Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote, The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne…
The Canterbury Tales (1387-1400) by Chaucer, Prologue
This is the month Asia hosts sprays of new years across multiple regions. Many of these celebrate the fecundity of Earth, spring and the departure of bleak winter months. Each new year is filled with hope for the coming year. The vibrant colours of varied cultures celebrate spring in different ways, but it is a welcome for the new-born year, a jubilation, a reaffirmation of the continuity of the circle of life. Will the wars, especially the shortages caused by them and felt deeply by many of us, affect these celebrations? Had they impacted the festivals that were celebrated earlier? These are questions to which we all seek answers. We can only try to gauge the suffering caused by war on those whose homes, hopes, families and assets have been affected other than trying to cope with the senselessness of such inane attacks. But, in keeping with TS Eliot’s observations on Prufrock, most of us continue our lives unperturbed and as usual.
Some of us think and try to dissent for peace and a world without borders with words – prose or poetry. To reinforce ideas of commonalities that bind overriding divides, we are excited to announce a poetry anthology mapping varied continents with content from Borderless Journal, Wild Winds: The Borderless Anthology of Poems. We are hugely grateful to Hawakal Publishers for this opportunity and to Bitan Chakraborty for the fabulous cover design. We invite you all to browse on the anthology which is available in hardcopy across continents.
Our issue this month is a bumper issue with the translation of Tagore’s Roktokorobi (Red Oleanders) by Professor Fakrul Alam. It’s the full-length play this time as earlier we had carried only an excerpt. The play is deeply relevant to our times as is Somdatta Mandal’s English rendition of his story, ‘Daliya’, set in Arakan. We also have also translated Tagore’s response to the idea of mortal fame and deification in poetry. Kallol Lahiri’s poignant Bengali story about the resilience of an ageing actress has been brought to us in English by V Ramaswamy. Isa Kamari brings us translations of his Malay poems exploring spirituality through nature.
But what really grips are the fables that Hughes will be sharing with us over four months. He calls them Rhysop Fables, after the ancient ones from Aesop’s with the ancient author himself being mentioned in one of the short absurdist narratives this time. In fiction, our regular fable writer, Naramsetti Umamaheswararao explores a modern-day dilemma, that of social media intruding into the development of children. Jonathon B Ferrini glances at resilience and mental disability while, Sangeetha G looks into societal attitudes that still plague her part of the world. Oindrila Ghosal gives a story set in Kashmir.
From Kashmir, Gower Bhat shares a heartfelt musing on being a first time father. Mohul Bhowmick writes of Eid in Hydearbad (Hari Raya in Southeast Asia) — echoing themes from Kamari’s poems — and Anupriya Pandey ponders over the quiet acceptance of mundane life that emphasises social inequities. Jun A. Alindogan brings home issues from Phillipines. While we have stories about Vietnam from Meredith Stephens, Suzanne Kamata muses about Phnom Penh, mesmerised by Cambodian dancers.
Farouk Gulsara writes of his cycling trip from Jaipur to Udaipur bringing to life dichotomies of values and showing that age can be just a number. Chetan Poduri reinforces gaps created by technology as does Charudutta Panigrah, a theme that reverberates from poetry to fiction to non-fiction and much of it with a light touch. Devraj Singh Kalsi sprinkles humour with his strange tale about hiring a bodyguard.
Keith Lyons has brought in Keith Westwaters, a soldier-turned-poet who seems to find his muse mainly in New Zealand. We have also featured an author who overrides borders of continents, Marzia Pasini. Her book, Leonie’s Leap, has a protagonist of mixed origin and her characters are drawn out of Russia, India, Bulgaria and many other places.
This rounds up our April issue. Do visit our content’s page and explore the journal further.
Huge thanks to the wonderful team, especially Sohana Manzoor for her art. They help bring together the colours of the world to our pages. Huge thanks to contributors who make each issue evolve a personality of its own. And heartfelt thanks to readers who make it worth our while to write.
