1. Jane, Come with Me to India: The Narrative Transformation of Janeeyreness in the Indian Reception of Jane Eyre

Ulrich Timme Kragh and Abhishek Jain1

Jane Eyre on India: The Indian Motif as a Suspense Juncture

‘I want you to give up German and learn Hindostanee.’2 These words are spoken by Mr St John Rivers to Jane Eyre as he tries to convince her to become closely involved in his linguistic and theological preparations for leaving England to go on a Christian mission. The quoted passage is one of the several commentaries on India scattered throughout the novel, which, taken together, create a composite of an Indian motif, the full significance of which has hitherto remained unexplored. Its paucity in Brontëan studies detracts not only from understanding the complexities of the literary characters in Jane Eyre but more importantly from the exploration at hand of the South Asian reception of the novel across the configurations of the oeuvre of the Indian adaptations and translations. In what follows, an elucidation of the Indian motif will begin by identifying the Indian elements in the novel and be expanded upon by a theoretical appraisal of its narrative function that relies on indigenous Indian narratological theory.

As it turns out, Mr Rivers is hoping to marry Jane so that she may accompany him on his oriental journey as a missionary helpmeet and fellow labourer, a conductress of Indian schools, and a helper amongst Indian women.3 Dutiful as she is, Jane consents to studying Hindustani, an archaic linguistic term referring to modern Hindi, Urdu, and to some extent Indo-Persian spoken throughout much of northern India.4 Already fluent in French, the British-born Jane abandons learning German and pursues the study of Hindustani for two months. One passage describes how she sits ‘poring over the crabbed characters and flourishing tropes of an Indian scribe’.5

Soon thereafter, Mr Rivers purchases a one-way ticket on an East Indiaman ship, bidding farewell to his native England with a foreboding sense of never returning:

‘And I shall see it again,’ he said aloud, ‘in dreams when I sleep by the Ganges: and again in a more remote hour — when another slumber overcomes me — on the shore of a darker stream!’6

Before leaving for Calcutta,⁷ he finally proposes to Jane, saying ‘Jane, come with me to India’,8 and although she initially embraces the idea of joining him on this Christian quest, in the end she cannot give her heart to Mr Rivers. The marriage never comes to be and Jane does not set out to ‘toil under eastern suns, in Asian deserts’.9 Instead, she leaves his home in the English countryside and, in a dramatic turn of events, goes back to her true love, the male protagonist Mr Edward Rochester, whom she finally marries in the book’s closing chapter.

Indubitably, the Indian motif is by no means central to the novel in its first twenty-six chapters, which narrate Jane’s childhood and her life as a young adult serving as a governess at Mr Rochester’s estate, Thornfield Hall. Yet, as the plot unfolds throughout the remaining twelve chapters, India gradually emerges as a place of particular imagination and it is possible to discern its significance at a crucial turn of events, marking a watershed in the narrative. Having, in Chapter 27, discovered the secret life of Mr Rochester and broken off their marriage engagement, Jane wanders away into a new circumstance in her haphazard encounter with the three siblings of the Rivers family throughout Chapters 28 to 33. It is in this new setting of separation from Mr Rochester that India — in Chapter 34 — enters the story with full force.

In the last part of the book, India initially appears in Chapter 32, where the eastern land is brought into focus by Jane in a conversation that she is having with Mr Rivers, as he prepares to set out for the far reaches of the British Empire. Jane has drawn a portrait of Miss Oliver and she offers to make a similar one for Mr Rivers to take on his voyage:

Would it comfort, or would it wound you to have a similar painting? Tell me that. When you are at Madagascar, or at the Cape, or in India, would it be a consolation to have that memento in your possession?10

Here, Jane for the first time mentions India as the ultimate destination of Mr Rivers’s voyage, alongside the Cape of South Africa and the island of Madagascar in the Indian Ocean as intermediary ports of call along the traditional shipping route to the Indian subcontinent prior to the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, twenty-two years after the publication of Brontë’s book. Thus, unwitting of its looming momentousness, Jane for the first time broaches the topic of India.

