HYDERABAD: ‘Andal: The Autobiography of a Goddess’ translated and edited by Priya Sarukkai Chabria and Ravi Shankar won the Muse India Translation Prize for this year. The 8th century Tamil poet is among the 12 Alwars – the Vaishnavite poets during the Medieval Age. She wanted to marry divine Vishnu, discarding the worldly.
Love was her doxology as she wanted to devote her entire body to the Lord, feverishly writing erotic poems compiled as 30 pasuram (stanzas) for him. Both the poet-translators have given the translation(s) a unique shift by giving it the contemporary touch as they dexterously let archaic Tamil verses fit into the garb of English. Priya establishes her as a teen-icon citing her devotion to the Lord that sprung up when she was in her teens. The force of her sexuality flows into her hymns as undivided devotion to him. This mystic adopted daughter of Alvar saint Periyalvar opens several layers for the translator, who elaborates on the girl-goddess in this interview. Excerpts:
What made you translate Andal’s poetry from Classical Tamil?
I grew up, though for a short time, in Madras. Andal is regarded as a goddess, she is everywhere: her songs are on people’s tongues, her images in sight; we watched dance-dramas of her legend. Her worship has spawned a flourishing cultural industry.
Once, as I was walking down a street I found small photo studios showcasing photographs of girls dressed as Andal for their coming-of-age ceremony. They are expected to dress attractively to lure future grooms. Andal is an icon of desirability and achieving her dream of marrying her beloved, Narayana Nampi, Supreme God of the Universe. So you see she’s a teen-icon too! Andal is almost a living, breathing presence and especially adorned by women. When I began to read her poetry closely I fell into her thrall and had to translate her songs.
Would you say she’s a kind of Feminist goddess then?
No. Feminism would be a form of retrospective appropriation of her. Andal is regarded as an emanation of Bhu Devi, the Earth Goddess, Sri Vishnu’s second consort. Certainly for Andal her body is the pulsing vessel that receives the scared. Among the reasons women love her dearly are that she’s confident, unashamed and proud of her beautiful form. She desires her god as lover openly, erotically with no holds barred. At the same time Andal is deeply spiritual. She aligns herself with cosmic harmonies. She calls on divine grace to pervade her; she is, for me, grace manifest. It doesn’t get better than this, does it?
In a few lines, how would you like to define her poetry for those who aren’t familiar with her works?
Andal’s is an extraordinary literary oeuvre, unique in its intensity, fragility, knowledge of mythology, youthful eroticism and deep spirituality. Suffice to say she’s the finest poet I’ve read. She speaks to each one of us intimately; she’s as close as one’s breath. At the same time her imagination is fantastic, she crosses all boundaries in her search for the sacred.
Reading your book one realises there are many layers in her poetry. Did you know about them earlier or was it your discovery during translation?
I’ve evolved a poetics of spirituality over a decade by immersing myself in her work. Plenitude is the way Andal presents herself to us. This segues with my study of Tamil Sangam poetics that was codified between 2BCE to 4 CE. Andal followed many of these conventions. The book of grammar, Tolkaappiyam, states each poem has three levels of significance—the literal, the parallel, and the hidden inset -- of which only the literal is apparent. The translator must discover the other two. Many are content by doing an accurate literal translation which may be literary as well. But I don’t think Andal meant for her poems to have a single level of significance; she is a graced generous presence. She offers us a riddling generosity of possible interpretations. She dazzles.
I employed different strategies to translate Andal. Among them, this: Imagine admiring an exquisite, complex piece of framed embroidery from afar. Now imagine taking apart the frame and turning the embroidery over to examine its reverse side. That’s an intimate view, an insider’s view. You’ll notice a mesh of threads making patterns of differently coloured silks –scarlet, yellow, cobalt, emerald etc – that show their interconnectedness. Similarly, I first translated the literal layer. Then I unpicked threads to discover the secret second layer, the parallel meanings, in her choice of mythological references and so on. I knew I was on the right track because Andal is a divine poet; she won’t leave a single loose thread. Lastly I delved into the third layer, the inset hidden layer. I intuited this by subsuming or ‘unselfing’ myself in her. That was glorious.
What were your source materials for the research?
There were many: reading, discussion, travel, music, prayer, epiphany. I travelled to her major temples. The infant Andal was found by Periyalwar, a Srivaishnava saint, in a tulsi garden in the temple town of Srivilliputtur deep in southern India. Today the town is commercial and clamorous. I couldn’t ‘hear’ Andal there. So I requested the Forest Officer of the nearby Meghmalai Wildlife Sanctuary for permission to drive in. He wondered why a poet would want to venture deep into a forest to seek Andal, but nonetheless kindly granted permission. I ‘found’ and heard Andal in that sanctuary of silence. I felt as if I were going hundred and hundred years back into time. Hearing the distant trumpet of elephants I felt the lush greenery opening under blue skies in, I imagined, the same way she must have experienced.
I also researched with scholars of classical Tamil – which isn’t any longer used --and experts on Sangam poetics to analyse her texts. Additionally, as my father’s family comes from the historic temple town of Srirangam I discussed with elders some philosophical ramifications. Besides, I’d keep hearing Andal’s verses so the sounds of her songs set the rhythm of my life.
How do the songs Andal composed differ?
Andal doesn’t present herself to us in a single voice. She sometimes speaks in the voice of a pembe, a girl child under ten years. At other times she’s a passionate teenager, all ache and demand. Sometimes she uses the singular, at other times the plural pronoun. She’s quicksilver, changing, like her beloved Krishna’s lila play. Andal’s first song, the famous thirty verses of the Tiruppavai/ The Path to Krishna was composed when she was about thirteen. It is a congregational hymn of devotion. Her second and last work, the less known but eroticised and stunning Naachiyar Tirumoli / The Sacred Songs of The Lady was composed when she was no more than sixteen; she is said to have merged into god’s idol in Srirangam temple soon after. You could say this was her personal call to divinity to enter her in every way. Hence the title of my book, ‘Andal The Autobiography of a Goddess.’
Several poets have been translating saint-poets in the country. Do you think a new kind of Bhakti Movement has started in contemporary literary India?
How I wish! Poets translate bhakti poetry for a variety of good reasons. But I won’t call it a movement. Bhakti poetry is intense, abidingly intimate, drenched in longing, visionary, wild and compassionate. It sings of freedom from the self and, indeed, when reading fine translations one forgets the narrow confines of the self. For the most part it is fabulous poetry. Radical in thought and language usage. Translating bhakti poetry is also a political act because it now symbolizes an accommodative spirituality. Simultaneously it’s significant as an individual’s commitment because you can’t change a thing without beginning to change yourself.
If not a Movement, then do you think something has already started in that direction as a precursor maybe?
We live in turbulent times where questions of identity and a range of issues demand we delve into them with seriousness and tenderness. It’s necessary to search for voices from the past which could heal us. Bhakti poets were exemplary at this. We need to translate multiple voices singing about vast sacredness where one voice does not cancel another but adds to the call, to the chorus for compassion towards all.
What next?
I don’t rush from one project to another. Nor trouble myself to meet market expectations which means doing a certain number of a certain kind of book whereby the author is easily labelled and works within tried and tested artistic paradigms. In my one life I value the freedom to write in whichever way I think best about whatever I want, continuously taking risks and, if graced, making artistic discoveries. But there’s a price to pay for my path, and at times I get exhausted fighting it all. But I will return to translating bhakti poetry because once you are set alight by its formal beauty, passion and insights you can’t help returning to its thrall.
Publisher: Zubaan Books
Price: Rs 595