University of Oklahoma

Refusing the Gaze: Identity and Translation in Nirmal Verma's Fiction

Author(s): Prasenjit Gupta
Source: World Literature Today, Vol. 74, No. 1 (Winter, 2000), pp. 53-59
Published by: Board of Regents of the University of Oklahoma
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/40155308
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Refusing the Gaze:
Identity and
Translation
in Nirmal Verma's
Fiction
PRASENJIT GUPTA
propose to examine issues of identity raised in liter-
ary works when a postcolonial,'Third World"pro-
tagonist travelsin the "FirstWorld."Nirmal
Verma'sshort stories often revolve around an Indian1
protagonistin Europe,sometimes in London,sometimes
in Czechoslovakia,sometimes in an unnamed continen-
tal city. Verma(b. 1929)spent many years in Europe,
Nirmal Verma, circa 1985
mostly in Czechoslovakiaduring the 1960s,where he
translatedCzech literaryworks into Hindi.
My essay will also touch on issues of translationwith
regardto Verma'sfiction.Vermais held to be significantly
influencedby Europeanand U.S. fiction,2and his Indian
characters,mostly male, are often located in the West;
thus, it might be argued that he writes in a translated hotel to mail some letters,and on his way back he goes
WORLD LITERATURE TODAY
mannerabout transplantedmen. Given this, what are
the implicationsfor renderingVerma'swork from Hindi
("back,"in some sense) into English?
However, the "translation"of Europeanmodes of
writing is more than simple borrowing.By applying an
existentialistmannerto Hindi fiction (and I returnto the
question of this "borrowing"later),Vermaredefinesthe
mode by writingin Hindi:his writing now takes on a
postcolonialedge; one patternof identity problemsis
convertedinto a quite differentpattern.3Given that
some of the politicalvalue of his writing thus derives
from its being written in Hindi,what is the political
effect of translatingit into English?Does this defuse its
postcolonialcharge?
I first considersome notions of identity as suggested
by one of Verma'sshort stories, "JaltiJhari."
"Jalti Jhari." The two questions of identity and trans-
lation in Verma'sfiction converge in one of his best-
known short stories, "JaltiJhari."The title of this story
means (or is a translationof) "TheBurningBush."The
figureof the burningbush appearsin chapter3 of Exodus:
1:Now Moses kept the flock of Jethrohis fatherin law, the
priest of Midian:and he led the flock to the backsideof the
desert,and came to the mountainof God, even to Horeb.
2:And the angel of the LORDappearedunto him in a flame
of fire out of the midst of a bush:and he looked,and, behold,
the bush burnedwith fire,and the bush was not consumed.
3:And Moses said, I will now turn aside, and see this great
sight, why the bush is not burnt.
4: And when the LORDsaw that he turnedaside to see,
God called unto him out of the midst of the bush, and said,
Moses, Moses. And he said, Here am I.
5:And he said, Draw not nigh hither:put off thy shoes
from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standestis
holy ground.4
The biblicalreferenceis made explicit in the action of
the story, where the metaphorof the place where one
stands - as well as the "burningbush"- is used to
explore the question of identity. The anonymous setting
and the narrator'slack of purpose at the beginning of
the story introducethe rootlessnessthat is to pervade it.
I had come to that city for the first time. I thoughtI'd stay
therea few days and then go on, but some unexpectedbusi-
ness forcedme to stay longer.I remainedat the hotel all day
and every time I felt boredI wanderedover towardsthatspot.
Evenin a strangecity travellersseek out a favouritecorner.. .5
It is on an autumn day that the narratorleaves the
• 74:1 • WINTER 2000 • 53
 to an island:"Likethe blades of a pair of scissors,the
two branchesof the river had cut it out between them"
(63).Therehe sees some boys playing under a bridge
(who "probablydidn't even see me") and an old fisher-
man gazing off into the distance.The fisherman,too,
participatesin the preliminaryerasureof the narrator's
identity:"He had looked at me and laughed . . . but I
wondered if even then
he had really seen me"
As long as we have our sense of
(65).The narrator
solitude, we are not alone. It is begins to feel "strange-
and when
when we lose this solitude that ly uneasy,"
he sees the fisherman
we lose everything;and then we rise to leave, he feels he
himself is "in some
are utterly, irrevocablyalone: intricateand
mysteri-
" ous
"Now I was only with myself. way dependent
upon [the fisherman]
- as if by his leaving I
would lose somethingwhich had been living in me for a
long time" (66).The narratorthus attemptsto establisha
connectionbetween his own identity and the fisher-
man's,but the connectionis only realized- too late -
in the moment of its rupture.
