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By:

Dr. Kailash Atkare

24 June 2025 at 1:30:23 pm

Fakira in Translation: Preserving a Revolutionary Legacy

The sublime ideology of translation is aptly expressed by R. Parthasarathy, who describes translation as the oxygen of language, and by Walter Benjamin, who states that translation is not merely a matter of words but of making culture intelligible. This philosophy is exemplified by the eminent translator, distinguished academician, administrator, and humanist Prof. Dr. Baliram Gaikwad through his artistic English translation of Fakira, the groundbreaking Marathi novel by Sahitya Ratna...

Fakira in Translation: Preserving a Revolutionary Legacy

The sublime ideology of translation is aptly expressed by R. Parthasarathy, who describes translation as the oxygen of language, and by Walter Benjamin, who states that translation is not merely a matter of words but of making culture intelligible. This philosophy is exemplified by the eminent translator, distinguished academician, administrator, and humanist Prof. Dr. Baliram Gaikwad through his artistic English translation of Fakira, the groundbreaking Marathi novel by Sahitya Ratna Lokshahir Annabhau Sathe. India has a rich tradition of translation, deeply rooted in its multilingual and multicultural fabric. Mulk Raj Anand explored this tradition in his essay The Importance of English, presenting a perspective free from colonialism. This view aptly justifies the translation of Fakira. Annabhau Sathe was a great social revolutionary, writer, reformer, and people's activist, educated in the school of experience. Fakira, his magnum opus, portrays both an individual and a symbol of resistance against systemic oppression. The narrative traces Fakira's transformation from a victim of caste-based exploitation into a rebel challenging the feudal and colonial order, echoing the spirit of social justice movements inspired by Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar. Deeply rooted in the lived realities of marginalised communities, particularly the Dalit experience in colonial India, Fakira stands as a groundbreaking work. It narrates the class and caste struggle of a hero committed to the welfare of ordinary people while unfolding a saga of social, political, economic, and spiritual awakening through a humanitarian approach. The novel reflects Dr. Ambedkar's philosophy, his struggle against slavery and untouchability, and the spirit of rebellion. Through Fakira, Sathe upholds moral integrity, a strong code of ethics, respect for women, social values, justice, courageous leadership, and the pursuit of freedom. One memorable episode illustrates these ideals. During a raid to seize hoarded wealth, a frightened woman pleads, "Take whatever wealth you want, but please do not dishonour my daughter." Fakira replies, "I am not that kind of man. We are not here to touch anyone's honour. We only take what is unjustly hoarded. Your daughter is like our own sister." Translation is a challenging undertaking, and Dr. Baliram Gaikwad has done full justice to Fakira. By crossing linguistic and regional boundaries, he has made this remarkable work accessible to readers worldwide without diluting its cultural specificity. Translating a work so deeply rooted in regional idiom, folklore, and socio-political context is no easy task. The translator successfully retains the earthy texture of Sathe's prose. Artistic creation, translational finesse, and aesthetic values—the pillars of translation—are reflected throughout his work, enabling readers to experience the emotional intensity and narrative vigour of the original. The rustic dialogues are translated with sensitivity, preserving both authenticity and clarity. The novel stands as a counter-narrative to mainstream literary traditions that have historically marginalised voices from the lower strata of society. Fakira is not merely a character but a collective consciousness representing the aspirations and struggles of an oppressed community. By exposing caste discrimination, poverty, and injustice, the novel challenges romanticised notions of rural life and may be regarded as a precursor to the assertive voice of Dalit literature in modern Indian writing. Although certain nuances of Marathi—its rhythm, cultural connotations, and oral storytelling tradition—are inevitably difficult to reproduce, Dr. Gaikwad addresses these challenges through careful lexical choices and contextual framing. Fakira explores resistance, dignity, and identity, moving far beyond the Robin Hood archetype. The protagonist wages a multilayered struggle against British rule, feudalism, caste oppression, and poverty. Despite enduring caste discrimination, economic exploitation, and humiliation, Fakira and his community fight with dignity, courage, and exceptional nationalist fervour. This layered portrayal elevates the novel from a socio-political document to a profound literary work, while its straightforward narrative effectively sustains dramatic tension and emotional engagement. Dr Gaikwad's balanced use of language, rustic idioms, folk expressions, and region-specific dialect creates a simple, lucid, and accessible English style, making the translation ofFakira a successful bridge between regional literature and global readership. As Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak observed, a translator must surrender to the text. Dr. Gaikwad has fulfilled this responsibility with sincerity, making a valuable contribution to Indian literature in translation. Fakira is a manifestation of India's rural revolution. The protagonist joins the freedom movement and contributes to the larger struggle for social change.
(The writer is an assistant professor of English literature. Views personal.)

