Musharraf Ali Farooqi

The following review is originally published in Dawn's Books and Authors .

Even the closest reading of a translation is affected by a tendency to pronounce invisibility of the translator. Lens of a critic always focuses on an overlapping semantic space where authorial voice merges with the translator’s. Deconstructing any masterful translation is therefore beyond a mere judgment on fidelity, fluency and beauty. Furthermore, when there is cultural isomorphism between source and target, the show more challenge becomes twofold. The debate is far from settled but most often in such cases, translator refuses to take a backseat, rip off his subjective straitjacket and tries to assume a more active role. Often he becomes a creative dissimulator taking revenge for the fundamental invisibility of his being. His ultimate aim: a creative coup.

Contrary to all expectations, Afzal Ahmed Syed does none of that. Being an Afzal Ahmed completist, I struggled hard to find a rationale underlying this passivity. Is it because this is a unique case where write and translator are conjoined in an almost dicephalic relationship and I am mistakenly considering them apart? (After all, both Musharraf Ali Farooqi and Afzal Ahmed Syed have now translated each other’s works.) Or is it because of a more rational, yet often misunderstood preferential choice by the translator, namely a good translation should essentially come across as a translation?

Those who have read the ‘Between Clay and Dust’ are well aware of its lyrical power and elegant simplicity. Its force lies not as much in the fact that it brings together two seemingly disjointed institutions of wrestling and courtesanship in a singular theme, but the elegiacal lament of the ideals those two protagonists ascribe to. In other words, it’s the existential angst and individual suffering that becomes the instrument to incessantly amplify the crackle of crumbling and decay. On top of that, it doesn’t give away its central premise easily. There is a particular ineffability which gives a wizardly murkiness to its air.

It is in such innumerable fleeting moments that Afzal Ahmed Syed achieves an amazing transportation of the ineffable. As far as the craft of translation is mothered by the art of poetry, he demonstrates how the former cradles the latter. Urdu, when Afzal Ahmed Syed wears his translator’s cap, amplifies the tension between meaning and music, body and soul, and concrete and abstract; all of these being defining characteristics of ‘Between Clay and Dust’.

It is only after reading them side by side that the mystery of subservience finally unfolds. One slowly realizes that our translator chooses to let go of his creatively majestic space, and decides to whisper and speak like the author. Unlike many modern translators, he refuses to forget that the original should be seen breathing in the translation. It is as if he is seeing through the translation and trying to preserve the original which is lurking underneath it.

While we are on things sublime, there are of course some exceptional instances – though very few – where this careful attempt at preciseness achieves a rare puzzlement. Take for instance the opening sentence of the novel which speaks about a supposed attribution of “ruination of inner city to time’s proclivity for change”. Here the intertwining of decay and devastation with deterministic nature of time is hard to miss but semantic space for the translator is still vast and he has to ultimately discover the overriding sense which is intended to be carried by the word ‘ruination’.

Is it decay, devastation, destruction or a general sense of abandonment or desolation? Whatever the case may be, it is very hard to argue against the fact that the overall import of the word is bleak. Syed’s answer is, however, none of the above. He chooses to keep it more neutral by using a compound ‘taghayyur-e-haal’. It is as if he doesn’t want to paint ruination of the inner city too brightly by using a word like ‘barbadi’ or ‘khasta-haali’. Would these alternatives invoke too strong colors? Not sure what his answer might be but as they say, every literary puzzle is a gift for the reader.

Besides this metamorphosis of the inexplicable and transference of the ambiguity of the original, there is a lot more that a good translation has to capture. This is the realm of the discernable. Here, while transmuting the observable, Afzal Ahmed Syed reshapes the original. These are spaces where he refuses to be subservient and speaks in his own resounding voice; at times amplifying, at times corrective. An intriguing example of the latter is the word ‘nayika’ which Farooqi employs to describe trainee girls. Syed switches it with a more accurate word ‘nochi’ since these are, in fact, trainee girls under an experienced courtesan; the experienced courtesan being the ‘nayika’. There are of course other instances where translation performs its usual function of amplifying. Any reader of the original cannot miss instances such as those where a culturally foreign word like ‘pirouette’, when rendered by the Hindi original ‘ghumri’ achieves a more rooted motif, thereby precisely picturing the technicalities of a sub continental dance form. In such cases, translation becomes more than simple rendering of the concrete forms but actually makes the observable relevant to its original milieu.