A few minutes later,the narratordecides to change
his position, and he, "going over to precisely the spot
where the old fishermanhad been sitting, sat down." Is
this a merging of identities?No, it becomes clearlater.
This is when he first notices the footprintsin the mud:
"Theimpressionsof his shoes were still visible in the
mud - they were not very long but ratherwide and a
little crookedin the front.They seemed quite ordinaryto
me and I did not look at them much longer"(66-67).6 A
little later,he begins to feel "confused";his sense of dis-
locationis made even more explicit.
No one could know . . . that only a shortwhile ago the old
man had been sittinghere, right at this very spot. I found
some comfortin the thoughtthat I was free of him. It was
entirelypossible that the whole thing had been my mistake,
a delusion such as often ariseswhile wanderingabout a
strangecity. (67)
Now the boys, "the smaller"and "the larger,"walk
toward him, and aftera while they stand and look at
him, "thegaze transfixingme just as a needle transfixes
a worm which . . . finally quietens down, hypnotized,
unconscious.It was like that;yes, exactly like that"(68).
The narratorhas lost consciousnessof himself;he has
lost, it will become clearlater,his "solitude."When one
of the boys, mistakinghim for the fisherman,asks him if
54 • WORLD LITERATURE TODAY • 74:1 • WINTER 2000
he has caught anything,he denies that he is the fisher-
man;then he denies it again,but "thistime my voice,
curiously,was not as firm as before"(69).A child's
-
questioningcauses him to suspect his own identity
that is how fragileit is. The smallerboy points out the
footprintas if it is proof of the narrator'sidentity.The
narratorprotests "in a weak and unsteady voice."The
narrator,feeling that the boy was waiting for him to step
into the footprint,resists:"Withall the strengthI had I
kept my feet hidden in the grass."
Soon the boys seem to lose interest,but before they
leave, the narratoris "stunned"to see the largerboy
standing exactlywhere the old man had stood beforehe
left, staringat the same "unknownpoint" at which the
old man had stared.The boy has taken on the role of the
old man;he is the other,disconnectedfrom the narrator.
And once again, when the boys leave, they "hadrobbed
me of somethingwhich had been a part of me" (70).
It is in this paragraphthat Vermaunderlinesour per-
manent state of being alone and the importanceof our
solitude.
Once again thereI was, alone;but afterthey'd left that for-
mer feeling of solitude didn't come back.As long as we have
that solitude to communewith, even when we're with oth-
ers, then, in any real sense, we're not alone. Butnow I had
only myself, alone, and I was frightenedby the thoughtthat
those two had robbedme of somethingwhich had been a
part of me. (70)^
As long as we have our sense of solitude, we are not
alone. It is when we lose this solitude that we lose
everything;and then we are utterly,irrevocablyalone:
"Now I was only with myself."This is a key notion in
Verma's fiction,and it is the reason,it seems to me, why
solitude is so importantto Verma'scharacters,why they
often seek solitude, why even in the midst of a crowd
they often seem to be by themselves.
The narratoris about to leave when he realizesthat
once again he has company.Near the bush next to him,
barely three yards away, are two figures,a man and a
woman, who then disappearinto the bush. Soon, the
noises of passion reachhim, and "aburningheat poured
from the bush . . . twisting like a spellboundsnake,it
coiled around me" (72).8 A little laterthey emerge
(thoughhe can only see the girl clearly),and she sits
down "on the very spot where first the old man and
laterI had sat" (73).
"Did you see?"she asks him, staringoff at the same
spot where the fishermanand the boy had looked earli-
er, "beyondthe bridges and the churchspires where the
 lights of the city stopped and the darknessbegan" (73).
