Categories
The Lost Mantras

Four More Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translations from Malay by Isa Kamari

INCENSE BURNER

O, incense from rock and root!
In the name of God and salutations to the Prophet,
I sprinkle you onto the charcoal ember
in the incense burner inherited from Elders.
Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh!
Billow across the span of humanity.
Sharpen our senses, elevate our spirits,
as an adornment of prayers for peace,
as an accompaniment of the dead.
Send blessings to the world of jinns and humans.
The doors of servitude open,
the purpose both are created.
You are the balm for tormented souls.
You welcome the mind into the realm of remembrance.
Focus the soul on complete devotion
to the One, the only One.
Those with vague knowledge
only see smoke of superstition,
stupefied as rose water is sprinkled.

Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh!

O, this servitude is indeed fragrant!
O, this worship is indeed mystical and intimate
to the One, the Only One.
When the kris blade is smouldered by smoke,
after washed with lime juice,
in the name of God and salutations to the Prophet,
the blade is dried and withstands rust,
preserving inheritance and the calling.
Culture and religion are intertwined,
knowledge and understanding of the sacred realm
that bless the worlds of jinns and humans.
The doors of servitude open,
creatures of the One,
servants of the only One.
O, this servitude is indeed fragrant!
O, this worship is indeed mystical and intimate!
Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh! Ssseesshh!
Allah! Allah! Allah! My Lord!

DEBT

Hey, bestower of pleasure!
Hey, the saving hand!
I think I have been to hell:
My soul is charred by sins,
My mind is bombarded by doubt.
I have rebelled against Me
for fulfilling my desire.
I think I have been to heaven:
My soul is at peace with gratitude.
My mind is still in acceptance.
Everything has its place.
Everything is measured.
I am accepted by Me,
mutual and pure.
But return my will,
return my future,
return my entire me to the world and reality,
from mere illusion, from every expectation.
I want to live.
I want to live.
I want to live in a bit of doubt,
in a pinch of rebellion,
to learn by myself,
to be in place and measured.
Hey, bestower of pleasure!
Hey, the saving hand!
Let me pay my debt in feelings unsatiated.

THE MOUNTAIN
God, smash the mountain
in my soul.
Obliterate the entire me
with your Grace and Love.
I could no longer bear
the sufferings of alienation.

FIRASAT
(Spiritual Intuition)

People nowadays do not know firasat.
People nowadays do not use firasat.
Purity brought down from Elders—
the first intuition without veil,
the stirrings and effects of unity of experience:
Nature, knowledge, and actions unified,
moved by the eye of the soul,
nurtured by the discipline of the mind,
based on strings of reiterative knowledge,
demonstrated by signs from layers of Nature,
validated by proofs in actions and breaths.
The mind, soul, and spirit
moulded in the self and surroundings.
Ever since it is compartmentalised by thoughts
that distinguish object from subject,
dissecting issues to the atom,
limiting conclusions and acceptance,
denying possibilities and visions,
veiling light by separation of knowledge.
Is not this world a mirror?
Is not this universe a sign?
Is not this life a labyrinth?
Is not a problem interlinked?
Science, philosophy, psychology, history, and religion
are only points of view
that need to be reunified,
that need to be rejuvenated as a whole
with stirrings and effects of firasat
that will pierce layers of existence,
that will open secret doors of
the manifest, symbolic, transcendent, and immanent worlds.
Are not all that fall from the sky,
grow on the surface of the earth,
and return to the sky a belief in the unity of everything?
So, the dust that floats in the air
remembers the moment of attesting of the spirit
that is gently blown at the boundaries of seven worlds.
"Am I not your Lord?"
The Malay testifies in firasat:
"Yes, we affirm!"

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

An Elegy for the Merchant of Hope by Atta Shad

Poetry by Atta Shad: Translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch

Whether morning or eventide,
dawn or twilight—
what remains to be said
of the rainbow and raincloud,
of the scented breeze,
of the beloved earth?
The heart seems withdrawn from all.

The heart, a patient mendicant,
feels and endures each rebuff.
Desire wanders beneath the scorching sun,
a traveler without a destination.

Night falls, (so we’ve heard).
Day breaks, (so they claim).
But who can tell of day and the night?
Both are deemed dead now.
Joy wraps itself in mourning’s cloak.

Love’s springtide
carries the green pulse of bloom.
Yet to slay hope, to shatter a vow,
is a catastrophe enough for any age.
Love and wrath are bound in a single knot.

In the mirror of dreams
the world becomes a marketplace.
And in that marketplace
a shadow falls
over translucent melodies of spring,
over verdant meadows,
over pearl-laden, swaying fields.

Eyes go blind.
Ears turn deaf.
Only wealth gleams,
only riches glitter.

What remains to be said
of the rainbow and raincloud,
of the scented breeze,
of the beloved earth?

In this marketplace
you are for sale.
So am I.

The heart, a patient mendicant
feels and endures each rebuff.
Desire wanders in the scorching sun,
a traveler without a destination.

Atta Shad (1939-1997) is the most revered and cherished modern Balochi poet. He instilled a new spirit in the moribund body of modern Balochi poetry in the early 1950s when the latter was drastically paralysed by the influence of Persian and Urdu poetry. Atta Shad gave a new orientation to modern Balochi poetry by giving a formidable ground to the free verse, which also brought in its wake a chain of new themes and mode of expression hitherto untouched by Balochi poets. Apart from the popular motifs of love and romance, subjugation and suffering, freedom and liberty, life and its absurdities are a few recurrent themes which appear in Shad’s poetry. What sets Shad apart from the rest of Balochi poets is his subtle, metaphoric and symbolic approach while versifying socio-political themes. He seemed more concerned about the aesthetic sense of art than anything else.

Shad’s poetry anthologies include Roch Ger and Shap Sahaar Andem, which were later collected in a single anthology under the title Gulzameen, posthumously published by the Balochi Academy Quetta in 2015. The translated poem is from Gulzameen.

Fazal Baloch is a Balochi writer and translator. He has translated many Balochi poems and short stories into English. His translations have been featured in Pakistani Literature published by Pakistan Academy of Letters and in the form of books and anthologies. Fazal Baloch has the translation rights of Atta Shad from the publisher.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International

Categories
The Lost Mantras

It’s but a Memory… More Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translations from Malay by Isa Kamari

THE BENCH

The melodious magpie on the bamboo twig --
the passing breeze welcomed the chirping.
Sitting on a dilapidated wooden bench,
under the thick canopy of the mango tree,
village folks rested in the shade,
calming the tremors of troubled hearts.
The hardship evident in the sighs,
still hopeful of tomorrow’s dreams,
drying the sweat of weariness.
Honest earnings chased away worries.
A pinch on the thigh, a cry of pain.
Laughter and jokes were shared merrily,
teasing the maiden sitting by the door,
smiling sheepishly, welcoming attention.
Recollecting a slice of an old tale,
fun and camaraderie were reminisced,
firm and amicable bonds were fostered.
It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory.
Now alone in a room,
gazing at the handphone screen,
chatting aimlessly in social media—
do we remember and long for the dilapidated bench,
crafting old tales, forging firm and amicable bonds?
Do we remember and pine
for the maiden sitting by the door?