The Indian theme then returns emphatically in Chapter 34, this time raised by Mr Rivers appertaining to Jane. As he, for priestly reasons, beseeches Jane to accompany him on the missionary journey as his wife, India becomes concretised as the fundamental object of a life-altering decision for Jane. The subcontinent crystallises as a potential destination of escape from the amorous tragedy that she earlier underwent with Mr Rochester. Consequently, Asia becomes a realm in which she might live out a utopian form of religious self-sacrifice unto death. Torn, she reflects on Mr St John Rivers’s proposal:

Of course (as St. John once said) I must seek another interest in life to replace the one lost: is not the occupation he now offers me truly the most glorious man can adopt or God assign? Is it not, by its noble cares and sublime results, the one best calculated to fill the void left by uptorn affections and demolished hopes? I believe I must say, Yes — and yet I shudder. Alas! If I join St. John, I abandon half myself: if I go to India, I go to premature death. And how will the interval between leaving England for India, and India for the grave, be filled? Oh, I know well! That, too, is very clear to my vision. By straining to satisfy St. John till my sinews ache, I shall satisfy him — to the finest central point and farthest outward circle of his expectations. If I do go with him — if I do make the sacrifice he urges, I will make it absolutely: I will throw all on the altar — heart, vitals, the entire victim. He will never love me; but he shall approve me; I will show him energies he has not yet seen, resources he has never suspected. Yes, I can work as hard as he can, and with as little grudging.11

India is no longer merely an outer place in the story. By becoming a trope forming a religious-idealist alternative to Jane’s former English life of servitude, it is an occasion for the female protagonist gradually to fulfil an inner realisation of a newfound power and independence, which in the end permits the plot’s complication to unravel.

Ultimately, in Chapter 35, Jane rejects Mr Rivers’s marriage proposal and abandons the prospect of going to India. At this moment of inner strength gushing forth, she intuitively feels that her true love, Mr Rochester, is calling her from afar, and in Chapter 37 she then travels back to Thornfield Hall, while Mr Rivers sets out for India alone. Thereupon, the Indian motif recedes into the background, only to return at the very end of the novel. In the book’s closing paragraphs, Jane adopts a changed narrative perspective of reminiscing from the future to recount what later became of Mr Rivers in India, which underscores the Indian theme as a figuration of surrender and personal realisation:

As to St. John Rivers, he left England: he went to India. He entered on the path he had marked for himself; he pursues it still. A more resolute, indefatigable pioneer never wrought amidst rocks and dangers. Firm, faithful, and devoted, full of energy, and zeal, and truth, he labours for his race; he clears their painful way to improvement; he hews down like a giant the prejudices of creed and caste that encumber it. He may be stern; he may be exacting; he may be ambitious yet; but his is the sternness of the warrior Greatheart, who guards his pilgrim convoy from the onslaught of Apollyon.[12] His is the exaction of the apostle, who speaks but for Christ, when he says — ‘Whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me.’ His is the ambition of the high master-spirit, which aims to fill a place in the first rank of those who are redeemed from the earth — who stand without fault before the throne of God, who share the last mighty victories of the Lamb,[13] who are called, and chosen, and faithful.

St. John is unmarried: he never will marry now. Himself has hitherto sufficed to the toil, and the toil draws near its close: his glorious sun hastens to its setting. The last letter I received from him drew from my eyes human tears, and yet filled my heart with divine joy: he anticipated his sure reward, his incorruptible crown. I know that a stranger’s hand will write to me next, to say that the good and faithful servant has been called at length into the joy of his Lord. And why weep for this? No fear of death will darken St. John’s last hour: his mind will be unclouded, his heart will be undaunted, his hope will be sure, his faith steadfast. His own words are a pledge of this — 

‘My Master,’ he says, ‘has forewarned me. Daily He announces more distinctly, — ‘Surely I come quickly!’ and hourly I more eagerly respond, — ‘Amen; even so come, Lord Jesus!’14

It is remarkable that such should be the very last words of the novel. Ending the whole book with a Christian pronouncement of devoted service to God by the lone English missionary in India who ‘labours for his race, … clears their painful way to improvement [and] … hews down like a giant the prejudices of creed and caste that encumber it’ is a token of the unexpected prominence of India in the book’s narrative.

Literary merits aside, Brontë’s construction of India is by no means straightforward and warrants cautious scrutiny. On the one hand, from a contemporary postcolonial perspective, Brontë’s India could well be seen as an entirely orientalist topos of the heathen presented as being in dire need of moral improvement and social progress.15 Targeted for Christian proselytisation, this Indian Other is to be stripped of what is perceived as its baseless religious beliefs and backward social system.16