Then she asks whetherhe was "there"before,pointing
at the bush. He asks about her companion- who can
no longerbe seen - but she implies thatit is the narrator
who was in the bush with her. This is the second moment
of interpellationwhere his interlocutorsseek to force an
identityupon him thatis not his. Then"thebush trembled,
as if somethingdeep inside it were burning.... I felt this
was the secondtime thateveningsomeonehad demanded
that I prove my 'truth'"(74-75).It seems that his "truth,"
like God, is in the midst of the bush.9 Buthe cannottake
the few steps necessary;and all the time she is looking at
him:"Whileshe looks,she is pushingme away, separating
me from her"(75)as if they had been joined before,in
the bush. Thejoining is, of course, illusory:once again,
the momentof separationis doublyemphasizedby sug-
gestinga connectionthatneverwas. And thenhe runs,fol-
lowed by her "cruelghostlylaughter."He is so disturbed
thathe cannotgo backto the hotel;he spendsthe nightin
barsand on the streets,and finally,the next morning,"I
left the city for good and moved on" {76).
The first look - the boys' - transfixeshim "justas a
needle transfixesa worm."In fact, a more literaltransla-
tion of the original"sui ki nok tale jaise koi kira dab jata
hai"10is "in the way some insect is pressed under the
point of a pin." This is surely a literalreferenceto the
entomologist'sfixing and categorizing- locatingand
identifying- act. The first look leaves him bereftof soli-
tude; the second look, the woman's, drives him away,
away fromher, away from his "favoritecorner,"away
from the city itself.
The charactersin "TheBurningBush"have been read
as "simultaneouslyrepresentingreal and imaginaryfig-
ures, consciousand subconsciousprojectionsof the pro-
tagonist."11 The "cruelghostly laughter"of the woman
might indeed betoken a ghost. However, the characters
could also be read as various faces of the "Other,"as
various gazes of the Otherthat seek to define the narra-
tor's identity in the moment of, and by the act of, its dis-
location,its distortion.Justas the Lord'svoice, emerging
from the burningbush, chargesMoses with his mission,
to go to Pharaohand lead the childrenof Israelout of
Egypt,so too does the woman, emerging from the
"burningbush,"seek to force upon the narratorhis
"momentof accountability"(75).But unlike Moses, the
narratorhere declines the charge- he does not enter
the bush, since that would fix the "truth"the woman
seeks to impose upon him, just as earlierhe did not step
into the footprintin the mud; he does not say, as Moses
does, "Heream I,"and chooses instead to run, rejecting
TODAY •
WORLDLITERATURE
whatever truth or falsehood lies within the bush.
Verma'sunnamednarratorrefusesthe fixingand identity-
shaping gaze; he refuses to step into the footprintsthat
await him (and it's not easy to resist:even a child's gaze
takes all his strengthto withstand);he refuses to enter
the burningbush; he struggles to throw off the interpel-
lation;he moves on. His charactermay be read, in a
postcolonialcontext,as the uncolonized,the uncoloniz-
able. This, then, is the substantialpostcolonialcharge
that Verma'swork adds to the Europeanconcept of exis-
tential angst, and even if some of his themes are viewed
as derivative,this highly significantaspect of his work
cannotbe ignored.
The refusal to meet the gaze has been interpretedas
an "existentialchoice":"Feelingthat he is being called
upon to prove his 'truth,'the narratordecides to open
his eyes, to see what he wants to see, to be accountable
to no one. Thatis his existentialchoice;the result is
inconsequential."12 Inconsequential?Surelynot. Verma's
characterhas assertedhis right to determinehis own
identity, to seek it elsewhere, other than where these
gazes directhim.
In the first encounter,it is his solitude that the narra-
tor loses. But that is not all; along with his solitude he
comes close to losing himself, his identity. In his refus-
ing the imposition of anotheridentity, his voice turns
weak and uncertain;he wonders, it is implied, whether
he might in fact be the old fisherman.It is his solitude,
Vermaseems to suggest, that is the nucleus of his self-
knowledge, and the loss of the first cannotbut affectthe
second. Solitude is part of one's identity;identity is
formed (at least in part) in relationto solitude.
This contradictsmuch psychoanalytictheory,which
holds that identity is formed in response to an Other.
Perhaps,Vermamight say, both solitude and the Other
are determinantsof identity;^and this story suggests
that some individuals are (sometimes)free to refuse the
fixing power of the Other'sgaze and to move on, to seek
their identity in solitude.