‘Between Clay and Dust’ feeds on its ritualistic atmosphere where tradition doesn’t come directly in conflict with modernity, rather it goes through an unfathomable, and almost deterministic, internal decay. In trying to make sense of this ambiguous amalgam of cruel historical forces, we the readers join hands with the characters. But while we share their curiosity, Farooqi’s narrative keep us at bay as if coming too close would compromise the sense of wonderment. Afzal Ahmed Syed, while trying hard to maintain that distance, achieves something original through its self-triggered transformations. We are, in fact, pushed a little closer by the sheer force of the translated narrative. And this infinitesimally small push is the magic of his translation. show less

It's always an educating experience to read both the original and translation side by side. The lyrical prose of Musharraf Ali Farooqi is captured well by Afzal Ahmed Syed in Urdu translation, who is undeniably a master of lyrical prose at an altogether different level. However, it is one of those cases where original surpasses the translation, though I expected it to be the other way round for obvious reasons of the locale. The reason is somewhat paradoxical since Afzal Ahmed Syed seem to show more remain literally loyal to text, even in cases where he could have used his translator's discretion. But besides this somewhat controversial point of choice, the translation is extraordinarily fluent and captures the pervasive sadness of the story well. show less

Between Clay and Dust is not only about the partitioning of Pakistan but also about a conflict within the akhara, not only about national identities but personal ties as well.

"‘How simple Ustad Ramzi made it look.’
‘It is not without reason that he is the Ustad-e-Zaman.’
‘Just wait until Tamami becomes Ustad-e-Zaman,’ one of Tamami’s friends casually remarked.
Everyone in the akhara became silent when the words were uttered. Tamami’s friend realized his indiscretion and became show more quiet."

The disruption of tradition creates many opportunities for conflict and meditation. Readers who are introduced to this conflict when it is burgeoning have had little experience with the tone set over many years by Ustad Ramzi, but they are engaged with the story in anticipation of dramatic change, so they share in misunderstandings like that of Tamami's friend.

Indeed, much of the emotional heft of this story rests in misunderstandings and missed connections, in severences that might have been avoided.

"Tamami realized they had mistaken Ustad Ramzi’s embrace for a grappling lock. Ustad Ramzi also regarded the trainees with a surprised look.
Come see Ustad Ramzi and Tamami fight!’"

Two wrestlers in a lock could easily be mistaken for sharing an embrace, particularly out of context. Those embroiled in the conflict are less likely to miss the cues, but those on the margins are ever-shfting, uncertain as to the nature of what they are observing.

"That the ties between them could be so easily severed – and that there would be no attempt at a rapprochement... was something [he] could neither understand nor bear." [This passage has been edited to avoid spoilers.]

Breaks in relationships, between men and between nations, lead to meditations on broader concerns about community and peace, leadership and balance.

"Did the essence of art not lie in creating a delicate harmony between strength and the opposing force? Did it not lie in keeping power bridled?"

Musharaff Ali Farooqi poses questions like this, but he does not present answers in plain-spoken prose. Instead the characters in his narrative ponder and press at their uncertainties, but there is no resolution.

"Ustad Ramzi no longer knew if it was grief he wanted to share or some guilt which he wished to confess to lighten his heart’s burden before her."

What does one do in the wake of a tremendous loss, and how does one manage their own participation in the circumstances which led to it? How much sorrow must be borne alone and can some be eased in company? To what extent does one's identity rest solely in contrast to a force with which one has long struggled?

Although the questions are often posed directly on the page in Between Clay and Dust, the narrative is relatively short and one imagines many longer drafts having been painfully reduced to boil down the tale to its essentials.

Upon finishing, the novel may leave readers with the sense of burden which follows the reading of stories about war and conflict, but without the declarative tone that sometimes accompanies such stories; the work embodies a sense of much-to-discuss, which does not lessen the weight of the story but it does sway the balance towards hope and away from despair.

This review originally appeared on BuriedInPrint. show less

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