Garden of Heaven

Suppose you are a god.

Your name is Dattatreya, Mandakini is your wife
and Fullara is your baby girl.

When you opened your eyes this morning, you saw
the green garden sprawling outside, amidst a gentle mist and sun,
is one of the heavens.
You saw
the houses around, streets, schools, the sky and the clouds
each is of heaven.

As if, after half a century you had come out of a trance.

Just like a god, with self-assured steps,
you came out into the garden of heaven.
Dewdrops and tender grass caressed your feet,
a grasshopper settled on your arms.
You noticed –
your vision is clear, your mind unmarred and your soul pleased.
A new man graced the mirror,
and a new hour graced the clock,
You called your wife to say –
‘Mandakini, you know, we are the children of eternity;
time itself is eternity and gods are not beyond death.’
Mandakini lifted her plain eyes, nodded
and went back to the kitchen with calm steps.

Then you came out into the streets –
amongst the tangles of fakirs, drunkards, beggars and killers.

You said – “my name is Dattatreya, and so is yours;
look, over there is our garden of heaven.”

They bought what you said,
like how kids believe the illusionist.

Then you set out with them to an unknown realm.

 

 

A Tale of Woe

Wandering through winding paths and alleys,
after repeated rejections, a tale of woe becomes a song.

In the town square, on moving trains,
and on your way to temples,
the song – earthy, blind, enchanting – graces your ears.
In every poor country, the beggars, usually, sing well.

From where does this melody flow?
Trailing a pain, clad in ragged frocks,
like a puppy, how does it follow?

It plays, sits on your lap,
shares the emptiness and some stale bread.
Then one day, in this land of blood-eyed sun,
someone robs the pain away.

Eyes numb, the puppy lies alone
on the boundless meadow cradling the horizon.

Wandering through winding paths and alleys,
after repeated rejections, a tale of woe becomes a song
and melts into the sky.

 

 

Our Shy Poems

Our shy poems, please keep lying on the footpath for some days
Let sad people with grocery bags walk by after kicking on
                                                            your shy stomach
Let someone singe with a lit cigarette your lovelorn flesh –
                                                            just for fun.
Please keep lying motionless, bearing torment, along the longest footpath of men.
Just watch out.
No blind man should trip on you and no begging bowl should                                                                                            come to you by chance.
Slowly, your golden trunk will turn ashen
On your burnt face, the copper hue of the earth will gleam
Seeing that the street kids will burst out in sprightly claps
Please don’t give them candy; a sense of rhyme will do.

বাগান

মনে করো, তুমি একজন দেবতা।

তোমার নাম দত্তাত্রেয়, স্ত্রীর নাম মন্দাকিনী,
শিশুকন্যার নাম ফুল্লরা।

হঠাৎ আজ ভোরবেলা চোখ মেলে তুমি দেখলে —
বাইরে হালকা কুয়াশা এবং রোদের ভিতর
যে সবুজ বাগানটি দাঁড়িয়ে আছে — সেটি স্বর্গের। দেখলে —
চারপাশের বাড়িঘর, পথঘাট, স্কুল, আকাশ, মেঘ সবই স্বর্গের।

যেন পঞ্চাশ বছর পর, একটা স্বপ্ন থেকে জেগে উঠলে তুমি।

দেবতার মতো দ্বিধাহীন পায়ে
নেমে এলে স্বর্গের বাগানে।
পায়ে ঠেকল ঘাস, শিশির, ফড়িং বসল কাঁধে।
তুমি টের পেলে —
তোমার দৃষ্টি স্বচ্ছ, মন কলুষমুক্ত, চেতনা প্রসন্ন।
তুমি আয়নায় দেখলে এক নতুন মুখ,
ঘড়িতে দেখলে এক নতুন সময়,
স্ত্রীকে ডেকে বললে —
'মন্দাকিনী, জানো, আমরা অমৃতের সন্তান,
সময়-ই অমৃত; এবং দেবতারা অমর নয়।'
মন্দাকিনী সরল চোখদু'টি তুলে সায় দিল
এবং শান্ত পায়ে ফিরে গেল রান্নাঘরের দিকে।

এবার তুমি বেরিয়ে এলে রাস্তায় —
ফকির, মাতাল, খুনে এবং ভিখিরিদের জটলার ভিতর,

বললে — 'আমার নাম দত্তাত্রেয়, তোমাদের নাম-ও তাই,
ওই দ্যাখো, দূরে, আমাদের স্বর্গের বাগান।'

তারা-ও তোমার কথা বিশ্বাস করল,
যেভাবে বাজিকরকে বিশ্বাস করে বালকেরা —

তুমি তাদেরকে নিয়ে চললে এক অজ্ঞাত বাগানে।

 

 

একটি দুঃখের কথা

একটি দুঃখের কথা, পথে ও বিপথে ঘুরে,
প্রত্যাখ্যাত হতে হতে, গান হয়ে ওঠে।

শহরে, চলন্ত ট্রেনে, মন্দিরের পথে
শোনা যায় সেই গান- ধুলোমাখা, অন্ধ, মায়াময়
যে কোনও গরিব দেশে ভিখারিরা সুগায়ক হয়।

কোথা থেকে আসে সুর,
ছেঁড়া-ফ্রক-পরা এক বেদনার পিছু পিছু,
কুকুরছানার মতো, কোথা থেকে আসে?

