Banalata Sen
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Banalata Sen (in Bengali script: বনলতা সেন) is a Bengali poem written in 1933 by Jibanananda Das. remains arguably the most read, recited and discussed poem of Bengali literature. Poet Jibanananda Das was a quiet person, who preferred to live in obscurity. It is unlikely that he developed relationship with any woman of the name of Banalata Sen. However, Banalata Sen of Natore, a tiny town in the Rajshahi area of the then Bengal, has become the emblem of feminine mystery as well as beauty and love.
[edit] Introductory Note
Banalata Sen was composed by the poet in 1933 and first published in the Kavita edited by poet Buddhadeva Bose in 1935. It is also the first poem of his third collection of poetry titled Banalata Sen published in 1942. It was also collected in Modern Bengali Poetry jointly edited by Abu Sayeed Ayub and Hirendranath Mukhopadhyaya, published in 1939.
Although popularly regarded a romantic lyric, poet’s historical sense of human existence is unmistakably the underlining essence. In a certain sense, Banalata Sen is akin to "To Helen" by Edgar Allan Poe. However, while Helen's beauty is the central theme in Poe's work, for Jibanananda, Banalata Sen is merely a framework to hold his anxiety for apparently endless human existence on earth since primordial time. In the endless tumultuous continuum of ‘time’ Banalata Sen is a dot of quietitude and tranquility. Banalata Sen is a feminine emblem that Jibanananda created in his virtual world and faced on many occasions with wonder and questions as embodied in different poems. She has occurred with various names like Shaymoli, Sobita, Suronjana, etc.
[edit] The Poem
The poem is self-narrated by an unnamed poet. Banalata Sen is a woman's name who the poem describes to be in the town of Natore. The poet describes seeing her after having wandered upon the earth over thouands of years. He describes having wandered from the Ceylonese ocean to the seas of Malaya, having travelled in Ancient India in the times of Emperor Bimbisara, and centuries later, in the times of Ashoka the Great. He describes having wandered in darkness in the ancient cities of Vidarbha and Vidisha, yet, for his tired soul, the only moment of peace in any age was with Banalata Sen of Natore.[1]
The Poem Banalata Sen is the most representative of the essence of Das's poetry and exemplifies his use of imagery.[2] The wary traveller is an interative motif of Das's poetry[3] The poem itself uses four key images comprehensively, the darkness, flowing Water, passage of time, and a Woman.[2] Das proggressively develops these same four images throughout the poem, metamorphosing these from remoteness to intimacy, dimness to distinction and from Seperation to union.[2]
[edit] Banalata Sen
Banalata Sen is a recurrent theme in Jibanada Das's work. Jibanananda's poetry, with his characteristic rich tapestry of imagery, repeatedly portrays the image of human fulfilment personified by a woman, Banalata Sen in this poem. There is no record or evidence to suggest a Banalata Sen actually existed in Das's life.[4] "Banalata" is a women's name in Bengali Language that would have been fashionable in the Bengali middle class Bhadralok community of Das's parents' generation. The Surname "Sen" ordinarily denotes the vaidya caste to which Das's own family belonged before they became Brahmo. Natore itself is a small Mofussil town, now in Bangladesh, that developed during the Colonial era at a time that a number of other towns developed throughout Bengal, spurred by the Colonial economy and social changes.[5] She is thus a contrmporary woman. However, Das describes her in terms forgotten and classical locations, essentially portraying her as timeless.[2] She is as much as a spirit as a woman.[3]
[edit] Bengali script
বনলতা সেন[6]
হাজার বছর ধরে আমি পথ হাটিতেছি পৃথিবীর পথে,
সিংহল সমুদ্র থেকে নিশীথের অন্ধকারে মালয় সাগরে
অনেক ঘুরেছি আমি ; বিম্বিসার অশোকের ধূসর জগতে
সেখানে ছিলাম আমি ; আরো দূর অন্ধকারে বিদর্ভ নগরে ;
আমি ক্লান্ত প্রাণ এক, চারি দিকে জীবনের সমুদ্র সফেন,
আমারে দুদণ্ড শান্তি দিয়েছিল নাটোরের বনলতা সেন।
চুল তার কবেকার অন্ধকার বিদিশার নিশা,
মুখ তার শ্রাবস্তীর কারুকার্য ; অতি দূর সমুদ্রের পর
হাল ভেঙে যে নাবিক হারায়েছে দিশা
সবুজ ঘাসের দেশ যখন সে চোখে দেখে দারুচিনি দ্বীপের ভিতর,
তেমনি দেখেছি তারে অন্ধকারে ; বলেছে সে, ‘এতদিন কোথায় ছিলেন?’