I turn now to a brief considerationof the role of land-
scape and geographyin Verma'sfiction.As a founder
and leading practitionerof the "New Story"movement
in Hindi, Vermais one of a set of writersconcernedwith
the problemsof dislocation.
It is in this last story [Verma's"Parinde"]that one can find
the clearestexpressionof the existentialistproblemswhich
seem to preoccupythe new generationof Hindi story-writ-
ers. Some of the recurrentthemes of this new writing are the
meaninglessnessof life, solitude, exile, death and the aware-
74:1 • WINTER2000 • 55
 ness of nothingness.. . . NirmalVermahas raisedthe out-
sider'sproblemto its metaphysicallevel, giving it its real
dimensions.... It is the eternalproblemof man faced alone
with the unknown,desperatelyquestioningeverythingand
himself for an answer to his anguish,searchingfor a way out
of the dark.H
As in 'The BurningBush/' Vermarsprotagonistsare
almost always disconnectedfrom other charactersin the
text, failing to make the
The charactersin Vermas
human connectionthat
stories often seem distantfrom will bring them mean-
ing:1^"Nirmarscharac-
the landscapein spite of being ters remain
completely
framed within it. There is alien to each other.
They remain distant
almost a sense that they are
from one another.No
one has any ties to any-
imprisonedin the landscape.
one else."16What is
more interesting,however, is their disconnectionfrom
the landscape,especially consideringthat Vermaoften
describesit in lyricalterms.
Outsideone could see the forestsenveloped in a blue haze,
and lofty mountains,rangeupon range.When the curtain
flutteredin the breeze the room was drenchedwith a dream-
like fragrance,wafted from afar.1?
They could see the lights over the dam in the distance.The
riverglimmeredwith the misted puddles of light. . . . The
statuesof the saintswere concealedby the dark.Tramlight
wavered on theirheads, bent perpetuallyin prayer.18
The last rays of the sun falling on the tall grass were merg-
ing into early darknessof the evening. Sometimeswe spot-
ted an animalin flight - an antelopeor a herd of deer. . . .
Graybirds took off in swarmsfrom ponds coveredwith blue
moss and then swooped down togetherlike expertdivers
and disappearedinto the tall grass.*9
The charactersin the stories often seem distant from the
landscapein spite of being framedwithin it. Thereis
almost the sense that they are imprisoned in the land-
scape;this is even expressed literallyin the story "The
WorldElsewhere,"where the protagonistis accostedby
a child in the park:
'Youare caught!'She was all excitement.'Youcannot
escape now.'
I didn't understand.I stood still where I was.
'You'vebeen caught . . .', she repeated,'you are standing
on my land.'
I looked around.Therewas the grass, the flowers,empty
bencheson one side, threeevergreentrees and an oak tree
with a heavy trunkin the centre.Therewas no traceof her
land anywhere.
56 • TODAY •
WORLDLITERATURE 74:1 • WINTER2000
'Sorry,'I said and turnedto leave.
'No, no ... you can'tgo,' the little girl stood barringmy
way. Her eyes were shining. 'Theywon't let you go.'
'Whowon't let me go?' I asked.
She pointedto the trees,which now took on the appearance
of tall and sturdy guards.UnwittinglyI had falleninto their
invisibletrap.20
This sense of being trappedin an alien landscape,
though not always stated so explicitly,is a familiarone
in Verma'sfiction.I read this as the protagonist'sresis-
tance to being locatedgeographically:a refusalto be tied
to his landscape,to be spread-eagledand pinned down
on the collector'smountingboard.This is relatedto the
refusalof the Otheringgaze; it is the slipping out of the
landscape'sgrasp. Many times, as in "TheBurning
Bush,"the protagonistchooses to run. The short story
"Exile"ends like this:
Fearseized me as I left the house and I brokeinto a run.
When I finallypulled myself togetherI had a good silent
laugh at myself, standingstill in the darkstreet.Therewas
no one around,in frontor behind. Indiawas a long way
ahead and he a long way behind.