খেলা করে, কোলে ওঠে, শূন্যতা ও বাসি রুটি ভাগ করে খায়
তারপর একদিন, রক্তচক্ষু সূর্যের জগতে
কারা এসে বেদনাকে তুলে নিয়ে যায়

কুকুরছানাটি শুধু শুয়ে থাকে, বোবা চোখে,
প্রান্তরের সীমাহীন ঘাসে

একটি দুঃখের কথা, পথে ও বিপথে ঘুরে,
প্রত্যাখ্যাত হতে হতে, গান হয়ে মিলায় আকাশে

 

 

আমাদের লাজুক কবিতা

আমাদের লাজুক কবিতা, তুমি ফুটপাথে শুয়ে থাকো কিছুকাল
তোমার লাজুক পেটে লাথি মেরে হেঁটে যাক বাজারের থলে হাতে বিষণ্ণ মানুষ
শুদ্ধ প্রণয়ভুক তোমার শরীরে কেউ ছ্যাঁকা দিক বিড়ি জ্বেলে –
নিতান্ত ঠাট্টায়
তুমি স্থির শুয়ে থাকো, কষ্ট সয়ে, মানুষের দীর্ঘতম ফুটপাথ জুড়ে
শুধু লক্ষ রেখো, অন্ধে না হোঁচট খায়, কোনও ভিক্ষাপাত্র ভুল করে
তোমার কাছে না চলে আসে
ধীরে ধীরে রোদ-ঝড়-শীতের কামড়ে তোমার সোনার অঙ্গ কালি হবে
ওই পোড়ামুখে তবে ফুটবে তামাটে আভা পৃথিবীর, তাই দেখে
ফুটপাথশিশুরা ভারি ঝলমলে হাততালি দেবে
তাদেরকে দিও তুমি ছন্দজ্ঞান, লজেন্স দিও না

Translator's Note

The established aesthetics of difficulty and ambiguity pervasively present in contemporary Bengali poetry often resist a shared signification with its readers. Poetics that takes pleasure in inviting its reader to perform mental acrobatics has merits that justify the cause and it also has a politics of its own. However, constantly responding to such demands takes more from an avid reader than it can give. For a reader of poetry who seeks immersion and not resistance every step of the way, while also not looking for a sentimental flourish of hackneyed sounds and sense, Ranajit Das’s poetry feels like a fresh breath. His diction is devoid of vagueness and his poetic vision shines through the clarity of his diction. His poetry is life-affirming. At the same time, it is aware of the difficulty in staying hopeful regarding the future of life on this planet. And often the two ends of the spectrum playfully peek their head in the body of a single poem. It is such qualities that drew us to Das’s poetry.

At age fourteen, Ranajit Das was the youngest member of a literary group that flourished around the little magazine Atandra (1963-68), published from Silchar, Assam. He permanently moved to Kolkata in 1971. Born into an immigrant family that took refuge in the Barak Valley region of Assam, India, as the sociopolitical climate of Bangladesh became increasingly hostile to its religious minorities, Das has known hardship firsthand. Therefore, his choice to live a poet’s life, when he left his family home for the cultural homeland in Kolkata, did not come from a position of socioeconomic privilege. However, his poetry never wallows in self-pity or nostalgia. The poet-speaker’s orientation towards the world is that of a sceptic seeker curiously participating in the cosmic joke called life. Poetry performs an important social function in its ability to reenchant us by adding infinite varieties to our ways of seeing. Indeed, Das’s poems have brought many fresh insights into mundane occurrences and have added to our ways of seeing.

Das is economical with his words and he mostly uses everyday words. However, even the most commonplace words attain suggestiveness due to their collocation and their role in the overall narrative of the poem. While translating these poems, our primary challenge was to carry across the immediacy of impact evoked by the crisp and pithy words of the source poetry. Then, there are certain common issues that Bengali-to-English translators face. For example, some keywords do not have perfect equivalents in English since words with similar meanings gather different connotative values based on their unique journeys through a linguistic milieu. In the poem “Garden of Heaven”, for instance, when the poem says “we are the children of eternity”, in the source poem, it alludes to the Upanishadic postulate, “amritasya putra”, but in English, there is no perfect equivalent to capture the dual dimension of bliss and eternity present in the culturally loaded word “amrita”. In “Our Shy Poems”, the connotative shade of endearment in the phrase ‘tomar sonar ongo kali hobe’ (‘your golden trunk will turn ashen’) got somewhat diluted in translation for similar reasons. Other than these issues here and there, his poems generally lend well to translation due to their logically well-knit structure. We have tried to closely follow the tone and texture of the source poems while not compromising on their potential to be read as stand-alone poems in English that can mirror the experiences of those who read these poems in the source language. We hope the readers of Exchanges will enjoy reading a distinct poetic voice in translation.


Bidisha Mukherjee
H S Komalesha

×

In the Classroom

×