Daliya by Tagore, published in Magh 1298 B.S. (Jan/February 1891), has been translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal
Daliya by Tagore
Preface
After being defeated, Shah Shuja feared Aurangzeb and ran away to take shelter under the king of Arakan. He had three beautiful daughters with him. The king of Arakan wished to get the three daughters married to the princes. Shah Shuja was extremely unwilling to accept the proposal and so one day, according to the king’s orders, he was lured by trickery to travel in a boat on the river and then there was an attempt to sink that boat mid-river. During that incident, the youngest daughter Amina was hurled into the river by her father himself. The eldest daughter committed suicide. And one of Shuja’s trusted aides called Rahamat Ali took Julekha and swam away with her, while Shuja died fighting in a war.
Amina floated along with the strong current and quite soon got entangled in a fisherman’s net miraculously and gradually grew up in his hut.
In the meantime, the old king died, and the prince was initiated into the kingdom.
Chapter One
One morning the old fisherman came and reprimanded Amina and said, “Tinni.” The fisherman had renamed Amina in the Arakan language.
“Tinni, what has happened to you this morning? You haven’t laid your hand on anything. My new net hasn’t been glued, my boat…”
Amina came close to the fisherman and affectionately told him, “Old man, my elder sister has come today, so today is a holiday.”
“Who is your sister, Tinni?”
Julekha came out from somewhere and said, “Me.”
The old man was surprised. Then he came close to Julekha and carefully observed her face.
Suddenly he asked, “Do you know any sort of work?”
Amina said, “Old man, I will work on behalf of didi[1]. Didi won’t be able to work.”
The old man thought for a while and asked, “Where will you stay?”
Julekha replied, “With Amina.”
The old man thought, this was also trouble. He asked, “What will you eat?”
Julekha said, “There is also a way.” Saying that she contemptuously threw a gold sovereign in front of the fisherman.
Amina picked it up and handing it over to the fisherman said in a hushed tone, “Old man, don’t say anything else. You go and do your work. It is quite late in the day.”
Julekha had travelled in different places in disguise and at last found out Amina’s whereabouts and landed in this fisherman’s hut. But narrating all that will result in a second story. Her saviour, Rahamat Seikh, worked in the Arakan king’s court under a pseudonym.
Chapter Two
The narrow river was flowing by, and the cool breeze from the first spell of summer made the red flowers from the koilu tree fall below on the ground.
Sitting under that tree Julekha said to Amina, “God has saved the lives of we two sisters just to take revenge of father’s death. Otherwise, I don’t find any other reason.”
Amina kept on looking at the farthest and the densest trees on the other side of the river and said very slowly, “Didi don’t say such words. I like this world quite well. If they want to die, let the men fight with each other and die, I have no sorrow here.”
Julekha said, “Shame on you Amina. Aren’t you the daughter from the Shehezada[2]’s lineage. Where is the throne in Delhi and where is this fisherman’s hut in the Arakans!”
Amina laughed and replied, “Didi, this old man’s hut is better than the throne in Delhi and if any young girl finds the shade of the koilu tree much better, the throne of Delhi won’t shed a drop of tear.”
Julekha partly unmindfully and partly replying to Amina said, “Yes, you cannot be blamed because you were really small then. But just think about it once, Father loved you the most and that is why he had thrown you in the water with his own hands. Don’t consider this life to be more loving than that death given by Father. But if you can take revenge, then the meaning of life is justified.”
Amina kept quiet and kept on looking at the distance. But it could be clearly understood, despite all those words, this pleasant breeze outside, the shade of the tree and her own youth had kept her engrossed in some happy memories.
After some time, she gave a deep sigh and said, “Didi please wait for a while. I have household work to do. The old man won’t be able to eat if I don’t cook for him.”
Chapter Three
Julekha thought about Amina’s condition and kept on sitting in a very desolate mood. Suddenly, there was the sound of a big jump, and someone came from behind and covered Julekha’s eyes with his hands.
Julekha was alarmed and said, “Who are you?”
Hearing her voice the young man left the eyes and came and stood in front of her. Looking at Julekha’s face he said without hesitation, “You are not Tinni.” It was as if Julekha was always trying to pass on as Tinni, only the exceptionally sharp intelligence of the young man could decipher the cleverness.
Julekha gathered her clothes, stood up brilliantly, and cast a firm look at him. She asked, “Who are you?’