পাখির নীড়ের মতো চোখ তুলে নাটোরের বনলতা সেন।
সমস্ত দিনের শেষে শিশিরের শব্দের মতন
সন্ধ্যা আসে ; ডানার রৌদ্রের গন্ধ মুছে ফেলে চিল ;
পৃথিবীর সব রঙ নিভে গেলে পাণ্ডুলিপি করে আয়োজন
তথন গল্পের তরে জেনাকীর রঙে ঝিলমিল ;
সব পাখী ঘরে আসে - সব নদী - ফুরায় এ-জীবনের সব লেন দেন ;
থাকে শুধু অন্ধকার, মুখোমুখি বসিবার বনলতা সেন।
Banalata Sen Hājār bachhor dhore āmi path hātitechhi prithibir pathe,
At least eighteen translations of the poem are available in different literary periodicals and books. It is the poet himself who first translated the poem. However, the first translation that was printed was that by Martin Kirkman. It first appeared in June 1953 bi-lingual issue of the Kavita, a literary peridocial published from Calcutta, edited by poet Buddhadeva Bose. A French translation was also produced about the same time. Some of the rederings are provided below to exemplify the difficulty in translating Jibanananda Das as well as the different approaches taken by different translators, producing different meaning in certains cases.
Long I have been a wanderer of this world,
For thousands of years I roamed the paths of this earth,
Banalata Sen A thousand years I have wandered upon the earth
Banalata Sen For thousands of years Earth's path has been my path.
Banalata Sen
Banalata Sen
Banalata Sen of Natore
Banalata Sen
Bonolota Sen
Des milliers d’années j’ai parcouru les chemins de la terre,
'To Helen' was written by Poe in 1831 which was collected in his book Poems. Poe celebrated his love for Mrs. Jane Stanard, mother of Poe's childhood friend Robert Stanard. Mrs Stanard died in 1824 when Poe was only fifteen. 'To Helen' written in 1831, which differs from 'To Helen' written in 1848, reads as below : One can see that while Poe has ended by appreciating beauty of a woman, Jibanananda Das has gone far more deeper and on the landscape of a woman's beauty has painted the expanse of human existence both in terms of time and topography, drawing attention to the ephemeral existence of individuals.
[edit] The poem in Roman script
Sinhal samudra theke nishither andhokare Mālay shāgore’
Anek ghurechi āmi; Bimbishār Ashoker dhushar jagate’
Shekhāne chilām āmi; Āro dur andhokāre Vidarbha nagare;
āmi klānta prān ek, chāridike jiboner somudra saphen,
āmāre dudando shānti diyechilo Nātorer Banalata Sen.
Chul tār kobekāar andhokāar Bidishār nishā,
Mukh tār shrābastir kārukarjo; atidur samudrer ‘por
Hāl bhenge je’ nābik hārayeche dishā
Sobuj ghāser desh jokhon she chokhe dekhe dāruchini-dwiper bhitar,
Temni dekhechi tāre andhokāre; bolechhe se, ‘Etodin kothay chilen?’
Pākhir nirer moto chokh tule Nātorer Banalata Sen.
Samasto diner sheshe shishirer shabder moton
sondhyā āshe; Dānār roudrer gandho muchhe phele chil;
Prithibir shab rong nibhey gele pāndulipi kore āyojan,
Takhan galper tare jonakir ronge jhilmil;
Shab pākhi ghare āshe - shob nodi - Phuraye e-jibaner shab len den;
Thāke shudhu andhokār, mukhomukhi boshibār Banalata Sen.
[edit] Translations
[edit] Translated by poet Jibananananda Das himself [7]
Many a night,
My route lay across the sea of Ceylon somewhat winding to
The seas of Malaya.
I was in the dim world of Bimbisar and Asok, and further off
In the mistiness of Vidarbha.
At moments when life was too much a sea of sounds,
I had Banalata Sen of Natore and her wisdom.
I remember her hair dark as night at Vidisha,
Her face an image of Sravasti as the pilot,
Undone in the blue milieu of the sea,
Never twice saw the earth of grass before him,
I have seen her, Banalata Sen of Natore.
When day is done, no fall somewhere but of dews
Dips into the dusk; the smell of the sun is gone
off the Kestrel's wings. Light is your wit now,
Fanning fireflies that pitch the wide things around.
For Banalata Sen of Natore.
[edit] Translated by Clinton Booth Seely[8]
From waters round Ceylon in dead of night to Malayan seas.