CUSTOMS


Customs are not like banana fritters
coated with rice flour, dipped in hot oil,
served instantly, crispy and delicious, eaten warm,
accompanied by sips from a cup of black coffee.
Customs are like rain
that falls on the whims of the weather.
It’s always there, although infrequent,
temperamental and purposeful,
sometimes an inconvenience— plans thwarted—
but always invigorating
and instils a sense of acceptance.
If received with gratitude,
directed with perseverance,
and tempered with wisdom.
Life is beautiful with droplets of grace.
Life is fertile with the pouring of bounties.
Life is prosperous with love bestowed.
Customs make the earth supple.
Customs make the village noble.
Customs make a people well-mannered.
Once in a while,
relish a crispy banana fritter
and sip warm black coffee
while it rains cats and dogs.
Momentary disruption of plans,
the alleys and roads flooded—
moments of reflection,
moments of appreciation for the day,
is inherent in droplets of grace,
inherent in the pouring of bounties,
inherent in love bestowed.
Shifting of time and signs
the soil is tilled with purpose.
The village gathers and collectively agrees,
the people ready to realise
aspirations of good character
and respected stature.



SMOKE

Like smoke billowing amidst rubbish,
he burns his self-worth,
dances in the flames,
when the fire is meant
to warm breakfast and meals to school.
Now like smoke,
his children are floating,
begging for favours
at tips of cigarettes and cars’ exhaust pipes,
crushed by confusion in the stifling air.
Who would be hungry
if the smoke does not billow in the kitchen,
and for generations,
our humanity returns uncooked to God?



CURSE OF A WARRIOR

Hail the snake and its venom!
Call it a callous and rebellious act!
Shame be endured,
head decapitated!
Surrender not, carry the corpse!
Foolish is the mind,
desperate are the moves.
Let death fulfil the curses.
Let death be executed by the Angel.
Destroy my body, take my soul.
The wooden club hit the coffin.
Pierce my tongue and neck.
Stab my chest, guts dis-embowelled.
Blood spurts, life departs.
The warrior kisses the earth.
Blood turns into pus.
Pus turns into ambers of Hell.
Let me die so you die.
Let us die so everyone dies.
I give you my sin, my hurt, my sadness.
You’ll bathe in blood.

 

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
The Lost Mantras

Four Poems by Isa Kamari

Women wearing baju kurongs and men wearing kain sampings. From Public Domain
OIL LAMPS

We did not taste chicken unless it was Hari Raya.
Mats laid on the corridor floor in front of ten doors—
the barrack houses at the end of Ramadan
decorated by oil lamps at each corner.
The gloomy village turned bright.
Each family brought out trays of varieties of dishes and cakes,
the feast welcoming Shawal.
The call of prayer from the radio,
followed by the hymns to glorify God.
Life in the village was indeed harmonious,
although sprinkled with misunderstandings,
slighted feelings throughout the year.
Exchanging delicious food,
extending congratulatory wishes,
laughter and tears flowed unimpeded.
The young proceeded to the field,
ignited the fuse of bamboo cannons
stuffed with carbide powder fodder.
The new moon was welcomed by blasts, claps, and cheers of happiness.
Flames of oil lamps swayed in the breeze,
resplendent till the morning,
before going to the mosque in groups,
wearing the baju kurung and kain samping.


THE BENCH

The melodious magpie on the bamboo twig,
the passing breeze welcomed the chirping.
Sitting on a dilapidated wooden bench,
the thick canopy of the mango tree,
village folks rested in the shade,
calming the tremors of troubled hearts.
The hardship evident in the sighs,
still hopeful of tomorrow’s dreams,
drying the sweat of weariness.
Honest earnings chased away worries.
A pinch on the thigh, a cry of pain,
laughter and jokes were shared merrily,
teasing the maiden sitting by the door,
smiling sheepishly, welcoming attention.
Recollecting a slice of an old tale,
fun and camaraderie were reminisced,
firm and amicable bonds were fostered.
It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory. It’s but a memory.
Now alone in a room,
gazing at the handphone screen,
chatting aimlessly in social media—
do we remember and long for the dilapidated bench,
crafting old tales, forging firm and amicable bonds?
Do we remember and pine
for the maiden sitting by the door?

CUSTOMS

Customs are not like banana fritters
coated with rice flour, dipped in hot oil,
served instantly, crispy and delicious, eaten warm,
accompanied by sips from a cup of black coffee.
Customs are like rain
that falls according to the weather.
It’s always there, although infrequent,
temperamental and purposeful,
sometimes an inconvenience— plans thwarted—
but always invigorating
and instils a sense of acceptance.
If received with gratitude,
directed with perseverance,
and tempered with wisdom,
life is beautiful with droplets of grace,
life is fertile with the pouring of bounties,
life is prosperous with love bestowed.
Customs make the earth supple.
Customs make the village noble.
Customs make a people well-mannered.
Once in a while,
relish a crispy banana fritter
and sip warm black coffee
while it rains cats and dogs.
Momentary disruption of plans,
the alleys and roads flooded—
a moment of reflection,
a moment of appreciation of the day,
inherent in droplets of grace,
inherent in the pouring of bounties,
inherent in love bestowed.
Shifting of time and signs
so the soil is tilled with purpose,
so the village gathers and collectively agrees,
the people ready to realise
aspirations of good character
and respected stature.

SIN

Sin is the earth,
Sin is the water,
Sin is the air,
Sin is the fire,
moved by a rebellious heart,
whispered by a vile intention.
Yes, Sin is the arrogance.
Yes, Sin is the pawn of power.
Yes, Sin is shamelessness.
Sin is a human,
who is given a will without limits,
without pity, who wants to be the reigning deity,
who wants to be the undeterred devil:
also, a human who chooses to want darkness,
wants to cheat, gorge, and be satiated:
the snake slithering in dark crevices,
the scorpion hiding in an undetected nest,
the leech waiting for prey in wetlands.
But Sin is the smelly compost that cultivates,
the cracked mirror that reflects form,
despondent valleys that look up to the summit,
tumultuous sea flowing from the openness of estuaries.
If the earth, water, air, and fire
are cleansed by seven skies, seven rivers, and seven blossoms,
moved by a modest heart,
whispered by a sincere intention,
Yes, the Sin will change to Repentance.
Yes, the Sin will change to Obedience.
The Sin will become Blissful and Fragrant.
Humanity.