The young man said, “You don’t know me. Tinni does. Where is Tinni?”
Hearing the commotion Tinni came outside. Seeing Julekha’s anger and the bewildered face of the young man, Amina gave a loud laugh.
She said, “Didi, don’t take his words into consideration. He is not a human being. He is a deer of the forest. If he has behaved impertinently, I will scold him. Daliya, what did you do?”
The young man instantly replied, “Covered her eyes. I thought she was Tinni. But she is not Tinni.”
Suddenly Tinni expressed terrible anger and said, “Again! Uttering big things with your little mouth. When did you cover Tinni’s eyes? You seem to have too much courage.”
The young man said, “It doesn’t take too much courage to cover someone’s eyes; especially if someone has the previous habit. But I am telling you the truth, Tinni. Today I was a little scared.”
Saying that he secretly pointed out his finger at Julekha and kept on looking at Amina’s face and smiled.
Amina said, “No you are a brute. You are not worthy of standing in front of a Shahezadi, a princess. It is necessary to teach you manners. Look, you should salute like this.”
Saying that Amina bent her youthful slim body very pleasantly and paid a salute to Julekha. The young man tried very hard to follow her orders in an incomplete fashion.
She said, “Do this and take three steps backwards.” The young man moved backwards.
“Salute her once again.” He saluted once more.
In this manner by moving backwards, by saluting, Amina took the young man up to the door of the hut.
She said, “Enter the room.” The young man did so.
Amina came out and bolted the door from outside and said, “Do some household work. Light the fire.” Saying that, she came and sat next to her sister.
She said, “Didi, please don’t get annoyed. The people here are like this. I am sick and tired with them.”
But that didn’t get reflected in Amina’s face or her behaviour. Instead, in many instances she expressed a particular bias towards the men here.
Julekha expressed as much anger as possible and said, “Really, Amina. I am surprised at your behaviour. How does an outsider have so much courage to come and touch you!”
Amina added to her sister’s concern and said, “Look at this, sister. If any Badshah or Nawab’s son acted in this manner, I would have insulted him and thrown him out.”
Julekha couldn’t control her inward smile – she laughed out loud and said, “Tell me the truth Amina. You were saying you liked the world, was this because of that brute young man?”
Amina replied, “Well, let me tell you the truth, didi. He helps me a lot. He plucks flowers from the trees, hunts animals and brings them, and rushes forward whenever he is asked to do a certain job. I have often thought of reprimanding him, but that attempt is of no avail. If I tell him with deep anger in my eyes, ‘Daliya, I am very dissatisfied with you’ – he stares at my face and silently keeps on smiling as if in jest. Mocking in this country is probably of this kind; if you give them two blows, they feel very happy. I have even tried that. Just see, I have locked him in the room – he is enjoying himself there. If I open the door, I will see him happily blowing at the fire with his eyes and face all reddened up. Tell me, sister, what should I do with him. I cannot take it anymore.”
Julekha said, “I can give a try.”
Amina laughed and said politely, “I beg at your feet, sister. Don’t tell him anything.”
The way she said those words it seemed as if the young man was a pet deer belonging to Amina, till now his wild habits have not left him. She feared that he would disappear if he saw some other people around.
In the meantime, the fisherman came and asked, “Tinni, hasn’t Daliya come today?”
“Yes, he has come.”
“Where has he gone?”
“He was disturbing too much. So, I locked him in the room.”
The old man was a little worried and said, “If he disturbs you, tolerate it. Everyone is so restless at a young age. Don’t reprimand him too much. Yesterday Daliya gave me a tholu, i.e. a gold coin, and took three fish from me.”
Amina said, “Don’t worry old man. Today I will extract two tholus from him, and you won’t have to give a single fish.”
The old man was very happy to see the cleverness and worldly wisdom of his adopted daughter at such a young age, and he affectionately caressed her head and left.
Chapter Four
It was strange that gradually Julekha no longer objected to this coming and going of Daliya. She thought that there was nothing strange about it. That was because there was current on one side of the river and the shore on the other bank, the passions and public shame of a woman were also like that. But outside civil society, in this remote corner of Arakan, where were people here?