Much have I wandered. I was there in the grey world of Asoka
And Bimbisara, pressed on through darkness to the city of Vidarbha.
I am a weary heart surrounded by life's frothy ocean.
To me she gave a moment's peace -- Banalata Sen from Natore.
Her hair was like an ancient darkling night in Vidisa,
Her face, the craftsmanship of Sravasti. As the helmsman,
His rudder broken, far out upon the sea adrift,
Sees the grass-green land of a cinnamon isle, just so
Through darkness I saw her. Said she, "Where have you been so long?"
And raised her bird's nest-like eyes -- Banalata Sen from Natore.
At day's end, like hush of dew
Comes evening. A hawk wipes the scent of sunlight fom its wings.
When earth's colors fade and some pale design is sketched,
Then glimmering fireflies paint in the story.
All birds come home, all rivers, all of this life's tasks finished.
Only darkness remains, as I sit there face to face with Banalata Sen.
[edit] Translated by Martin Kirkman[9]
From the sea of Ceylon to the midnight sea of Malay.
Much have I wandered ; in the grey lands of Vimvisar and Asoka
There have I been ; and to dark, distant town of Vidarva;
Tired of this life, this foaming sea of life,
I found peace for a while with Banalata Sen of Natore.
Her hair is dark as the nights of far Vidisha.
Her face the architecture of Sravasti. As the radarless pilot
Lost and drifting on a distant sea
Sees the island of cinnamon trees and green grass below,
So have I seen her in darkness, who asked me : where have you been
So long away ? This she asked raising her bird's-nest eyes,
Banalata Sen of Natore.
At the day's ending evening falls with soft sound of dew ;
The kite shakes the smell of the sun from her wings,
And when earth's colours fade the fireflies weave
a tapestry of brilliant stories,
Birds return to their nests__al the rivers flow home__the ledger of life is closed.
Only darkness remains, the time to return to Banalata Sen of Natore.
[edit] Translated by Joe Winter
I have passed at dark of night the sea of Ceylon and the Ocean of Malaya;
the ashen worlds of Bimbisara and Ashoka I've
encompassed,
and Vidarbha town's distance, in life's far ocean-foam- play…
and a touch of peace came to me once, the tiredest of men –
there and gone, the gift to me of Natore's Banalata Sen.
Her hair was all a midnight from Vidisha's town of the past,
her face a sculpture out of Sravasti.
Then as a steersman on far seas, the radar gone, to all the winds cast,
feasts his eyes on green grass in an island of cinnamon,
so I glimpsed her in the darkness; and 'Where were you then?'
raising her birds'-nest-eyes to me said Natore's Banalata Sen.
At day's end when evening is here at last
in syllables of the dew; and a kite cleans its wings of sun's smell;
the world's colour is all out; then a shimmering script is traced
in a sparkle of fireflies, a story to tell.
all birds make for home – all rivers – ended is all day's regimen;
darkness is all there is – and I face-to-face with Banalata Sen.
[edit] Translated by Sukanta Chaudhuri
I have walked the roada across the earth's breast for a thousand years.
In the darkness of night, I have ranged far – from Ceylon water
s
To the Malay Sea; in Vimbishar and Asok's grey world
Have I been, and the still more distant darkness of Vidarbha.
A tired being am I, round my life's foaming seas.
Banalate Sen of Natore gave me a moment's peace.
Her hair the dark night long ago in Vidisa,
Her face a Sravasti carving: beyond the farthest seas
As when a sailor, helm broken, his bearings lost,
A grassy green plain set in a cinnamon island sees,
I saw her through the darkness. She asked, 'Where were you so long?'
Raising her eyes like bird's nests, Banalata Sen of Natore.
At the end of all the days, dusk comes like the sound of dew;
The kite wipes off the scent of sunlight from its wings.
The earth's colours all quenched, the manuscript prepares
To tell its stories, lit by firefly gleams.
All the birds come home, all the rivers – all life's trade ends.
Only the dark abides; and, to sit face to face, Banalata Sen.
[edit] Translated by Ananda Lal
I have walked the paths of earth for thousands of years,
from the Sinhala ocean in midnight dark to the Malay sea
I've circled much; in Bimbisara and Ashoka's ashen sphere
I was there; in even more distant dark, in Vidarbha city;
I am an exhausted soul, all around me life's foaming ocean,
two moments' peace I was given by Nator's Banalata Sen.
Her hair like dark Vidisha's night of long before,
her face Sravasti artistry; when on the ocean far distant
the sailor who had broken his rudder and lost direction saw
nothing but the land of green grass within the cinnamon island,
so I saw her in the dark; she said, "where were you all these days then?"
raising her bird's-nest-like eyes eyes at me, Nator's Banalata Sen.