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
The Lost Mantras

A Song of the Wind & Other Poems by Isa Kamari

A SONG OF THE WIND 

I surrender my body and soul
to smoke, steam, and mist,
which I gather with one last fibre of strength.
Listen to this lonesome song,
for the sun is envious of my existence.
This life yearns for separation;
frailty is only human.
Ballads after ballads you would know.
An honest young man is always chided for his age.
The unending love of parents
sometimes makes them act as dictators.
If you feel life as silkworms
dreaming of freedom,
just remember your wings have broken
the moment you willingly accept
the smoothness of silk.
If the clouds are too heavy
for the roof of your home,
call the wind, summon the earth.
Then you would taste the sweetness of charity.
But remember,
a barren land sometimes is best left barren,
for art also seeks justice.
Proclaim, but do not claim,
for your worth is still in a balance.
As life is a bountiful gift,
be discreet in giving alms,
but you must be brave to challenge,
although it means
you have to burn a piece of love letter.
For God is closer than your jugular vein.
I come to you from a dusty journey
where I gather smiles from smoke, steam, and mist.
Listen to this lonesome song for a while,
for I am envious of the ensuing dusk.

MOTHER

Oh, Allah,
I know of your Love
from the binjai which she craved for—
a slice from the only fruit plucked by a neighbour.
I know of your Mercy
from the warmth of the womb that protects a soul,
a frail presence in want of a mouthful of rice mixed
with soy sauce and fried fish,
under the thick foliage of the tree of Time,
offering shade to the unfolding age.
The moment she left to meet You,
the tree of Hope fell;
the kingdom of the Hereafter shook in my soul.
Parting will ultimately lead to meeting again.
Only to You I surrender,
begging for your love for Mother—
a straight path tracing her footsteps;
asking for your mercy for Mother—
which overrides your wrath over my life astray;
seeking your gentle affection,
as warm as Mother’s fingers.

TWEET

The chirping has escaped the cage.
The chirping is free; the trap is empty.
The chirping is returned and received.
The chirping is delirious on the rotten branch.
Your tail searches for the nest,
Your claws clench the twigs,
Your wings sift the wind,
Your beak catches the worm,
Your eyes survey the rainbow.
Hey you, the bird which has escaped!
Hey you, the bird which is free!
You bring along the cage in your flight.
The trap awaits your return.
If your tail is not guided by faith,
If your claws are not holding on to good deeds,
If your wings are not spreading grace,
If your beak is not chirping gratitude,
If your eyes are not seeking redemption—
Your song is a caged cry,
Your tweet is a prisoned anguish.
The resplendent feathers that you show off
are hiding a sadness as wide as the sky.

THE TRAIN

The door will close.
If religion is the track,
it does not determine
the path and destination for commuters.
They board and alight at different stations,
not the one, not the only one, not the same always.
Religion is like a map;
it does not make life boring,
does not block a journey,
shows the path anywhere you go,
not the one, not the only one, not the same always.
We are not carriages
that do not have choices.
Just make sure the meandering path is fun and secure,
the last stop safe and peaceful.
The door will close.
The One awaits there,
wherever it is.
The inside of a binjai mango. From Public Domain

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Kindle Amazon International

Categories
Poetry

Five Short Poems by Munir Momin

Translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch

From Public Domain
ENCHANTED

As I watched --
She wrapped the rainbow round her finger,
and drifted away -- slowly, ever so slowly.
Yet
The Heavens saw nothing.

EVENING

The wind wanders,
seeking the fragrance of your musk:
My heart and a fading leaf are carried along.

SPRING

The poor larks that returned this year
peck at the scent of your bosom,
still drifting through the footprints
along the path of yesteryear.

JUNGLE

Such terror stirs within,
none dare to face themselves.
The road runs deep with fear—
no one walks it alone.

THE WAIT

Shall I open a window?
Will you come—or the moon?

Munir Momin is a contemporary Balochi poet widely cherished for his sublime art of poetry. Meticulously crafted images, linguistic finesse and profound aesthetic sense have earned him a distinguished place in Balochi literature. His poetry speaks through images, more than words. Momin’s poetry flows far beyond the reach of any ideology or socio-political movement. Nevertheless, he is not ignorant of the stark realities of life. The immenseness of his imagination and his mastery over the language rescues his poetry from becoming the part of any mundane narrative. So far Munir has published seven collections of his poetry and an anthology of short stories. His poetry has been translated into Urdu, English and Persian.  He also edits a literary journal called Gidár.

Fazal Baloch is a Balochi writer and translator. He has translated many Balochi poems and short stories into English. His translations have been featured in Pakistani Literature published by Pakistan Academy of Letters and in the form of books and anthologies. Fazal Baloch has the translation rights to Munir Momin’s works. 

.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

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The Lost Mantras

More Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translation from Malay by Isa Kamari

DAWN

Hey, the morning breaks!
Hey, the faithful sun!
Hey, the disappearing dew!
Hey, the layered air!
The breath desires,
the soul asks:
Who do you greet?
Have you pondered, sons of Adam?
Death awaits, life prolongs.
Have you realised, progenies of Eve?
The earth is impregnated and layered by purpose.
The one that you welcome is the morning,
The one that you coax is the sun,
The one that you touch gently is the dew,
The one that you breathe is the air.
The gift of death,
life fulfilled,
accompanies the inevitable:
morning, sun, dew, and air.
A breath dissipates, a soul obliterates.
Nothingness. Gone.
Hey!

THE FIELD

The green grass is a mother’s heart,
the velvet of love for her children.
Although stepped upon by mischief and transgression,
she distils dews of hope
that her children would grow with the sun.
The earth is the preparation of a father:
soil and compost for his children
where character would be rooted.
Barren or fertile,
he digs into his responsibility and self-worth,
as long as the rain nourishes his age.
Grass flowers are the children
who only know the joy of the wind
for as long as their dreams
have not landed on earth
and kissed the grass.

MOLTEN EARTH

This moment,
we’re walking in the rain,
accompanied by a bluish rainbow
and red birds with purple blood.
If they’re heading towards the dais,
we have yet to embrace the longing.
When the moon is in tears,
it’s just ill-suited for us to sail
on the orange henna sea.
In truth,
we verily love the eagle
that flies in the desolate morning.
If not for ravens like you,
our forest would be infested with rabbits.
Give us white wings;
we want to fly with blue birds
that return to reciprocate love.
We want to taste milk.
Is it for us only urine,
the manifestation of love by dogs?
Sound your prayer call in our shacks
so that our tears
are not just to bear
the pain and bitterness
of a plate of rice.
If your pensiveness is just to reminisce
the sufferings of night longing for day,
our tears have flowed
from the earth’s molten belly,
which are stepped upon
by saints like you and them
who have cast curses
upon us wretched souls.

POTPOURRI

The screw pine thrives on damp soil,
next to the swampy pond.
It spreads its green in the wild;
roots clench the earth we tread upon.
The jasmine grows on the lawn,
marks the boundaries of property.
Sturdy branches, leaves flourish;
petals open, greet the clouds.
The sliced screw pine in a receptacle,
the jasmine blossoms spread on the tray,
perfume sprinkled to enhance the scent:
the potpourri of bunga rampai welcomes guests.
The ceremony officiated by the qadi,
the couple duly married,
customs and culture celebrated in fragrance,
religious laws honoured on the dais.
The shaving of the baby’s head,
first steps on the soil,
the coffin carried to the grave—
the potpourri of bunga rampai
adorns every domain,
binding firmly entire life’s moments.