Here nature manifested itself with the change of seasons – trees were blooming and the blue river in front was at spate during the monsoon; during autumn it would be clear and again become faint during summer; there was no criticism in the loud voices of the birds, and the southern wind would occasionally carry in the faint sound of human voices but not their actual conversation.
Just as a deserted mansion gets gradually covered with deep vegetation, similarly staying there for some time, the secret attack of nature gradually weakens the societal rules made by men and everywhere it gets blended with the natural world. The union of a man and a woman who are equal to one another seems so beautiful that it doesn’t seem out of place for a woman to look at it. They are steeped in mystery, happiness, such deep and unending curiosity, that nothing else seems relevant. So, when the lonely shade of poverty in this barbarian hut gradually turned Julekha’s pride about her heritage and standard of dignity into something lax, she started really enjoying watching the union of Amina and Daliya under the flowering shade of the koilu tree.
Probably an unsatisfied desire would arise in her young heart too and make her restless in pleasure and pain. In the end, it so happened that if the young man would arrive late, like the anxious Amina, Julekha would also eagerly wait for him, and when they all came together, they would fondly observe the scene in a manner in which a painter looks at his just completed painting from a distance. On some days there would be verbal duels, she would play tricks to reprimand them, and lock Amina inside the hut to prevent the mating urge of the young man.
There is a similarity between the king and the forest. Both are independent, both are the sole rulers in their own territory, and neither of them had to follow any rules. Both possessed a natural magnanimity and simplicity. Those who followed the middle path spent their days and nights obeying the rules implemented by folklore, and they were the ones who remained somewhat independent minded. They were the ones who were servile to the great men, were masters of the lower classes, and remained rather undecided and out of place. The barbarian Daliya was the untamed son of Mother Nature; he had no shyness for the shahajadi, the princess, and both the shahajadis, the princesses, also didn’t recognise him as an equal. He was jovial, simple, humorous, fearless in all circumstances, and his unshrinkable character did not display any trace of poverty.
But even amid these games sometimes Julekha’s heart would start lamenting – she would think about the dire state of a princess’s life!
One morning, Juelkha held Daliya’s hand as soon as he arrived and said, “Daliya, can you show me the king here?”
“Yes, I can. But tell me why.”
“I have a dagger and I want to plunge it into his chest.”
Daliya was somewhat surprised in the beginning. After that, seeing Julekha’s revengeful face, his whole face was filled with a smile; as if he had never heard such a funny thing earlier in his life. If you call it irony, well it was befitting a princess. He kept on constantly visualising the scene when without any talk or message, half of a dagger would be placed in the breast of a living king and how surprised the king would suddenly be when this intimate behaviour would take place. This made him laugh silently at first and occasionally erupt in a loud laugh later.
Chapter Five
The very next day Rahamat Seikh wrote a secret letter to Julekha stating that the new Arakan king had found out two sisters living in the hut of a fisherman and has been greatly enamoured after secretly watching Amina. He was making all preparations to bring her to the palace immediately and marry her. Such a nice opportunity for revenge would not be available again.
Then Julekha held Amina’s hand firmly and said, “One can clearly see God’s wishes. Amina, now the time has come to obey your life’s duty, and now playing games does not look well anymore.”
Daliya was present there. Amina looked at his face and saw him smiling self-indulgently.
Amina was hurt seeing his smile and said, “Do you know Daliya, I am going to become a queen.”
Daliya said, “But that is not for a long time.”
With a hurt and surprised heart Amina thought to herself, “It is really true he was a deer in the forest. It is my craziness that i treat him like a human being.”
To make Daliya more conscious, Amina asked, “Shall I come back after killing the king?”
Daliya found the words logical and said, “Yes, it is difficult to return.”
Amina’s entire soul turned totally pale.
She looked towards Julekha and casting a deep sigh said, “Didi, I am prepared.”
After that she turned towards Daliya and pretending it to be an irony emerging from her suffering heart said, “As soon as I become the queen, first I will punish you for conspiring against the king. After that I will do what is required.”
Hearing that Daliya found it to be especially funny, as if a lot of fun was involved if the proposal was turned into reality.
Chapter Six
The fisherman’s hut seemed to break down with the cavalry, foot soldiers, elephants, music and lights. Two palanquins covered with gold were sent from the palace.
