Tamas is one of those rare Hindi novels that has been translated not once, but twice. The first translation, by the indefatigable translator of Hindi and Urdu, Jai Ratan, was published in 1981.
The second was undertaken by Sahni himself, who came to realise there were serious problems with the Ratan translation, and published in 2001. Ratan’s translation is marked by frequent omissions, inaccuracies and outright flights of fancy. Whilst Sahni’s translation corrects these, he was unable to resist the impulse, common among authors translating their own writing, to edit and revise the original work. Consequently, changes appear mysteriously here and there when the inspiration hit him.
Such rewrites or “transcreations” have an intrinsic value as literary works, especially for scholars hoping for more insight into the author’s attitude about the text, but they do not convey the original text with fidelity. It could also be argued that the miniseries Tamas was a third translation. As discussed above, Nihalani did make some major changes in the plot to create a more compelling screenplay, but very often he stuck doggedly to accuracy, and his recreations of street scenes and elaborate costuming were an amazing boon to this translator in helping to visualise articles of clothing and architectural features that are no longer in common use in South Asia.
There was only one major change made by Nihalani that I found difficult to understand: In the novel, the District Magistrate’s wife, Liza, is a sloppy drunk. She may be driven to drink by her isolation and boredom, but she’s frankly not the most sympathetic character. In the miniseries, by contrast, Lisa (her name has been slightly changed) is insightful and sympathetic. Though Richard tells her nothing, and she might drink one too many gin and tonics at cocktail time (in the novel, she is a beer drinker), she sees through his chilly disregard for humanity and worries about the plight of the people in the city.
The end of the series shows her becoming a volunteer nurse at the refugee camp and calmly tending to the wounded. Perhaps Nihalani was uncomfortable with depicting the British characters as purely evil, though in the novel, Richard is portrayed as a complex character, one who pores over ancient Indian artefacts in his study and befriends Indian scholars. For me, as the third translator – or fourth, if we count the miniseries – it was frankly a delight to have the previous translations to work with. Ratan and Sahni didn’t always come through with a helpful interpretation when I was in a bind; in fact, frequently it seemed as though they’d both been stymied by the more difficult bits as well, and omitted or glossed over them. But it still gave me a welcome sense of companionship in the lonely business of translation.
Along the way, the three of us had many interesting adventures. One example will give the reader a taste of the experience. In a passage describing the dining room of the British administrator, Richard, Sahni writes that there was a tashtarī in the middle of the table, arranged with roses. This confused me, as I had always thought of a tashtarī as a saucer. How could roses be arranged in a saucer, I thought, especially when the dining room is clearly meant to sound very grand?
As always, I thought I’d turn first to my translator comrades to see how they’d interpreted the term. A glance at Sahni revealed that the saucer had been turned into a vase in his version:
Arm in arm, they proceeded towards the dining room. It was Liza’s favourite room. In its centre stood a big, circular dining table, of black mahogany. A lampshade hanging low from the ceiling right above the table shed its light on a copper vase filled with red roses. The room spoke of Richard’s taste and Liza was well aware that if she was to live with Richard she would have to adapt herself to his idiosyncrasies.
— From 'Tamas', translated by Bhisham Sahni.
In fact, not only had he turned the saucer into a vase, but he’d made a number of other changes: In the Hindi version, the table was of black oak, not mahogany; the “saucer” was made of brass, not copper, and the lampshade was made of what I would call “lattice-work” – or jharokā. I felt suddenly plunged into confusion. Had I misread all these words?
I picked up the Ratan translation to see how he’d interpreted it, only to find that he hadn’t. This was one of many passages Ratan had omitted. Was it because he was stymied by the word tashtarī as well? Or did he just not think the description was relevant? We’ll never know. After this, I put in some time revisiting every word in the passage to make sure I had not written “black oak” when the word for mahogany was given, or “brass” for copper. Finding these in order, I proceeded to look in a few dictionaries to see if the word tashtarī had a meaning I was not aware of.
One source suggested that a tashtarī could also be a tray, something like a thali, with raised sides. With this in mind, I moved on to Google image search, an excellent tool for translators trying to finesse their understanding of the appearance of certain objects. I entered tashtarī confidently, expecting to see many teacups with saucers, and maybe one image that would show me a way out of my quandary.
But no. Instead it was image after image of flying saucers. The Hindi word for flying saucer is urān tashtarī, translated literally from the English “flying saucer”. On the internet, UFOs are more popular than tea sets. In the end, I handled the passage as follows. Portions that were omitted or markedly changed in Sahni’s translation are marked in italics:
They set out for the dining room, their arms around each other. Of all the rooms in the house, Liza liked this one best. Directly in the middle of the round, black oak table lay a brass tray full of carefully arranged red roses. Directly above the tray hung an electric lamp with a lattice-work shade. A circle of lamplight illuminated the tray of roses and the mottled light filtered through the shade and fell upon the beautiful china plates set out on the table with red napkins placed next to them. Richard enjoyed these sorts of arrangements, and Liza knew that when she lived with him she had to mould herself into a reflection of his whims.
— From 'Tamas', translated by Daisy Rockwell.
The final sentence, though similar in intent to Sahni’s translation, recasts the dynamic between Richard and Liza as one in which he is a man with certain “tastes” and “idiosyncrasies”. The original wording speaks more of their unequal power dynamic and the ways in which Liza is asked to be someone she is not.
Excerpted with permission from the Introduction by Daisy Rockwell to Tamas, Bhisham Sahni, translated from the Hindi by Daisy Rockwell, Penguin Books.
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