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian despite its universal in appeal.

[1]A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

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The Lost Mantras

Poems by Isa Kamari

Poetry and translation from Malay by Isa Kamari

THE KING

I bow to you, King.
I bear the torment of your sadness
in the embrace of my sleep.
May it transform into glad tidings
for the days of your people.
This exploration is to find your throne,
which has disappeared from our hearts.
For my love to you, King.

JASMINES

Earth jasmines, sky jasmines,
a string of jasmines encircles the heart,
jasmines poured with water from the hills,
jasmines sprinkled by a pinch of compost.
Seven rivers, seven clouds—
rain pelts onto forlorn petals.
Beauty is in the form,
beauty to the eyes,
beauty is the hand that tends to the soil,
beauty is the fingers that caress the leaves,
beauty is the cut on the arms of the gardener.
The scorching sun,
the shade from the foliage,
bountiful is the soul of the tree that delivers,
witness to a life devoted to hard work,
with the laws of nature as the axis.
Strong roots clench the earth,
shoots look up high to the sky.
Stand firmly, the soul sings.
Blossoms waft fragrant dreams.
Earth jasmines, sky jasmines,
bloom in the early morning.
Say your prayers,
introduce yourself.

BETEL LEAVES

To be at the top
is to function at the bottom,
upholding responsibilities and trust,
strengthening shared roots.
The fragile branches are free to stretch,
the green leaves spread wide.
Wild betel, untouched betel,
covers the soil, climbs the trellis.
To be at the peak
in essence is to grow shoots,
carrying fertile hopes and dreams,
giving way and space to grow,
to climb each posting energetically,
to qualify for the position when seasons change.
Lofty betels, heavenly betels,
reach for the stars, greet the clouds.
To be in the ceremonial receptacle
in essence is to uphold tradition,
surrendering to the preservation of culture.
Typically chewed with lime, slicing problems,
mature-red in speech,
tracing the lives of roots and shoots.
Wild betel, untouched betel, lofty betel,
heavenly betel, courtship betel, customary betel,
weaving values and the essence of leadership
entrenched in tradition.

HOME

Free souls wouldn’t be easily bored
by mentoring and demands,
for it’s the stable self
that gives rise to liberation.
And that’s called freedom —
it isn't about release without aims,
just like city folks,
released from home or work,
wander aimlessly at shopping malls,
seek excitement from novelty and transience.
It isn't that Life doesn’t require variety,
or it isn't that the soul doesn’t long for fun.
It’s just that we who claim to be free
are easily entrapped in useless pettiness
that we spread in the city
without ever realising
that we haven’t returned to the doors of our hearts,
although we’ve stepped afoot
onto the compound of the house.

Isa Kamari : A foremost Malay writer from Singapore: Photo provided by the poet.

Isa Kamari has written 12 novels, 3 collections of poetry, a collection of short stories, a book of essays on Singapore Malay poetry, a collection of theatre scripts and lyrics of 3 music albums, all in Malay. His novels have been translated into English, Turkish, Urdu, Arabic, Indonesian, Jawi, Russian, French, Spanish, Korean, Azerbaijan and Mandarin. Several of his essays and selected poems have been translated into English. Isa was conferred the S.E.A Write Award from Thailand (2006), the Singapore Cultural Medallion (2007), the Anugerah Tun Seri Lanang (2009) from the Singapore Malay Language Council, and the Mastera Literary Award (2018) from Brunei Darussalam.

He obtained a BArch (Hons) from the National University of Singapore in 1989, an MPhil (Malay Letters) from Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia in 2008 and is currently pursuing a PhD programme at the Academy of Islamic Studies, Univeristi Malaya. His area of research is on the problem of alienation and the practice of firasat (spiritual intuition) in selected Singapore Malay novels.

The Lost Mantras is a collection that blends spirituality, Malay cultural heritage, and universal human experience. First published as part of Menyap Cinta (Love Greetings, 2022, Nuha Books KL), these poems are like a bridge between mysticism and everyday life, where traditional images (betel, jasmine, kris[1], oil lamps, setanjak[2]) are woven with Qur’anic echoes, prayers, and existential questioning. The collection carries a Sufi resonance—always circling back to longing, humility, surrender, and beauty as signs of God. The poems are not only lyrical but also function as cultural memory: they preserve Malay traditions, communal practices, and village life, while situating them in a cosmic framework of faith, sin, and redemption. The use of Malay customs, rituals, and objects is powerful: it asserts that spirituality is not abstract but embedded in heritage. This makes the collection uniquely Southeast Asian while still universal in appeal

[1] A dagger

[2] Malay headgear

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

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Review

Heart Lamp by Banu Mushtaq

Book Review by Somdatta Mandal

Title: Heart Lamp: Selected Stories

Author: Banu Mushtaq

Translated from Kannada by Deepa Bhasthi

Publisher: Penguin Random House India

After Geetanjali Shree’s Tomb of Sand, the first novel to receive the International Man Booker Prize in 2022 for a work of fiction written in an Indian language and translated into English, history repeated itself once again when this year in 2025, Banu Mushtaq’s book of selected short stories Heart Lamp, written originally in Kannada and translated into English by Deepa Bhasthi, was recipient of the same coveted prize. It proved that translating from Indian bhasha languages to compete worldwide with other canonical literatures has gained maturity to impress the jury who finally evaluate the prize.

In the twelve stories of Heart Lamp, published originally in Kannada between 1990 and 2023, Banu Mushtaq exquisitely captures the everyday lives of women and girls in Muslim communities in southern India. As a journalist and lawyer, most of the stories are women-centric and in all of them she tirelessly champions women’s rights and protests all forms of caste and religious oppression. As a believer in the highly influential literary movement in Kannada during the 1970s and ‘80s – the Bandaya Sahitya tradition – that started as an act of protest against the hegemony of upper caste and mostly male-led writing that was then being published and celebrated, Banu Mushtaq’s literary career therefore gave importance to dissent, rebellion, protest, resistance to authority, revolution and its adjacent areas at par with the movement that urged women, Dalits and other social and religious minorities to tell stories from their own lived experiences.

The author goes on to highlight several harmful social practices that are still prevalent in the Muslim community and even supported by law, which impede girls including women of all ages, from having freedom to make positive choices, thus hampering them from realizing their full potential. In story after story, the deeply patriarchal structure of Muslim society is depicted in such a manner that it is not only applicable to the Muslims living in villages and town in south India but can be applicable elsewhere too. She shows how child marriage is still in practice and mentions the suffering and trauma women experience because of legally sanctioned polygamy which causes social and financial insecurity and hardship for women and their offspring. The curse of teen talaq[1]and the practice of issuing multiple fatwas[2] which are deliberately aimed at constricting women are urgently in need of being addressed legally.