Amina took the dagger from Julekha’s hand. For a long time, she kept on looking at the intricate design carved out of ivory. After that she opened her clothes and tried to ascertain its sharpness upon her own breast. It touched the tip of her breast, and she put it back in its case and hid it within her clothes.
She earnestly desired to meet Daliya once before she commenced on her journey towards death, but he had disappeared since yesterday. Was the pain of arrogance hidden in his smiles?
Before climbing inside the palanquin Amina looked at the shelter of her childhood through tear-filled eyes – the tree in her house, the river next to it. She held the hands of the fisherman and with a suppressed quivering voice said, “Old man, I am leaving. Who will look after your household after Tinni goes away?”
The old man started crying like a small boy.
Amina said, “Old man, if Daliya comes here, please give him this ring. Tell him that Tinni has left it before leaving.”
Saying that she quickly climbed into the palanquin. The palanquin left with great pageantry. Amina’s hut, the riverside, the place beneath the koilu tree, remained dark, silent and without any people.
In due course, the two palanquins crossed the main gate and entered inside the palace. The two sisters left their palanquins and came out.
Amina had no smile on her face, nor tears in her eyes. Julekha’s face was pale. When their duty was far away, they had a lot of excitement among them – now with a shivering heart she embraced Amina with a lot of affection. In her mind she thought how she had plucked the new-found love from its stem and was leading this blossoming flower into sailing in a stream of blood.
But there was no time to think about it now. Surrounded by the attendants with thousands of lamps casting their sharp radiance along the way, the two sisters kept on moving spell bound. At last, they reached the door of the nuptial room and stopping there for a moment, Amina called Julekha, “Didi.”
Julekha embraced Amina deeply and kissed her.
Both entered the room slowly.
The king was dressed in his regal attire and was sitting on a decorated bed in the centre of the room. Amina stood near the door with trepidation.
Julekha advanced towards the king and saw him laughing silently with humour.
Julekha blurted out, ‘Daliya!’ Amina fainted.
Daliya rose and lifted her in his arms like an injured bird and carried her to the bed. Amina became aware and taking out the dagger from her chest looked at her sister’s face. Didi looked at Daliya’s face. Daliya kept quiet and looked at both of them with a smiling face. The dagger also peeped out a little from inside its case and seeing this mirth started laughing with a twinkle.
Somdatta Mandal is the Former Professor of English and Chairperson at the Department of English & Other Modern European Languages, Visva Bharati, Santiniketan. Somdatta has a keen interest in translation and travel writing.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Yes! It is vacation time, and we are all able to travel at last. Though the pandemic which had closed borders for us seems to be evolving as an endemic, another huge human crisis, a war which cannot be justified in any way, stares us in the face. Loss of lives, homes, towns, cities and threats of global recession follow in the footsteps of refugees wandering into our lives. Lesya Bakun, the Ukrainian refugee whose story we have been following, told me four of her relatives’ homes in Mariupol have been erased out of existence and her extended family has scattered where they found safety as her cousin continues a prisoner of war, captured while defending the iron and steel factory at Azovstal. While majority of the world expresses solidarity with the Ukrainians, another set of refugees remain in shadows. They have completely lost their country in which they had lived from ancient times. I am referring to the Rohingya of Arakan. CNN world states:
“The Rohingya are a stateless Muslim minority in Myanmar’s Rakhine State, thought to number about 1 million people.
“Myanmar does not recognize them as citizens or one of the 135 recognized ethnic groups in the country.”
We are privileged to host a powerful poignant translation by Arifa Ghani Rahman of Shaheen Akhtar’s short story about such a voiceless Rohingya child in a refugee camp. Though this is a fiction inspired by Akhtar’s visits to such shelters, we hope at some point these children will be able to build new lives to create a world free of violence, intolerance, hatred and greed.