I began walking on steady feet towardsthe tramstand.21
Not only is identity not formed throughinterpellation
by the Other;it is also not formedby the character's
relationshipto the landscape,by his position on the
mountingboard.The characterwishes to place himself
away from the twin forces of the land and the people:
India is a long way ahead, "he"(an acquaintance)a long
way behind;and the narratoris steady as he goes. Once
again,it seems,it is solitudethatwill give him his identity.
I turn finally to the matterof the "translated"nature
of Verma'swriting and its implicationsfor translating
his work into English.Two questions arise,one from the
readerfamiliarwith Westernwriting, the other from the
Indianreaderof NirmalVerma.The firstquestionis this:
if Verma'swork is ("merely")a rehearsalof European
existentialismwith non-Europeanprotagonists,why
botherto translateit into English?Thereis plenty of such
fiction alreadyavailablein English;why add Verma?
When the "original"alreadyexists, why botherwith the
translationof an "imitation"?why translateVerma?
The second question follows from the fact that the
choice of Hindi as the language of his work is a signifi-
cant one for Verma.He says:
This choice of Hindi has been a terrificblessing to me - it
has connectedme to variousvital movementsof my times.. . .
In one word, I can say that Hindi relatedme to my social sit-
 uation. . . . Hindi, as a sufferinglanguage,broughtme into tance in the postcolonialIndiancontext,it is essentialto
contactwith sufferinghumanity:a languagewhich itself was complicate the (Western)targetculture'simage of the
deprivedof any officialpatronagebroughtme into contact source culture,to provide some representationof the
with the people deprived of so many rights.22
complex natureof the source culture.
Given this clear awarenesson Verma'spart of Hindi's Such works by Vermaas "JaltiJhari"might be consid-
" ered, if they are viewed as similarto Europeanexisten-
position as a sufferinglanguage/' and the consequent
tialist writing, to fall under the second categoryabove.
politicalvalue of his choice of Hindi, it is no doubt true
that to translatehis work into Englishwithoutcomment Thus the translationof Verma'sfiction into Englishfor a
would indeed defuse some of its postcolonialcharge.
The translatormust explicitlyconsider (in an introduc-
tion, for example)the implicationsof Verma'schoice of
Hindi. And perhaps translationinto Englishwould in
any case deprive the work of some of its politicalvalue,
but it might be possible in the act of translationto find
strategiesthat compensatedfor such loss by enabling (or
forcing!)an increasedawarenessof the source culturein
the Westernreaderof Verma'swork in translation.This
brings me back to the first question:why translate
Vermafor the Westernreader?

Political Resistance in Translation. As I argue at

greaterlength elsewhere,23the act of translationof Indi-
an regional-languageworks into English (the colonial as
well as a postcoloniallanguage in the Indiancontext)is
a politicalact as much as it is a literaryone. It is impor-
tant to resist the assimilationof the Englishtranslation
of an Indianliterature(Hindi, for example)- and by
extensionthe assimilationof the Indianliteratureitself
- into a Westerntraditionof Englishliterature.One
kind of resistanceI call "politicalresistance/' which may
be expressedby the choice of text to be translated(as
well as by the intended audience and by the identity of
the translator,aspects that I considerat length else-
where).24
In choosing the text to be translatedout of a politically
weak language (such as Hindi) into a strong language
(such as English),politicalresistanceshould seek to
challengeeasy stereotyping,should seek to resistexpecta-
tionson the part of the Westernreader.This may be
done by selecting for translationi) texts that underline
the differences between the source cultureand the target
culture(and translatingthem in a mannerthat empha-
sizes these differences,for example by "foreignizing"
the targetlanguage,25while still resisting stereotypical,
receivednotions of differenceby emphasizing unexpected
differences),as wellas 2) texts that underlinethe similari-
tiesbetween the two cultures.Following either of these
two strategiesin isolation results in a simplified, distort-
ed view of the source culture;for effective political resis-
Westernaudience would resist expectationsof Hindi fic-
tion as only depicting the "exoticIndian"face of the
source cultureand therebyunderlinesome similarities
of experienceand existencein source and targetcul-
tures. This, then (apartfrom all considerationof Verma's
eminent position in Hindi, and Indian,literatureand his
consequentclaim to representationin translation),is a
politicalreason for translatingVermainto English.
