Salman Rushdie once said that Commonwealth Literature was a chimera, a shapeless and unnatural animal that looked out of place on the meadows of World Literature. A few years later in 1997, he was invited to edit a volume of writing representing half a century of writing from India. In the introduction to this book, Rushdie stated that there was nothing in any of our regional languages, available in translation to match what Indians had achieved in English since Independence.

How did he know? He had read some translations. How many? No one knows. Who were his advisors? Again, no clear answer. 

With the 60th anniversary of our Independence behind us, I thought I might make a suggestion that if translations into English from Indian-language literatures needs a symbol, it should be the Indian elephant: complex, wondrous, unique, powerful. Seemingly slow but capable of covering vast tracts of terrain; will respond to sensitive handling; can be dangerous if mishandled; sometimes used in circuses with tragic results. Endangered? Probably, but we shall see how best to counter the poaching.

For a very long time, it has been the fate of Indian writing in the regional languages to be ignored  because influential cultural camps are either ignorant or unwilling to recognise a significant body of work.

To add to this, there is a fragmentation amongst the writers themselves as they are unable to band together by reading one anothers’ works. So, because the regional self is such a deep footprint, the identity of an Indian has essentially been that of an Oriya, a Maharashtrian, a Bengali or a Kannadiga. Since it is the rare person who has the time to study five or six languages and then approach the texts in them, how does one build a stronger national identity? 

One way would be to structure a linguistic power-grid, a national library through translation into English which will also conveniently and secondarily become part of the universal library; because, even in a non-literary context, no one needs to be reminded that we live in a world of continuous communication in different languages and that linkages are possible only through the act of translation.

Why should we do this?

At the heart of the translation endeavour is an evangelical zeal to enlarge the readership of a work or writer who is invisible outside his/her language island. Translation is making better known, what deserves to be widely recognised. This fact assumes a special importance in our country with a population of about a billion because India is home to one-third of Asia’s illiterates.

We have one of the world’s oldest languages, some of the world’s oldest mystical traditions and texts, a vast and elaborate past but— millions of Indians will never hold a pen, buy a book or have a discussion about book-knowledge. This places a huge social and ethical burden on the rest of us. It becomes our collective and primary national duty to examine very carefully what is being passed on as stored knowledge to the next generation because it is going to shape their consciousness and influence their decisions. The reality of India which lies outside our classrooms and seminars has to be brought into our study halls; and in order for it to be meaningful and relevant to developing the mind and building the self, what we teach has to be culturally rooted.
Multilingualism is a great wealth. Look at India’s linguistic landscape! No other country has five language families… the Indo-Aryan, the Dravidian, the Austro-Asiatic, the Tibeto-Burman and the Andamanese. But the linguistic map of India boils with inequalities.

Though some 400 languages are spoken, the Census documents only 114. Of these,only 18 enjoy official recognition. Of these 18, some correspond to geographical boundaries, enjoy distinct advantages in ‘linguistic states’ and are referred to as regional languages. There are hundreds of other languages but they lack the infrastructure needed to be noticed: there are no schools where these languages are the media of instruction, they have no printing presses, no publishing tradition.

English invasion

A foreign influence, especially if promoted by a ruling class, always disturbs the native hierarchies and traditions which then have to find new ways— often not consciously— to regroup and survive. This is what happened when English, the uninvited visitor-language, gained prominence in India. The goal of colonial translators was clearly imperial. Two hundred years ago the British in India stopped funding Arabic, Persian and Sanskrit studies and put the scholars of those languages to work on translating Indian religious, philosophical and legal texts into English.
The Orientalists of the late 18th Century under William Jones set up what was almost a factory of translation, which by the time it was noticed and admired, went into a decline because the Crown took over the East India Company and suppressed all things Indian. It took the German transcendantalists and the institutionalising of English studies in India to bring on the next wave of translations into the English language… and this time it was by Indians.

Translation is empowering because it enables a cultural understanding of different language worlds. It is the cement of multilingualism which nimbly crosses many bridges and promotes insights into the national psyche. The literary face of India, a composite of more languages than there are on the huge continent of Africa, can be integrated by the English language nativised and playing the role of a super visa-tongue.

The rise of nativisim both politically and post-colonially could be harmoniously blended into a national effort by English playing a literary supporting role. While creative, original  writing in English has already done well for itself and has an admiring non-Indian readership, we could use the strengths this visitor-turned-permanent-resident-language to the benefit of our writers in the regional languages. It is also extremely interesting to watch two social language-shapes emerging— English by Indian writers, and the English employed to translate the experience of Indian literary writing.

Just as we are beginning to learn the value of conserving our heritage buildings, crafts and forests, it is time we conserved our languages and the genius of India that lies in them. An important aspect of this change can and must begin in our classrooms. Every generation wonders what literature and culture it should be teaching its young, how to teach it and why these things should be taught at all. It is up to the present generation of teachers in Indian colleges and universities to design ways of reclaiming our national identity and restoring national pride in our literary heritage.

(The author is Editor-Translations, OUP (India) & Member, Consulting Panel, National Translation Mission)