In the very first story, ‘Stone Slabs for Shaista Mahal’, we find Iftikar’s too much effusive declarations of love for his wife Shaista vanish into thin air immediately after her death and he soon marries a young girl leaving all his children to be looked after by his eldest daughter. The ‘Fire Rain’ has mutawalli[3] Usman Saheb heading the community and making hundreds of decisions for others, but when her sister comes begging he refuses to give her the legitimate share of his ancestral house. Whereas the ‘Black Cobras’ has the mutawalli saheb refuse to help a woman whose husband has deserted her for giving birth to three daughters and provide any support for her youngest sick daughter who dies without any treatment. The story ends with a focus on female revolt when his own wife decides to go and have an operation to stop childbirth. In an interesting story ‘A Decision of the Heart’ the author narrates the plight of a man called Yusuf who is unable to balance the love between his wife and his mother and finally decides to arrange a nikah for his mother Mehaboob Bi.

One story that delves deep into Muslim customs that we generally are not aware of, is entitled ‘Red Lungi’. It tells us about a mass circumcision programme at the mosque for the poor where a young boy Arif undergoes the procedure and is cured in due course. His plight is then contrasted with Samad, the son of a rich man who remains weak and unfit despite the elaborate festivities for his circumcision and the gifts.

The titular story ‘Heart Lamp’ centres around Mehrun who is left to fend for herself as her husband falls for another woman. When she goes to her parents’ house for support, her brothers send her back. Leaving the responsibility of her children upon her eldest daughter Salma, she attempts to burn herself to death. The scene where her daughter begs her to stop and so finally, she aborts her suicide attempt, is extremely moving. The depiction of rural Karnataka comes out very clearly in ‘Soft Whispers’. The story narrates in detail the childhood antics of an eight-year-old girl visting her grandparent’s house in Mabenahalli village. Her young playmate, Abid, who would join her to play tricks, turns into the supervisor of a dargah[4]. When he comes to invite her to join the festival, he keeps his head lowered and does not even meet her eye.

Despite mentioning serious social issues pertaining to the average middle and lower-middle class Muslim families, Mushtaq’s stories are laced with a sense of wry humour and pathos. For instance, in ‘High-Heeled Shoes’, Niaz Khan envies his sister-in-law who comes from Saudi Arabia wearing gorgeous high-heeleded shoes and, in the end, manages to buy a pair for his pregnant wife Arifa which does not fit her at all. The difficulty in walking with those shoes on, and the interaction she has with her unborn child in her womb takes this story to a different level altogether. ‘A Taste of Heaven’ has Bi Dadi, who turns into stone after her ja-namaz [5]is soiled, gaining solace by drinking Pepsi and thinking it to be aab-e-kausar, the nectar from heaven, and starts living in a delusory world of her own in the company of her long-lost husband. In ‘The Arabic Teacher and Gobi Manchuri’, the young Maulvi Hazrat’s penchant for eating “gobi manchuri[6]” is the comic fulcrum on which the story turns. Again, Shazia’s desperate attempts in ‘The Shroud’ to locally procure a kafan[7] and sprinkle it with the holy zamzam water from Mecca after having callously forgotten to bring one for poor Yaseen Bua from her Hajj pilgrimage, makes her grief and being conscience-stricken rather ludicrous.  

In the 2025 International Booker Acceptance Speech Mushtaq said: “This book is my love letter to the idea that no story is ‘local’ – that a tale born under a banyan tree in my village can cast shadows as this stage tonight…. [It] was born from the belief that no story is ever ‘small’ – that in the tapestry of human experience, every thread holds the weight of the whole.”

Her observation power is indeed very strong. Muslim women have been victims of deprivation and discrimination in various matters owing to a dearth in education and awareness. To bring a change in the family, a change in mentality is very crucial. The last story of this collection, ‘Be A Woman Once, Oh Lord!’ is a typical tale of male chauvinism, where deprived a dowry, a man throws out his sick wife and children to get married again.

A woman must construct her own identity besides being someone’s daughter, somebody’s wife or someone’s mother. Only education and self-dependence can establish a woman as a human being beyond her religious and family identities. But as her translator rightly points out, it would be a disservice to reduce Mushtaq’s work to her religious identity, for stories transcend the confines of a faith and its cultural traditions. So, she should not be seen as writing only about a certain kind of woman belonging to a certain community, that women everywhere face similar, if not the exact same problems, and those are the issues that she writes about.

Before concluding, a few words need to be written about the translator and the translation too. In the Translator’s Note, titled ‘Against Italics’, Deepa Bhashti reiterates that the “translation of a text is never merely an act of replacing words in one language with equivalent words in another: every language, with its idioms and speech conventions, brings with it a lot of cultural knowledge that often needs translating too.” She mentions that she was very deliberate in her choice to not use italics for the Kannada, Urdu and Arabic words that remain untranslated in English. She believes that italics serve to not only distract visually, but more importantly, they announce words as imported from another language, exoticizing them and keeping them alien to English. She also mentions that there are no footnotes used at all.  

In her separate International Booker Prize Acceptance Speech, Bhasthi also tells us how through the work they could bring out what would otherwise be unread, uncelebrated texts to a new and very different sets of readers. She stated how the story of the world was really a history of erasures. It was “characterized by the effacement of women’s triumphs and the furtive rubbing away from collective memory of how women and those on the many margins of this world live and love.” Therefore, the stories in this collection are recommended for reading not by reducing Mushtaq’s work to her religious identity, but by transcending the confines of a faith and its cultural traditions.

[1] It’s an Islamic practice in which a Muslim man could divorce his wife by uttering the word “talaq” (divorce) three times.

[2] An Islamic law

[3] Manager of a Muslim charity organization

[4] Tomb or shrine of a Muslim saint

[5] A Muslim prayer mat

[6] Manchurian cauliflower

[7] Shroud

Somdatta Mandal, critic and translator, is a former Professor of English at Visva-Bharati, Santiniketan.

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

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Discussion

Bridging Cultures across Time and Space

In Conversation with Translators

Translators are bridge builders across cultures, time and place. We have interviewed five of them from South Asia. While the translators we have interviewed are academics, they have all ventured further than the bounds of academia towards evolving a larger literary persona.

The doyen of translation and the queen of historical fiction, Aruna Chakravarti,  and poet, critic and translator, Radha Chakravarty , feel their experience at bridging cultures has impacted their creative writing aswell. Somdatta Mandal, is prolific with a huge barrage of translations ranging from Tagore, to women to travellers, despite being an essayist and reviewer, claims she does not do creative writing and views translations as her passion. Whereas eminent professor and essayist from Bangladesh, Fakrul Alam tells us that translating helped him as a teacher too. Fazal Baloch, translator and columnist from Balochistan, tells us that translation is immersive, creative and an art into itself. We started the conversation with the most basic question – how do they choose the text they want to translate…

How do you choose which texts to translate?

