Unknowingly

Someone asked me once – “Why Banaphul?”

My friend was a classicist – he was comparing Banaphul with Tagore. Well, Banaphul is not Tagore. Tagore seems to me more a philosopher whose short stories are filled with philosophical explanations of what he observes. Difference between Tagore’s short stories and Banaphul’s are same with that between ballad and haiku. Banaphul does not comment – he only observes, and he observes human beings – colourful characters not always bright and cheerful but sometimes dark and ugly. And the multifarious human spirits are drawn on the same layer of the canvas – none with higher importance, none lesser and without any judgment of good bad and ugly from the part of the author. Banaphul’s human characters are so very human – they are honest and dishonest, kind and cruel, virtuous and sinner - none qualifies to be anything superior to a human. He does not have a spiritual attraction for life; neither is he devoted to any specific moral. Neither has he tried to be a descriptive realist, nor a loud satirist.

Another quality in Banaphul’s short stories that attracts me is prudence. You won’t find a single instance where the author uses a word pointlessly. And a few lines composed with few reasonable words draws a complete picture! Bengali readers are fortunate ‘cause whenever we try to translate the fun with words specific to particular language is lost.

Anyway, that is paradox in literary translator’s job – doing something that cannot be done – while it’s difficult to resist translating such wonderful works - only option to introduce speakers of other languages with the treasures captivated in one language.

Here is one instance... J

Unknowingly

I received my salary that day.

I thought of buying a bra for my wife on the way home. She was asking for one since long.

It was dark by the time I found the right one after searching in a few stores. On top of that, rain started pouring in as I was coming out of the store buying the undergarment. What else could I do but waiting? After the downpour reduced a little, I started walking with my umbrella open, hence carrying the packet under my arm. I crossed the main road with ease, but after that I had to take the route through the narrow lane which was dark.

I lost myself in my thought as I entered the narrow lane – “how happy she will be getting the bra after long. Today I will –“

Suddenly I stumbled over someone. That person fell; I too fell down. My gift for her went badly soiled.

I stood and noticed that the man could not still get up. He was trying to stand. I was burning with rage – kicked him as hard as I could.

“You bastard! Can’t see the road? ”

He fell down again as I continued hitting him; but did not reply. His silence made me mad. I went on beating him harder.

My yelling was loud enough to get a door of a nearby house opened. A man came out with a lantern in hand and asked, “What happened?”

“See it yourself! This rascal mudded up my expensive cloth like this! It’s completely wasted! Such a scoundrel  - can't even walk properly – crashed on me like anything!”

“Who is that? – Oh! Please forgive him Sir, don’t beat anymore. That wretched fellow is blind and speech-impaired – a beggar, stays in this lane.”

I looked at the beggar. He was still shivering with the shock of being violently thrashed. His entire body was stained with mud. The poor man was standing before me with folded hands. His blind eyes were gazing at me.