words of this particular dialect have now become obsolete." Reason enough for the author herself to embark upon such a venture, albeit with all the misgivings of a novice, which surmise is fortified by the mention, further ahead in her statement, of the names of Hiren Gohain and Harish Trivedi, who, she reveals, helped her through the manuscript.
Life in a sattra
The novel, set in the period just after the end of the Second World War, around India's Independence, and based on the author's impressions of her childhood and early adulthood spent in a Vaishnavite sattra of Kamrup, Assam, is a breathtaking narrative of crumbling orthodoxy, the creeping in of modernity, the passion, longing and deprivation of young Gossainees widowed very early in life, the inexorable changes brought about in the feudal hierarchy by the advent of Communism, land-reforms and so on; the many unforgettably dramatic moments that light up the night sky of pathos throughout the novel render it ideal for adaptation for stage and screen. Naturally, films and TV serials based on this work proved to be award-winners and extremely popular simultaneously — indeed, a very rare phenomenon.
The unrequited love of Giribala for Mark Sahib and the self-immolation of the former, marks the emotional peak of the novel; however, the deft portrayal of the suppressed passion of Saru Gossainee for Mahidhar and the pathetic manner in which Gossainee's wistful dream-world crashes to smithereens, as the man she loves like the Prince Charming turns out to be an ordinary crook, is equally touching. The men somehow come through as always failing the passionate women — be it the sage-like Mark Sahib in his irresolute and indecisive responses towards the sustained amorous appeals of the unfortunate Giribala, Mahidhar who is too self-engrossed in his avarice-driven cunning to notice Saru Gossainee's all-consuming devotion towards him or Indranath Gossain restrained by his status of being next in line for the adhikar-ship of the sattra, from publicly acknowledging the mutual yearning Eliman and he had for each other.
Evocative style
Revolutionary changes overtaking the quiet agrarian existence which had the sattra as the spiritual, cultural and social centre, culminating in the murder of Indranath, who had, ironically enough, deep within his heart, admired and invited the bloody uprising, is presented in a strikingly evocative style — especially the final scene in which life ebbs out of his body.
Lives of widows like Durga delineated by the marginality of their existence, prompting them to be constantly on the lookout for escape routes, come out in vivid colours. Of course, the life of the author who declared in her Jnanpith acceptance speech that but for her ability to write, she would have committed suicide long ago, having been widowed in the second year of her marriage, bears out a major strand in the theme of the novel — the determined struggle of the high-caste widows of the eastern regions to prevail against all odds.
There are details peppering up the narrative such as the rude intrusions of history, inducing culture shock, or practices peculiar to the region — references to the American soldiers who had been billeted in the rural scenario like aliens from outer space, the Negro giants hankering after frog-legs and leeches; vignettes of the state-owned opium-trade and the travails of the addicts; catching and taming of elephants and their life in captivity in corrals and a whole culture that developed around it and so on. The leitmotif of the free-roaming rogue tusker and the metaphor of the moth-eaten howda remain too obvious to be explained.
Editorial lapses
In spite of the author-translator's claim of having sought and received help from competent persons, factual errors, typos (even in the blurb) and recurring patches of lifeless language mar this otherwise magnificent work. None would expect the novelist to do the cleaning up of the translated text in the light of the candid admission she has made; neither can it be expected of the scholars whom she refers to, to do the copy editing of the entire novel. It obviously is the job of the editorial department of Rupa and Co. Details such as the selection of a type-face that isn't exactly eye-friendly, the cumbersome and repetitious captions for the photographs reproduced in the book and so on, stand out. Such a pity, since it is an elegant library edition of an acclaimed work by a master.
The Moth-eaten Howdah of the Tusker, Indira Goswami (author and translator), Rupa, 2004, p.362+ii, Rs.395.
A.J. THOMAS
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