Aruna Chakravarti

Aruna Chakravarti: A translation is an attempt at communication on behalf of a culture, a tradition and a literature. Choosing an author and, more importantly, the most significant areas of his or her work are the first steps towards this communication, because it is only through translation that masterpieces from a small provincial culture become universal ones. Since I come from Bengal, I have always chosen the best of its literature for translation. My first translation was of Rabindranath Tagore’s lyrics. Rabindranath once said that even if all his other work fades to oblivion, his songs would remain. Saratchandra Chattopadhyay, a leading writer of 19th and early 20th century Bengal, considered Srikanta the best of his novels and the most suited to be conveyed to a global readership. I translated Srikanta. Sunil Gangopadhyay is hailed as the most eminent writer of present-day Bengal.  My translations of his novels and short stories are extraordinarily well received by non-Bengali readers, to this day.

Radha Chakravarty

Radha Chakravarty: Every occasion is different. Sometimes a text chooses itself because I feel compelled to translate it. Sometimes I select texts to translate, in response to suggestions or requests from editors, readers and friends who read. Several of my books in translation evolved alongside my research interests as a scholar and academic. For instance, Vermillion Clouds, my anthology of stories by Bengali women, developed from my general interest in feminist literature and my desire to bring texts from our own culture to the English-speaking world. My translations of Mahasweta Devi’s writings, especially the stories on motherhood in the collection titled In the Name of the Mother, happened when I was working on a chapter about Mahasweta for my PhD thesis. Our Santiniketan, my translation of her childhood memoir, emerged from my interest in her writings, as well as my admiration for Rabindranath Tagore. The translations of Chokher Bali1, Farewell Song (Shesher Kabita) and Four Chapters reflect my special fascination with Tagore’s woman-centred novels, for this was also the subject of my post-doctoral work. Later, I developed this research into my book Novelist Tagore: Gender and Modernity in Selected Texts. For my edited anthology Shades of Difference, a compilation of Tagore’s works on the theme of universality in heterogeneity, the selection involved a great deal of thinking and research. And translating Kazi Nazrul Islam’s essays turned out to be an incredible learning experience.

Somdatta Mandal

Somdatta Mandal: I have been translating different kinds of texts over the last couple of decades, and I have no fixed agenda of what I choose to translate. Usually, I am assigned some particular text by the author or a publisher, but sometimes I pick up texts which I like to do on my own. Since I have been working and researching on travel writing for a long time, I have chosen and translated several travel texts from Bengali to English written by women during the colonial times. I have also translated a lot of Rabindranath Tagore’s essays, letters and memoirs of different women related to him. Recently I translated a seminal Bengali travel text of a sadhu’s sojourn in the Himalayas in the late nineteenth century. I have a huge bucket list of texts that I would love to translate provided I find some publisher willing to undertake it. Since copyright permissions have become quite rigid and complicated nowadays, I have learnt from my own experience that it is always advisable to seek permission from the respective authorities before venturing into translating anything. Earlier I was naïve to translate stories which I liked without seeking necessary permission from the copyright holder and those projects ultimately did not see the light of day.

Fakrul Alam

Fakrul Alam: I have no fixed policy on this issue. Sometimes the texts choose me, so to speak. For instance, I began translating poems from Bengali when I first read Jibanananda Das’s “Banalata Sen”. The poem got hold of me and would not let go. I felt at one point an intense desire to translate it and read more of Jibanananda’s poems. Translating the poem elated me and having the end product in my hand in a printed page was joyous. The more poems I read by Jibanananda afterwards, the more I felt like rendering them into English, as if to share my delight and excitement at coming across such wonderful poems with readers who would not have read them in Bengali. That led to my first book of translations, Jibanananda Das: Selected Poems (Dhaka, UPL, 1999). As I ended my work on Jibanananda I thought: why not translate some poems by Rabindranath too? I had climbed one very high mountain satisfactorily and so why not venture forth and climb the topmost peak of Bengali literature?  And so, I began translating Rabindranath’s poems as well as his songs. I had grown up with them, but till now had never imagined I could render them into English. Kumkum Bhattacharya, a dear friend who at that time was in charge of Viswa-Bharati’s publishing wing, Granthana Vibhaga, had seen samples of my work and told me to think of an anthology of his translated works to be published in Tagore’s sesquicentenary year for them. This led me to the poems, prose pieces and songs by him that I translated for The Essential Tagore (Cambridge, Mass, Harvard UP, 2011 and Kolkata: Viswa Bharati, 2011), a book that I had co-edited (with Radha Chakravarty). My last book of translations, Gitabitan: Selected Song-Lyrics of Rabindranath Tagore (Dhaka: Journeyman Books, 2023) alsocame out of this same compulsion of translating works in Bengali. This particular work is a book of translations of nearly 300 songs that I love to listen to again and again—songs that made me feel every now and then that I had to translate them, especially when I heard them sung by a favourite Tagore singer. My translations of a few Kazi Nazrul Islam’s poems and some of his songs are also the result of such compulsive feelings. 

However, I also translated some works because I was requested to do so by people who knew about my Jibanananda Das and Tagore translations and who felt that I would be a competent translator of works they felt were worth presenting to readers in English versions of Bengali books very dear to them. My three translations of works by Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, The Unfinished Memoirs (Dhaka: UPL Books, 2012), The Prison Dairies (Dhaka: Bangla Academy, 2017), and New China 1952 (Dhaka: Bangla Academy, 2021) were all outcomes of requests made to me to translate them. Translating Ocean of Sorrow, the epic 1891 novel by Mir Mosharraf Hossain, has been the most challenging translating work I have had to undertake till now (Dhaka: Bangla Academy, 2016). I would not have dared take on the task of translating such a long and demanding prose work if Shamsuzzaman Khan, the Director of the Bangla Academy of that period, had not kept requesting me to translate this classic of Bengali Literature.

I will end my response to this question by saying that every now and then I translate poems and prose pieces by leading writers who are my contemporaries and who keep requesting me to translate them. Occasionally, I will also translate poems by major poets of our country of the last century—poets like Shamsur Rahman and Al Mahmud—because a poem or two by them had gripped me and made me feel like venturing forth into the realm of translation.  

Fazal Baloch

Fazal Baloch: Translating poetry and prose are two very different endeavors. Poetry often makes an immediate impact. Sometimes just a few lines strike me powerfully on the first reading, creating an atmosphere that sets the translation process in motion. In other words, I tend to translate the verses that stir something in me or resonate deeply.

Prose translation, by contrast, works differently. It usually unfolds after a longer process and often requires multiple readings of the text. At times, it even calls for a more deliberate, conscious effort.

Does translating impact your own writing?

Aruna Chakravarti: Yes, it does.  While translating the great masters of Bengali literature I have learned much that has impacted my own writing. From Rabindranath I learned that prose need not necessarily be dry and matter of fact. It could be imbued with lyricism without appearing sentimental and over emotional.  Saratchandra taught me the importance of brevity and precision. Search all his novels and you will not find one superfluous word. I try to follow his example and shun over-writing. From Sunil Gangopadhyay, I learned the art of dialogue. His direct, no-nonsense style and use of colloquialisms work best in dialogue.  

