|
|
|
January 22, 2002
REVIEW: Remembering courtesan culture
WITH the publication of Mirza Mohammad Hadi Rusva’s Umrao Jan Ada at the end of the nineteenthth century, the modern Urdu novel had finally arrived. Back then (and even today) the beguiling story of a courtesan’s life made for a liberating read, yet the prose still relied heavily on the Urdu literature’s firstborn: poetry. Each chapter of the novel opens with the stanza of a ghazal that brilliantly encapsulates the gist of Umrao’s life. Then interwoven into the narrative are scenes from mushairas and the poetic repartees between Umrao Jan herself and Rusva, her companion and author of the work, both of whom are poets in their own right.
That is why we know that David Matthews, the translator of this work in English, is a patient and brave soul. Because to attempt the translation of a classic that relies so emphatically on the splendour of its original language, is no mean feat. Besides, to attempt to capture the richness of detail and a mood so intricately entrenched in the culture of its time is enough to bog down the best of translators. The celebrated Indian journalist/novelist, Khushwant Singh, is another brave soul who has translated this work.
While David Matthews’ initiative in daring to tread this slippery ground is laudable, the outcome is rather sloppy. Matthews, for one thing, ties himself in knots while trying to translate the poetry. His sloppiest best is when he attempts to construct the translated verses in rhyme:
At death’s approach we did not think of hell
We saw the charms of that fair infidel
The rhymed result rendered in English sounds puerile and loses most of its delicacy of thought and finesse. That, to make a point, is the kind of essence lost in Matthews’ translation.
Nevertheless, Matthews does manage to impart a splendid sense of culture mainly through an informative preface preceding the novel and an adequate index of notes to the text in the back of the book. Both serve as valuable references and nowhere should a reader, who may be unfamiliar with the social milieu of Lucknow of yore and the Urdu language, feel lost.
Yet Matthew’s translated prose doesn’t fare any better than the rhymed-under-duress poetry. For instance, referring to the maulvi who regularly visits the courtesans’ quarters, Rusva asks Umrao if the maulvi’s love for another courtesan, Bismillah, was ‘pure’ — meaning we can safely assume ‘chaste’. Umrao clearly replying through Matthews’ pen glibly says, ‘Like the driven snow’ a simile, which Umrao herself would have been hard-pressed to fathom in the warm heartland of UP. Such are the glaring paradoxes that litter the translation.
But reading the classic tale of one of Lucknow’s most sought after fictional courtesan is nothing short of engaging. The glory and decadence of Lucknow and its decline after the uprising of 1857 are captured intimately. But beyond detailing the ceremoniousness of language and the manners of the era, the novel is a remarkably frank account for those times and maybe even for ours.
Mirza Mohammad Hadi, who brazenly appends his pen name Rusva, meaning ‘disgraced’, prides himself on his liberality. Nowhere does his respect for Umrao, the decisions she takes and the relationships she gets into, flag. Whether Umrao actually existed or didn’t has been an ongoing debate and personally one would like her to have existed, but Rusva delves exceptionally deep into her psychology without inhibition, and empathizes with her without becoming preachy or resorting to innuendo. In fact, if not an outright feminist work, it is one with an uncanny knowledge of women, courtesan or not. In particular it is the choice of courtesans, as subject, that opens up a mine of cultural minutiae for Rusva to explore and document. The subject also, by default, allows him to divulge the moral hypocrisy that plagued the Lucknow society. It is this broad perspective and Rusva’s refusal to resort to innuendo and peachiness (both of which routinely crop up in Urdu Literature) that lifts Umrao Jan Ada into the realm of classics.
The publishers, Sang-e-Meel, however could have paid more attention to detail, publishing, as they were, the translation of the very first Urdu novel to become a classic. Full of unpleasantly conspicuous typographical errors (the first appearing in the very first line of the preface!) and grammatical mistakes, this version barely manages to fill a void, till of course one can lay hands on another version. Despite this, Umrao Jan Ada is a must read for anyone whose faith in modern Urdu literature is beginning to wane.
Umrao Jan Ada
By Mirza Mohammad Hadi Rusva & Translated by David Matthews
Sang-e-Meel Publications, 20 Shahrah-i-Pakistan, Lahore. Tel: 042-7220100
Email: smp@sang-e-meel.com
ISBN 969-35-0732-0 195pp. Rs125
|
|
|
|