One of the questions that springs to one’s mind, watching such atrocities destroy innocent lives is that should one accept bullies and give in to their pressure tactics? Bullies can be found among world leaders as well as perpetrators of decadent societal norms which are often critiqued by satires. Somdatta Mandal has translated one such satirical playlet where social conventions are targeted in a lighter vein by Tagore. In the same spirit, the maestro’s iconic poem about a palmyra tree called Taal Gaachh has been transcreated to bring the joy of innocent wanderings back into the narrative, creating an island of healing thoughts. We continue with our translations of Jibananada Das by Professor Fakrul Alam, a Korean poem by Ihlwha Choi and a magical Balochi folktale by Fazal Baloch. Let us read such translations to connect with varied cultures so that compassion and acceptance of diverse perspectives end horrors like wars, starvation and hunger.
Tagore’s writings translated to English by Mandal in Gleanings of the Road, a collection covering the maestro’s travel to the West, is part one of our book excerpts and highlights Rabindranath’s perspectives on the need to connect with the larger world. The other book excerpt, from Waiting, poetry by Suzanne Kamata, takes up the theme of victimisation, crime and murder. Dwelling on no less horrific narratives, though justified as non-criminal, is a review by Meenakshi Malhotra of Harsh Mander’s Locking down the Poor: The Pandemic and India’s Moral Centre. Gracy Samjetsabam’s assessment of Half-Blood by Pronoti Datta informs about the greyer areas of a whole community in Mumbai. Indrashish Banerjee reviewed Keki Daruwalla’s stories on human relationships anthologised in a collection called Going: Stories of Kinship while Bhaskar Parichha has acquainted us with Deepti Priya Mehrotra’s Her Stories –Indian Women Down the Ages — Thinkers, Workers, Rebels, Queens, a non-fiction that visits inspiring women.
Inspiration can also be drawn from Rinki Roy Bhattacharya’s and Maithili Rao’sThe Oldest Love Story, featuring a medley of men and women writing on the theme of motherhood along with some narratives about their mothers or on the experience of being one. The medley includes well-known names from films and literature like Shabana Azmi, Saeed Mirza, Shashi Deshpande, Nabanita Dev Sen and more. We interviewed Roy Bhattacharya to find out more about this impactful book. Achingliu Kamei, an academic and writer, has conversed with Naga writer, Veio Pou, whose award-winning book, Waiting for the Dust to Settle, was reviewed earlier — a book that gives a glimpse of conflicts in the Northeast of India.
Taking on the theme of conflicts at a personal level, Atreyo Chowdhury’s and Banerjee’s stories create a sense of disquiet as Paul Mirabile’s explores crime, madness and its impact on humans. G Thomas takes a relook at heroism and bravery as a concept. His story set in Kerala shakes our complacency, upending traditional concepts of heroism and bravery just as Candice Louisa Daquin has upended the cult of positivity in her essay. Notes of discord and accord seem to ring through this edition and the undertones of greys spread out towards an exploration of life and death. We have multiple ghost stories this time, even from the Nithari column written by Kiran Mishra, a youngster who got over the trauma of violence in the community and discovered her place as a bilingual writer and educator.
Keith Lyons has got the bug of tongue-in-cheek too as he gives us a piece on his travels in Varanasi that well captures the dichotomies we find in India. Dwelling on social dichotomies also is Ratnottama Sengupta’s powerful tribute to Swatilekha Sengupta, a film and theatre doyenne who brought to life Tagore’s novel, Ghare Baire (Home and the World, 1985). An essay by Mozid Mahmud exploring both the syncretic elements in Tagore’s and Kabir’s works, the medieval poet’s impact on the Nobel laureate and a dispute over Rabindranath’s own translation blends with the tone of greys in this edition.
Travel narratives and photographs by Meredith Stephens sailing the seas in Tasmania and Ravi Shankar trekking on the slopes of the Himalayas to get a view of Mt Everest make for perfect holiday adventures. From Japan, Kamata has given us a narrative set in the pandemic. And environmentalist Kenny Peavy dwells on reconnecting with nature in Mission Earth.
We have a fair deal from across the globe in the June issue. But, as usual, some of the treats in the content have not been mentioned though they are wonderful pieces of writing too. We look forward to your continued support as you delve into our treasure trove of gems from across the oceans. A huge thanks to our fabulous team, to the contributors and readers. I especially want to thank Sohana Manzoor for sharing her lovely artwork and wish you all a wonderful read!
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