Radha Chakravarty: Yes indeed. As I have just indicated in my answer to your previous question, my translations often take a course parallel to my research, and the two strands of my work sometimes become inseparably interrelated. In my critical works on Indian literature, I remain conscious of bringing these writings to an audience beyond India. Hence an element of cultural translation infuses my analysis of texts by Indian writers. In my own English poetry, when I write about Bengali settings and themes, bilingual overtones often seep in.

Somdatta Mandal: No, not at all. I am not a creative writer per se, so there is no way that translation can influence my own writing.

Fakrul Alam: I will start answering the question by saying that apart from translating and writing nonfiction essays in the creative mode, I have not authored literary works. I am first and foremost an academic. Inevitably, translating Rabindranath’s works have impacted on me academically. By now I have at least one collection of essays on various aspects of Rabindranath’s life and enough essays on him that can lead to another such book. No doubt coming to know Rabindranath so intimately through the kind of close reading that is essential for translation work has made me more sensitive to him as a thinker, educator and visionary, as well as a poet and writer of prose and fictional works. Reading literary creations by him, his letters and lectures that I came across because of my involvement with his work has also lead me to editing; the work I did as co-editor of The Essential Tagore is surely proof of that.

Let me add that my translations have also impacted on my teaching. I am now able to draw on comparisons with Bangladeshi writers and Bengali literature for comparison and contrast in the classroom when I teach texts written in English to my students.  Reading up on the authors I have translated has also equipped me to be more aware of Bangladesh’s roots and national identity formation. This has led me to essays on these subjects.   

Fazal Baloch: Translation is not separate from the process of creativity. Through it, we enter a new world of meaning and explore the experiences of others through a creative lens. As a writer, I find translation essential for nurturing and enriching the mind. It is also worth noting that translation is not partial or fragmentary but a complete and holistic act. When I translate, I move with its current just as I do when I write. Both processes unfold in their own rhythm without obstructing one another. In fact, it is through translation that I have come to recognize and understand great works of creativity in a deeper way.

What is the most challenging part of translation? Do you need to research when you translate?

Aruna Chakravarti:  Yes, since a major part of my translation work was set in 19th century Bengal, I needed to understand and imbibe the ethos and ambience of the times. Being a Probasi Bangali who has lived outside Bengal all her life, this was important. Consequently, a fair amount of research was involved. This has stood me in good stead in my own writing.

Speaking about challenges there are many. The more divergent the two literary traditions the greater the dilemma of the translator. But the test of a good translation is the absence of uncertainty, hesitation and strain. Since translation undertakes to build bridges across cultures it is important that it reads like a creative work. The language must be flowing and spontaneous; one that readers from other languages and cultures don’t feel alienated from. One that they are willing, even eager to read. One they can sail through with effortless ease.

On the other hand, readability or beauty of language cannot be the sole test of a good translation. If the translator becomes obsessed with sounding right in the target language, he/she could run the risk of diluting and distorting the original text which would be a disservice to the author. The reader should hear the author’s voice and be conscious of the source language and culture, down to the finest nuance, if the translation is a truly good one. A good translator is constantly trying to keep a balance between Beauty and Fidelity. No translation is perfect but the finer the balance…the better the translation.

Radha Chakravarty: When translating from Bengali into a culturally distant language like English, the greatest challenge is to bring the spirit of the original alive in the target language, for readers who may not be familiar with the local context. Literal translation does not work.

The need for research can vary, depending on the nature of the text being translated, the purpose of the translation, and the target readership. Some texts travel easily across cultural and linguistic borders, while others need to be interpreted in relation to the time, place and milieu to which they belong. The latter demand more research on the part of the translator, who must act as the cultural mediator or interpreter. When translating Tagore’s writings for my anthology The Land of Cards: Stories, Poems and Plays for Children, I found that these works speak to all children without requiring too much explanation or contextualization; very often the context becomes clear from the writing itself. But Boyhood Days, my translation of Tagore’s childhood memories in Chhelebela, required greater contextualization, for present day readers to grasp unfamiliar details of life in old-world Kolkata.

Somdatta Mandal: The most challenging part of translation is to maintain the readability of the text which I consider to be of foremost importance for any text to communicate with its readers. However, this readability should not be achieved at the cost of omission or suppression of portions of the original. Instead of rigidly following one particular criterion, usually my focus has been to choose what best communicates the nuances of the Source Language [SL]. Sometimes of course when it is best to do a literal translation of cultural material rather than obfuscate it by transforming it into an alien idiom taken from the target language resulting thus in a significant loss of the culture reflected in the original text.

As for doing research when I translate, the answer depends on what kind of text I am working on. If it is a serious academic piece, then occasionally I must consult the dictionary or the thesaurus for the most suitable word. Sometimes contextual or historical references need special attention and background research but such instances are occasional. What really attracts me towards translation is the inherent joy of creativity – of being free to frame the writer’s thoughts in your own words.

Fakrul Alam: The most challenging part of translation is getting it right, that is to say, conveying the words and feel of the original as accurately as possible.  But “getting it right” also means being able to convey the form and tone of the original as well as is possible.  In every way the translator must carry on his translating shoulder the burden of accuracy whenever and whatever he or she is into translating. In this respect a translator like me is different from creative people who take on the task of translating ready to take liberties to render the original in distinctive ways that will bear their signatures. They do not feel constrained like translators of my kind who never dare to move away more than a little distance from the original in order to convey the tone and the meaning as imaginatively and creatively as is possible for them.

I have a simple method when it comes to translating. My first draft is the result of no aid other than printed and/or online dictionaries. If there are allusions I come across when readying the first draft, I Google. Lately, AI has been very helpful in this regard—it even gives me the English equivalence for quite a few Bengali words when, for instance, I type the title in English of a Bengali song-lyric by Rabindranath. Then I compare my translation with that of other translations available online to see if my version is deviating to much from the ones I see.

Occasionally, I will need to do research on the work I am translating. In translating Mir Mosharraf Hossein’s epic novel, for example, I kept searching on the net to know more about the characters and situations of history he had rendered into his narrative than I knew from his writing. I will also do a lot of research if and when I feel a poem or prose work needs to be contextualized and footnotes or end notes needed by readers to understand what is being depicted fully. Thus, for Jibanananda Das’s “Banalata Sen” alone I had to Google a number of times to understand fully the imaginative geography of the piece and get a feel of the real-life equivalents of the places and characters mentioned. In particular, for the first stanza of the poem I had to look for glossaries I intended to provide on words like Vimbisar, Vidarbha, Sravasti and Natore for overseas readers.

Fazal Baloch: Translation is not simply the process of transferring of text from one language to another; it is more like a conversation between cultures, a process through which they come closer and begin to understand one another.