Like the sound of dew at a full day's conclusion
evening comes; the kite wipes away the smell of sunshine from its wings;
all of earth's colours fade, then for manuscripts make preparations
to twinkle with fireflies' colours for the sake of storytelling;
all birds come back home – all rivers – all give and take in this life end;
only dark remains, sitting face to face with Banalata Sen.
[edit] Translated by Chidananda Das Gupta[10]
For aeons have I roamed the roads of the earth
From the seas of Ceylon to the straits of Malaya
I have journeyed, alone, in the enduring night,
And down the dark corridor of time I have walked
Through mist of Bimbisara, Asoka, darker Vidarbha.
Round my weary soul the angry waves still roar;
My only peace I knew with Banalata Sen of Natore.
Her hair was dark as night in Vidisha;
Her face the sculpture of Sravasti.
I saw her, as a sailor after the storm
Radarless in the sea, spies of a sudden
The grass-green heart of the leafy island.
`Where were you so long?' she asked, and more
With her bird's-nest eyes, Banalata Sen of Natore.
As the footfall of dew comes evening;
The raven wipes the smell of warm sun
From its wings; the world's noises die.
And in the light of fireflies the manuscript
Prepares to weave the fables of night;
Every bird is home, every river reached the ocean.
Darkness remains; and time for Banalata Sen.
[edit] Translated by Faizul Latif Chowdhury
It has been a thousand years since I started trekking the earth
A huge travel in night’s darkness from the Ceylonese waters to Malayan sea
I have been there too: the fading world of Vimbisara and Asoka
Even further - the forgotten city of Vidarva
Today I am a tired soul although the ocean of life around continues to foam,
Except for a few soothing moments with Natore’s Banalata Sen.
Her hair as if the dark night of long lost Vidisha,
Her face reminiscent of the fine works of Sravasti,
When I saw her in the shadow it seemed
as if a ship-wrecked mariner in a far away sea
has spotted a cinnamon island lined with greenish grass.
“Where had you been lost all these days?”
yes, she demanded of me, Natore’s Banalata Sen
raising her eyes of profound refuge.
At the day’s end evening crawls in like sounds of dew,
The kite flaps off the smell of sun from its wings.
When all colours take leave from the world
except for the flicker of the hovering fireflies
The manuscript is ready with tales to be told
All birds come home, rivers too,
All transactions of this life over
Nothing remains but darkness
to sit face to face with Banalata Sen.
[edit] Translation into French
Translated by France Bhattachrya
De la mer cinghalaise à l’océan malais, dans la nuit sombre
J’ai erré, dans l’univers grisâtre de Bimbisar et d’Ashoka
N’étais-je pas là ? Plus loin encore, dans la ville de
Vidarbha enténébrée.
Je fus un vivant fatigué ; perdu au milieu de l’océan
Écumant de la vie.
Elle m’a donné un moment de paix, elle, la femme de Natore,
Bonolota Sen
Sa chevelure sombre comme l’antique nuit de Vidisha ;
Son visage une œuvre d’art de Shrabasti ; comme le
Navigateur qui,
Perdu dans la mer infinie, son gouvernail brisé, se désespère
Et aperçoit soudain le pays de l’herbe verte, au milieu
De la cannelle.
Ainsi je l’ai vue dans les ténèbres. « Où étiez-vous tout ce
Temps ? » me dit-elle
Elle leva vers moi ses yeux comme des nids d’oiseaux, la
Femme de Natore, Bonolota Sen
A la fin de jour le soir vient comme un bruit de rosée.
Le milan efface de ses ailes la senteur du soleil ;
Une fois éteintes les couleurs de la terre la manuscrit se Prépare
Alors pour le conte, les lucioles multicolores étincellent ;
Tous les oiseaux rentrent chez eux – toutes les rivières – les
Marchés de cette vie prennent fin ;
Seules demeurent l’obscurité, l’intimité et la présence de
Bonolota Sen.
[edit] Translation into Dutch
[edit] Comparison with To Helen by Edgar Allan Poe
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicean barks of yore
That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,
The weary, way-worn wanderer bore
To his own native shore.
On desperate seas long wont to roam,
Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,
Thy Naiad airs have brought me home
To the glory that was Greece,
And the grandeur that was Rome.
Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche
How statue-like I see thee stand,
The agate lamp within thy hand,
Ah! Psyche, from the regions which
Are Holy Land!
[edit] References
[edit] External links
Translation by Amitabha Mukerjee