Selective Outrage

India’s left-liberal media has long prided itself on being the torchbearer of secularism, dissent and moral rectitude. In the aftermath of ‘Operation Sindoor,’ the precision military strike launched by the Modi government against Pakistan-based terror camps, it has revealed its not a principled commitment to peace or truth, but a disturbing penchant for ideological prejudice, performative sanctimony and selective outrage.


The operation itself was a textbook display of calibrated force and geopolitical prudence. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, often caricatured as ‘authoritarian’ by the ‘liberal’ English-language commentariat, chose patience over provocation. He consulted opposition leaders, held detailed discussions with defence chiefs and took key international stakeholders, notably the United States and Russia, into confidence before authorising limited military action. The symbolism of ‘Operation Sindoor’ was also carefully crafted: a pointed reminder that the attack’s real victims were Hindu women widowed by Pakistan-sponsored militants in Kashmir. The government’s briefings were also strategic and symbolic as two ranking female officers, one of them Muslim, were made the public face of the mission, underlining a new Indian confidence that blends military muscle with democratic pluralism.


But this was unacceptable for India’s entrenched ‘left-liberal’ press, steeped in academic jargon, Western validation and a knee-jerk hostility to anything remotely ‘Hindutva.’ That a Muslim officer briefed the nation on ‘Operation Sindoor’ was branded ‘tokenism’ by such commentators. Others crudely alleged that the April 22 Pahalgam massacre was the logical culmination of reported atrocities against Muslims since Modi came to power in 2014.


The semantic nitpicking over ‘Operation Sindoor’ was maddening. An editor of a prominent magazine dubbed the operation’s name as ‘patriarchal’ and coded in Hindutva tropes. In a bizarre case of moral inversion, sindoor was likened to symbols of ‘honour killings’ and gender oppression, ignoring both its cultural resonance and the cruel reality that these women had lost their husbands in cold blood. For years, India’s ‘secular’ commentariat nurtured a preordained binary: the Congress may be flawed but was at least ‘secular’ while the BJP was an inveterate ‘fascist.’ Thus, the 2002 Gujarat riots are always focused upon but the Congress-backed pogrom of the Sikhs in 1984 is either downplayed or rationalised. Terrorism in Kashmir is tragic, but state retaliation is ‘jingoism.’ A strong Muslim voice in government is ‘tokenism’ but its absence is ‘exclusion.’ Even journalistic rigour is selectively applied. When Pakistan claimed to have downed Indian jets, some Indian outlets rushed to amplify the story before verification, inadvertently echoing enemy propaganda.


Dissent is vital in any democracy. But when its becomes indistinguishable from disdain, when editorial choices are dictated by ideological conformity, then the press becomes a caricature of itself. Ironically, many of these journalists enjoy robust free speech and loudly lament India’s supposed slide into ‘fascism’ from the safety of their X handles. Yet they turn a blind eye to Putin’s repression, Erdogan’s purges or Xi Jinping’s camps. In their eyes, Modi remains the greatest threat to democracy even as they broadcast their outrage freely, without fear of censorship or reprisal. ‘Operation Sindoor’ was a statement of cultural self-confidence. That confidence has rattled those who have spent their careers gatekeeping Indian discourse. Today, their monopoly is over. The people are watching and they no longer believe that the emperor has clothes.

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