For me, the most challenging part of translation is working with idiomatic and metaphorical expressions. Every language has its own unique idioms and linguistic frameworks, and these are often difficult to carry over into another language. To meet this challenge, I often need to conduct research and explore the etymological roots of words.

What is more important in a translation? Capturing the essence of the work or accuracy?

Aruna Chakravarti:  Capturing the essence of the work is certainly more important than accuracy.  Translators shouldn’t translate words. They should convey the spirit, the intent of the work. There are some authors so obsessed with their own use of language… they want translators to find the exact equivalent for each word they have written. This is a bad idea. Firstly, it is simply not possible to find exact equivalents. At least, not in languages as diverse as Bengali and English. Secondly, the job of the translator is not to satisfy the author’s ego. It is to transfer a literary gem from a small readership to a larger, more inclusive one. If one is unable to do so, the author revered in his own country will fail to speak meaningfully across the language barrier and the onus of the failure will fall on the translator.

Radha Chakravarty: A literary text is a living reality, not a corpus of printed words on the page. It is this living spirit that needs to animate the translated text, rather than precise verbal equivalence. The popular emphasis on fidelity in translation is misplaced. For literary translation cannot be a mechanical exercise. It is, in its own right, a creative process, which depends, not on rigid verbal ‘accuracy’, but on the translator’s ability to recreate, in another language, the very soul of the original. Perhaps ‘transcreation’ is a good word to describe this.

Somdatta Mandal: Regarding translation, it must be kept in mind that though something is always lost in translation, one must always attempt to strike the right balance between oversimplification and over-explanation. Translation is also creative and the challenges it poses are significant. The intricate navigation between the source language and the translated language shows that there are two major meanings of translation in South Asia – bhashantar, altering the language, and anuvad, retelling the story. Without going into major theoretical analyses that crowd translation studies per se, I feel one should have an equal grasp over the SL and the TL [Translated Language] to make a translated piece readable. I translate between two languages – Bengali and English. Sometimes of course, cultural fidelity must be prioritised over linguistic fidelity.

Translating has caught up in a big way over the past five or six years. Now big publishing houses are venturing into publishing from regional bhasha [Language] literatures into English and so the possibilities are endless. Now every other day we come across new titles which are translations of regional novels or short stories. Translating should have as its prime motive current readability and not always rigidly adhering to being very particular about remaining close to each individual line of the source text. The target readership should also be kept in mind and so the choice of words used, and glossary should be eliminated or kept to a minimum. The meaning of a foreign word should as far as possible be embedded within the text itself. All these issues would make translating an enjoyable experience. Way back in 1995, Lawrence Venuti popularised the term ‘foreignized’ so that readers can get access to the source culture as well. He used the term to explain the kind of translation that ‘signifies the difference of the foreign text by disrupting the cultural codes that prevail in the target language.’ Thus, the idea of translation is not to just communicate the plot but also to make readers familiar with the traditions, rituals, and world views of the other.

Fakrul Alam: To me the most important goal is to come as close to the original in every possible way. This means aiming for accuracy, but surely it also means coming as near as possible to the essence of the original. In other words, as far as I am concerned, accuracy will lead to essence. But as I indicate above, most creative writers doing translation will go for the essence and forego accuracy. But knowing something will be lost in translation I will try to minimize the loss by sticking close to the original in every possible way—word meaning, the rhythm of speech, sound elements and imagery. Of course, a man’s reach should exceed his grasp but what else is going to bring the translator close to cloud nine? 

Fazal Baloch: Both essence and accuracy matter, but in poetry translation, the limited space to maneuver often makes essence the priority. As I mentioned earlier, the goal of translation is not only to carry over the meaning of the words but also the rhythm, tone, emotion, and cultural context that bring the original to life.

In practice, this means the translator has to balance several tasks at once: preserving cadence and rhythm, maintaining poetic flow, and ensuring semantic clarity. Yet above all, the translator must not lose the spirit of the original when choosing between essence and accuracy.

Prose, on the other hand, offers more freedom. Because it allows greater room to preserve meaning, accuracy tends to matter more, though essence still plays a role.

In short, poetry often gives more weight to essence, while prose allows essence and accuracy to work together more harmoniously.

  1. Best friend from Childhood, literally Sand from the Eye ↩︎

Bios of Featured Translators:

Aruna Chakravarti has been the principal of a prestigious women’s college of Delhi University for ten years. She is also a well-known academic, creative writer and translator. Her novels, Jorasanko, Daughters of Jorasanko, The Inheritors, Suralakshmi Villa and The Mendicant Prince have sold widely and received rave reviews. She has two collections of short stories and many translations, the latest being Rising from the Dust. She has also received awards such as the Vaitalik Award, Sahitya Akademi Award and Sarat Puraskar for her translations.

Radha Chakravarty is a poet, critic and translator based in Delhi, India. She has published over 20 books, including translations of major Bengali writers such as Rabindranath Tagore, Bankimchandra Chatterjee and Kazi Nazrul Islam, anthologies of South Asian writing, and several critical monographs. She has co-edited The Essential Tagore (Harvard and Visva-Bharati), named Book of the Year 2011 by Martha Nussbaum. She was Professor of Comparative Literature and Translation Studies at Ambedkar University Delhi.

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.

Fakrul Alam is an academic, translator and writer from Bangladesh. He has translated works of Jibonananda Das and Rabindranath Tagore into English and is the recipient of Bangla Academy Literary Award (2012) for translation and SAARC Literary Award (2012).

Fazal Baloch is a writer and translator. So far, he has published seven English anthologies and one Urdu collection of his translations. His. works include “God and the Blind Man: Selected short stories by Munir Ahmed Badini (Balochistan Academy of Science and Research, 2020), The Broken Verses: Aphorism and Epigrams by Sayad Hashumi (Balochi Academy Quetta 2021), Rising Stars: English Translations of Selected Balochi Literature by the Writers under the Age of Fifty (Pakistan Academy of Letters Islamabad 2022), Muntakhib Balochi Kahaniyan (Pakistan Academy of Letters Islamabad 2022), Adam’s Remorse and Other Poems by Akbar Barakzai (Balochi Academy Quetta 2023), “Why Does the Moon Look So Beautiful?: Selected short stories by Naguman” (Balochistan Academy Turbat, revised edition 2024) and “Every Verse for You”: Selected Poetry by Mubarak Qazi (Balochistan Academy Turbat, revised edition 2025). His translations have also been included in different anthologies such as ‘Silence between the Note’ (Dhauli Books India, 2019), Unheard Voices: Twenty-One Short Stories in Balochi with English translations (Uppsala University Sweden, 2022) and ‘Monalisa No Longer Smiles: An Anthology of Writings from across the World (Om Books International, 2022). He also contributes literary columns to various newspapers and magazines. He lives in Turbat Balochistan where he serves as an Assistant Professor at Atta Shad Degree College Turbat.     

(The interviews were conducted via email by Mitali Chakravarty)

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