To go a step further:given the thematicoverlap
between some of Verma'sfiction and alreadyfamiliar
Europeanmodes, is it possible, even so, to markit as
belonging distinctlyto anotherculture?Were this possi-
ble, it would be an example of highly effectivepolitical
resistancein translation,a translationthat inscribedits
differenceeven as it demonstratedits similarityto
familiarmodes, inscribedits differenceeven though it
belonged to the "similar"ratherthan the "different"
class of culturalproducts- therebycomplicatingthe
image of the text and of the source culturewhence it
came. We must look, therefore,for possibilitiesof stylis-
tic and other linguistic innovation (what I call "linguistic
resistance")in translatingsuch work, innovationssuch

WORLD LITERATURE TODAY • 74:1 • WINTER 2000 • 57

that the translationmay carrythe distinctiveimpress of
the source cultureeven as it displays the common con-
cerns of the two cultures.In Verma'sfiction,one might
look for cases where, for example, an "Indianness"(or
non-Westernness)of a principalcharacteris somehow
broughtto light in a story that might otherwisebe simi-
lar to a Westernstory.26
In the case of Vermaand the existentialisttradition,it
can also be argued that Verma'sthemes and concerns
are not simply borrowedfrom the West, that they have
long been a centralconcernof some Indianphilosophic
systems.
The urge towardsinwardness. . . marksall existential
thoughtfrom Pascalto Sartre.The same is seen also as the
main concernin Indianthought. . . . The forlornness,the
aloofnessof the self, and the experienceof anguish and
despairoften presentedas the prominentfeaturesof the
human conditionin existentialliterature,are conditionspre-
ceding to any spiritualrealizationin Vedantaas well as in
Buddhism.So, in effect,the Europeanthought-currentof the
early twentieth-centuryreally found a kindredtemperon the
Indiansub-continent.27
Thus, thematiccongruencesbetween Verma'swork
and modern Europeanwritings may have deeper roots;
the one may not be directlyderived from the other.28In
this particularcase the congruencesmay stretchback in
time for centuriesratherthan decades,but even if this
were not so, and concerns,forms, or techniqueshad
indeed been taken more clearlyand directlyfrom West-
ern literatures,translationsof such texts would in either
case help emphasize these common themes and con-
cerns and thus act as resistantto the easy exoticization
of Indianculture.In the same way that Verma'sprotag-
onist in "TheBurningBush"resists the identity-shaping
gaze of his Westerninterlocutors,so too might Verma's
translatorhelp refuse the "Othering"gaze of a Western
reader.29
Thus,while the politicalchargecarriedby the Hindi-
ness of Verma'sfiction may, for the Indianreader,be
defused by the act of translation,it can be argued that
the Westernreader'sincreasedawarenessof the com-
plex variety of Hindi writing (providingtherebyan
increasedresistanceto the easy exoticizingof Indiancul-
ture) is a not insignificantbenefit arisingfrom the trans-
lation of Nirmal Verma'sworks into English. WLT
University of Iowa
58 • TODAY •
WORLDLITERATURE 74:1 • WINTER2000
1Oftenthe
protagonist'snationalityremainsunspecified,but
in the storiesset outside Indiait is clearthathe is a foreigner.
Given that the narrativevoice is in Hindi, the Hindi reader
might be expectedto assume that the protagonistis Indian.In
some stories,the protagonist'snationalityis explicitlystated.In
"Exile,"for example,he is accostedby an Indianin a bar,who
recognizeshim as a compatriot:"'Aren'tyou an Indian?'... 'It
isn't every day you come acrossan Indianhere!I couldn't
believe it when I saw you!'" ("Exile,"tr. KuldipSingh,in
NirmalVerma,TheWorldElsewhere andOtherStories,London,
ReadersInternational,1988,p. 135).
2 See, for
example,the introductionand chapter1,"Inthe
Neighborhoodof Pastiche:NirmalVerma'sEkChithdaSukh,"in
Jaidev, The Culture of Pastiche:ExistentialAestheticism in the
Contemporary HindiNovel(Shimla,IndianInstituteof Advanced
Study, 1993),for a discussionof the novel's "commitmentto
High Modernismand existentialism"(49).Of Verma'sfirst
novel, VeDin (1964),laidev says: "Verma'sambitionis to out-
HemingwayHemingway'sTheSunAlsoRises"(48).
