Modern translations are almost always typified as literal translations, paying attention to each syllable, word, grammatical affix, and sentence. Indeed, a benchmark of a critical translation is to remain as faithful as possible to the literal. Yet in many cases, especially when the translation is across cultures (even more so when they do not share ethos or pathos) or when the source is of a mystical or esoteric nature, loyalty to the literal proves to be nearly always fatal to the sense and sentiment of the original. The compensation for the loss of meaning and sense is made by means of writing annotations, prefaces, critical remarks, introductions, etc. This is because Western methods of interpretation are often restrictive in their understanding of what constitutes a translation. In contrast, what the Indian traditions see as bhāvānuvāda (=the transmission of the bhāva or sentiment) would be seen through a Western lens as — not a translation per se — but a paraphasis. In stark contrast to the normativity of literal translations, my bhāvānuvāda translations seek to recover — and also recreate within an intended audience — the aesthetics of the original that is capable of standing and speaking on its own. In a way, the bhāvānuvāda subsumes the metatextuality. In literal translations, it is already known that the translator is no mere silent transmitter, since he too leaves an imprint of himself (what we call his wirkungsgeschichtliches Bewußtsein) in his translation. But even as the author of the original speaks, the role of the literal translator is seen as someone who makes the former speak (vācayati ityarthe). In the case of the bhāvānuvāda, interestingly, it is both the author and the translator who are both actively and jointly speaking in harmony in order to renew and replenish the meaning and sentiments of the text. Consequently, the translator himself becomes a co-creator of the new text.
The translations of the Caryāgīti literature, for instance, preserve by design their original intent of dual meanings. It would be wrong to say that there are two meanings, one being literal and the other being metaphorical. But this would be rather an ethnocentric style of interpreting this genre of texts. Their uniqueness lies in the fact that their choice of words, of analogy and resemblance, are carefully chosen so as to impress two kinds of meaning in the first place. A more attuned listener — say, a sādhaka — would understand it in a way, while a ‘lay’ reader would understand it in another way. The bhāvānuvāda preserves that spirit of simultaneously revealing and concealing multiple senses.
The translations of the poetry of Rabindranath Tagore follow the same spirit. In the translations that Tagore made himself, this can be seen. For instance, he translated his own “আমার প্রেম রবি-কিরণ হেন — জ্যোতির্ময় মুক্তি দিয়ে তোমারে ঘেরে যেন” into “Let my love, like sunlight, surround you — and give you a freedom illumined”. A more literal version might have been “May my love, like the sun’s rays, surround you with luminous liberation”, but it would have diluted its sentiment to a great degree. In my translations, I have augmented it furthermore with the cultural idioms of a more contemporary era. I have also taken certain liberties, e.g. in place of one “প্রাণের বাঁধন” (lit. “(my) life’s bond”), I have opted for “my heart’s bond” because in the English literary and cultural ethos, the original Bengali sentiment is best conveyed by means of the latter’s idiomatic expression.