The first South Asian Literature in Translation (SALT) conference, held in Colombo, Sri Lanka, earlier this month (Aug 5-9) brought together emerging translators of South Asian languages for a week-long summer school. Such opportunities are monumental, especially considering that only recently have translators begun to receive the respect they deserve.

For too long now, translators have been seen as secondary, almost invisible compared to authors. Often, book reviews contain only a brief nod to the translator, with pointless remarks such as “the translator has done an adept job” or “the translation reads fluently”, and that is the extent of the recognition. Over the SALT days, the discussions and workshops transformed our understanding of translation.

Early conversations illuminated the challenges of addressing the numerous clichés associated with literary translations of prose and poetry. One such cliché is the adage, ‘What is left behind in poetry is poetry itself’, which underscores the difficulty of preserving the full essence of poetry in translation. However, it’s crucial to acknowledge that the works of Gabriel García Márquez and Fyodor Dostoevsky have had a profound global impact due to the skill and creativity of translators.

Unfortunately, the translator’s goal to unpack and reveal the original work’s beauty to readers, a labour of love, often remains underappreciated by the general audience. We dedicate days, sometimes weeks, to meticulously crafting a version of a single stanza that allows readers to glimpse a world that isn’t lost but is carried forward.

A translator reflects on what she gained from a pioneering gathering of translators of South Asian languages

This is no small feat. It’s a daunting and challenging task, yet one filled with endless possibilities. As our discussions progressed, we shared our collective anxiety when striving to convey the subtleties and nuances in a new language, agreeing that platitudes fail to capture the full picture of the translators’ exertions.

During the workshops, we discussed the etiquettes of handling delicate structures, the struggle to create visceral connections, and the task of transporting emotions from one literary landscape to another. The consensus among us was clear: it’s time for this crucial work to be recognised without scepticism.

This sentiment was strongly echoed by some of South Asia’s most prominent translators present, including Daisy Rockwell, acclaimed for her Booker Prize-winning translation Tomb of Sand; Arunava Sinha, translator of Those Days; and Ranjit Hoskote, translator of the mystic poet Lal Ded.

One of the standout moments of the entire event was when Geetanjali Shree, the author of the Hindi novel Raet Samadhi [Tomb of Sand], remarked that once an author puts their words on the page, the text is released to the annals of time and space. She explained that there are countless ways in which a sign can reveal itself in translation. For translators who carry the heavy responsibility of conveying the author’s voice to the reader, Shree’s words provided a refreshing sense of validation.

Throughout the sessions, there was a palpable recognition and appreciation of the multilingual traditions that are integral to the South Asian landscape. India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh, with their diverse languages and dialects, carry intricate histories, shaped by colonialism and the subsequent dominance of national languages.

The forty-plus participants mentioned languages such as Telugu, Tamil, Marathi, Bangla, Urdu, Hindi and Punjabi. What resonated most with me, however, were the discussions on bringing lesser-known languages to the forefront, particularly Balochi, Sindhi and Pashto from Pakistan. Everyone agreed that the key challenge is creating opportunities for lesser-known translators to have their work published.

While we all shared the desire to expand interest in regional and peripheral literatures, it was surprising to hear from Geetanjali Shree how the English translation of her book by Daisy Rockwell renewed interest among readers in their own language. Many were inspired to revisit the original Hindi version. This highlights the profound impact translation can have — not only in introducing a work to new audiences but also in rekindling interest in the original language.

As the conversations evolved, the question of what constitutes the best possible literary translation emerged — a long-standing and deeply challenging debate. Esteemed translators, such as Gregory Rabassa and A.K. Ramanujan, have all wrestled with this question. What truly captures the essence of the original? We’ve sought that elusive, almost mystical connection with the author, yet there is no definitive guide to literary translation.

Ranjit Hoskote emphasised that the goal of literary translation is to tap into and convey the richness of the original language and its world to readers. Unlike translations generated by AI tools, a translator’s subjective experience breathes energy and spirit into a text. Literary translators embrace the creative possibilities that each language offers, a task that requires not just true grit and deep knowledge of languages but, more importantly, an empathetic approach.

Recognising that perfection is unattainable, translators need not rigidly defend their choices. Instead, translation can be viewed as a continuous exploration, which aims to capture the essence through various renditions.

Daisy Rockwell’s ‘10 draft rule’ — stopping after 10 drafts — captures this spirit. It is about uncovering promising possibilities and drawing out the core from the peripheries. Personally, I feel a profound, almost primal pride in being part of this craft that is imbued with a deep sense of artisanal humility.

Between sessions and workshops, we delved into literary traditions and languages with some contagious joie de découverte [joy of discovery]. These discussions nurtured a sense of synergy, reinforcing the idea that literary translation should not be feared as a potential failure. Rather, it is a dynamic and invigorating pursuit that often transcends the reach of critics, whose detached judgements typically emerge much later. The attitudes that once dismissed the value of translation now call for a more nuanced understanding and a willingness to embrace the inherent risks involved.

To all the literary translators out there, keep an eye out for the next opportunity at SALT and take heart in knowing that translation is always a chance to discover something new — a deeper realm, a fresh word, or an innovative expression. It challenges and transforms the conventional notions of loss and impossibility.

As echoed in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, “The best in this kind are but shadows, and the worst are no worse if imagination amend them.”

The writer is a full-time lecturer in the department of Humanities at COMSATS University in Islamabad, and is currently working on the literary translations of a little known Punjabi poetess Piro Preman.

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, August 25th, 2024