3 Forthis insight,as well as severalothervaluableconnections
and suggestions,I am greatlyindebtedto PhilipLutgendorf.
4 The Bible:AuthorizedKing James Version, eds. Robert Carroll
& StephenPrickett,Oxford(Eng.),OxfordUniversityPress,
1997/P- 67-
5 "TheBurningBush,"tr. SusanNeild, in NirmalVerma,The
WorldElsewhereand Other Stories, p. 62. Subsequent page
referencesare to this edition.
6 The
footprintis an importantsymbol in Buddhistand
Hindu religiousrepresentation.In early Buddhistart (2d~3d
centuryB.C.),for example,Buddhais representedby the tree of
enlightenment,by his throne,and by his footprints.This is the
"absentpresence"that seems also to run through"JaltiJhari."
The Hindu gods Ramand Vishnu,too, are often representedby
theirfootprints.
7 ThesourcetextI have (inNirmalVerma,Meripriyakahaniyan
[MyFavoriteStories],Dilli,Rajpal& Sons,1995)allowsa somewhat
differentrendering.Thefollowingis my own translation andis a
fairlycloseliteral(andthereforedeliberately"rough")version:"I
hadbeenleftalonethereagain,but aftertheirdeparturethesoli-
tudeas it hadbeenbeforedidn'tcomeback.As long as solitudeis
with us, thenreallywe arenot alone.Now I was onlywith myself,
and the thoughtseemed quite frighteningto me that those two
had snatchedsomethingaway fromme that had until then
been with me." The translator'sseeming interpolation- "even
when we're with others"- may be an explanatorymove.
8 Thiscould be readas a Tantric
reworkingof the biblical
burningbush:the fire of the Lord'svoice transmutedinto sexual
energy.Can the coiled, "spellboundsnake"be readas the ser-
pent of Genesisor the snakeof kundalini- or both?"[The
energyprinciple]is expressedin Tantriceroticmetaphoras kun-
dalini,the latentenergystoredat the base of the spinalcolumn,
which like a coiled serpentuncoilsthroughthe severalparts
(cakras)of the spine and finallyreachesthe nerve centresof the
upperbrain(sahasrara)." See Margaretand JamesStutley,Harp-
er'sDictionary of Hinduism: ItsMythology, Folklore,Philosophy, Lit-
erature,andHistory,SanFrancisco,Harper& Row, 1984,p. 299.
9 In one of his essays on the short story,Vermasays: "When-
ever 'reality'appearsin a story,it is always an enigma.Likea
bird, it remainshidden in the bush. ... In Englishthereis an
expression- 'beatingaroundthe bush.' The story writercan
do only this;it is impossiblefor him to do anythingmore. If too Interview:NirmalVerma),"Illustrated
much pressureis put on the bush, then the bird will die or fly
away. . . . Forthe one who is a realistin a true sense, realityis
always hidden in the bush."NirmalVerma,"ShortStory
Today,"in Contemporary HindiShortStories,eds. Mahendra
Kulasresthaet al., New Delhi, Amrit,1984,p. 226.
10NirmalVerma,Meri
priyakahaniyan, p. 158.
11JoanF. Adkins, "An
Analysis of ThreeShortStories,"Indi-
an Literature, 21:1(January-February 1978),p. 63.
12Adkins, 65.
p.
:3Thishas been suggestedby otherwritersas well: "Iwent
backeven deeper into my profoundinnerexile, into journeying fuse the two kinds of text;in
inside myself. The most importantthing is what happens inside same text we
us, not to us." This is fromFadwaTuqan'sautobiography,A
Mountainous Journey:An Autobiography, tr. Olive Kenny,St. Paul
(Mn.),Graywolf,1990,p. 105,as quotedby Tetz Rooke,who
adds:"Thepurely personalapproachnever precludesan
inquiryinto otheraspectsof the identity. . . . Whathappens
inside us is dependenton what happensto us. ... The relation-
ship is a dialectical
one, and personalidentitymay best be
understoodas the synthesisof 'happensinside' and 'happens
to,' a kind of balancethat the individualhas to achieve in order the two kinds of existentialism,their similaritiesand differences
to arriveat a sense of selfhood,as the Swedish psychologistB.
has
Borjesson argued." See Tetz Rooke, "The Most Important
ThingIs WhatHappensInsideUs': PersonalIdentityin Pales-
tinianAutobiography,"in Identityin AsianLiterature, ed. Lis-
beth Littrup,Richmond(U.K.),Curzon,1996,pp. 236-37.
X4CatherineWeinberger,"TheOutsiderin New Hindi
Stories,"IndianLiterature, 11:2(April-July1968),p. 72.
*5As for examplein the stories "TheDead and the Dying,"
"A Splinterof the Sun,""MayaDarpan,""Weekend,""TheDif- eithera traditionof Indian
ference,"and "TheMan and the Girl"- in fact,most, if not all, existentialistwriting.
of the storiesin the collectionTheWorldElsewhere andOther
Stories,as well as in othercollections.
16"Nirmalke
patraek dusre ke liye bilkul begane se rahte
hain. Ek dusre se alag-alagse rahtehain. Koi kisi se sambandh
nahin rakhta."SaritaVashishth,NirmalVarmaki kahaniyon ka
videshiparivesh(TheForeignEnvironmentin NirmalVerma's
Stories),Dilli, NirmalPablikeshans,1993,p. 86.
l7 "UnderCoverof Darkness,"tr. JaiRatan,in Nirmal
Verma,TheWorldElsewhere andOtherStories,pp. 1-2.
18"A Roomof TheirOwn,"tr.
KuldipSingh,in Nirmal
Verma,TheWorldElsewhere andOtherStories,p. 236.
*9"TheDrought,"tr. JaiRatan,in NirmalVerma,Sucha Big
YearningandOtherStories,New Delhi, Indus, 1995,p. 185.
20 "TheWorldElsewhere,"tr. GirdharRathi,in Nirmal
Verma,TheWorldElsewhere andOtherStories,pp. 88-89.
21"Exile,"tr.
KuldipSingh,in NirmalVerma,TheWorldElse-
whereandOtherStories,p. 160.
22SmituKothari,"The
Challengeof an Outsider(TheWeekly
Weeklyof India,20
November1983,p. 59.
23"Post-or Neo-ColonialTranslation?:LinguisticInequality
and Translator'sResistance,"Translation andLiterature, 7:2
(1998).
24Ibid.
25See LawrenceVenuti, TheTranslator's Invisibility,London/
New York,Routledge,1995.
26Or for another
example,see note 28.Of courseit might not
be possible to achieve this difference-within-similarity in a
given work, and strategicallyit might even be best not to con-
tryingto makeboth points in the
may end up with none. The particularitiesof any
given text will help the translatordecide an appropriatestrategy.
27SukritaPaul Kumar,"Traditionand the Emergenceof the
ModernistTemperin Post-IndependenceHindi and Urdu Short
Fiction,"in On Literature, ed. Jaidev,Shimla,IndianInstituteof
AdvancedStudy, 1990,pp. 81-82.
28And if therewere some
way in a particulartranslation
(perhapsin an introductionor a footnote)to underlinethe
ancientIndianrelationshipto modernWesternexistentialism-
- it would be an exampleof the
difference-within-similarity
strategyof resistancedescribedearlier.In this essay I have
traceda couple of the Indianconnections:the footprintsas an
"absentpresence"and the coiled snake of kundalinithat sets
fire to the burningbush. Othersuch connectionsin the text
surely await the sensitive translator.
29And, in fact,in the same way, Vermaas a writerrefuses
the reader'sidentifyinggaze that seeks to locatehim solely in
writing or a traditionof European
Prasenjit Guptais a doctoralcandidatein Comparative Literature
at
theUniversityof Iowa.In additionto his scholarlywork,he writes
fictionandtranslates fromHindiandBengaliintoEnglish.His work
hasappeared in Translation& Literature,Exchanges,Asian Pacif-
ic AmericanJournal,ContemporarySouth Asia, ModernPoetry
in Translation,andelsewhere. In 1998-99he spenta yearin Indiaon
a Fulbright-Hays grant,workingwithNirmalVermaon translations
of a selectionof his shortstories.

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