On the other hand, from a literary historicist perspective, Brontë’s colonial India could be seen as indispensable to the intercultural poetics at play in the novel’s literary portrayal of England in the mid-nineteenth century. The author is evidently familiar with several Indian goods and sporadically employs allusions to Indian mercantile imports, such as rubber, fabric, and ink, embedded in the daily language used by the novel’s characters.17 Brontë’s literary allusions to India represent an England saturated by the economic and cultural infusions flowing from its colonial empire. They concord with the historical epoch, when the British colonial trade with India was booming and the Indian languages, religions, and literature had begun to impose a cultural allure on the British mindset, pictured in the story by Jane’s foray into her brief study of Hindustani. In fact, the very first English translations from the Indian classical Sanskrit literature had already been published by Sir Charles Wilkins in the 1780s, half a century before Brontë wrote Jane Eyre,18 and the first British chair of Sanskrit Studies had been established at Oxford University in 1833 — a decade and a half prior to Brontë’s book — by an endowment from Lt. Colonel Joseph Boden, who had served in colonial India. By the 1840s, when Brontë wrote her novel, contemporaneous English literature was thick with portrayals of India and Indian elements, as encountered in the Indian-born English author Thackeray’s novel Vanity Fair (1848).

It is unknown whether Charlotte Brontë possessed a deeper familiarity with India and its culture. India in her novel is primarily an important place for Christian mission, as reflected in the apparent reason for Jane’s study of Hindustani.19 This Christian depiction of India aligns with some of the early efforts at culturally translating India to the British audience, which were presented as being driven by a religious calling, seen, for instance, in Lt. Colonel Boden’s endowment to Oxford University for the Sanskrit chair being explicitly intended to serve ‘the conversion of the Natives of India to the Christian Religion, by disseminating a knowledge of the Sacred Scriptures amongst them more effectually than all other means whatsoever’.20

While Brontë’s portrayal of India certainly is culturally one-sided and religiously hegemonic, there nevertheless is a more profound facet to the Indian motif pertaining to its key function within the novel’s plot. The nineteen-year-old Jane’s fateful encounter with Mr Rivers, her two-month endeavour to study Hindustani under his tutelage, and finally her expressed yet ultimately unrealised wish to accompany him to India as a fellow missionary cannot be reduced to mere expressions of a fervent Christian calling intrinsic to Jane’s character. Rather, these elements in the storyline, along with the reappearance of Mr Rivers and his Indian mission at the very end of the book, suggest that the novel’s Indian motif holds a deeper significance aimed at expressing how Jane gradually opens up her young mind to the broader world and the possibilities it holds for her. It offers a way of fulfilling her inner restlessness and deeply felt need for seeing the world that she had already entertained while residing as a governess at Thornfield Hall:

… I longed for a power of vision which might overpass that limit; which might reach the busy world, towns, regions full of life I had heard of but never seen.21

Consequently, the narrative function of the Indian motif serves as a transformative condition of Jane’s character that subsequently triggers in her the telepathic voice of Mr Rochester, which ultimately induces her to return and marry him.

Such plot transitions are commonly interpreted in English literary criticism through the traditional narrative theory of Aristotelian thought. This foundational model espouses plot transitions as driven exclusively by agentive characters and consequently places the action of the plot at its centre. For this reason, it is necessary to consider a theoretical model that would shift the focus from the action to the dramatic purposes of non-agentive motifs. This methodological shift would allow for comprehending Brontë’s narrative strategy of letting an outer condition — the possibility of participating in an Indian mission, a non-agentive element — alter Jane’s character. By employing a classical Indian model of narratology derived from the dramaturgy of Bharata Muni, a theory of the dramatic purposes of non-agentive motifs may be developed, and applied to Jane Eyre and its non-action-based Indian elements.

In the standard Aristotelian model of narrative, a mythos (μῦθος plot) is an imitation of a praxis (πρᾶξις action) that may be said to consist of five parts: (1) the exposition, (2) the rising action, (3) the climax, (4) the falling action, and (5) the dénouement (unravelling) accompanied by revelation.22 In the final chapters of Jane Eyre, the climax of the plot can be identified as Mr Rochester’s attempt to marry Jane, which fails when it is brought to light that he still is bound by an earlier marriage to the mentally ill Bertha Mason from the West Indies. The falling action follows with Jane’s hurried departure from Thornfield Hall and her being taken in by the Rivers family, far away from Mr Rochester. The dénouement is then put in motion with the telepathic voice calling Jane back to Mr Rochester, whereby the plot’s agon (αγων complication) conclusively unravels when she returns and discovers that Thornfield Hall has burned down and Bertha has perished, while the now blind and widowed Mr Rochester has survived, which sets Jane free to marry him.

While these narratological constituents of Aristotelian plot analysis account for the characters’ actions, they do not allow a narrative function to be ascribed to the Indian motif, which is not driven by the dramatic action. In Aristotle’s model, the motif can be understood only as a minor intensifying context within the falling action, for which there is no Greek term. This limitation originates from the Aristotelian emphasis on the plot being exclusively the dramatic action, which can only be performed by the characters in the drama. Given that the utopian trope of India is not a character, the Aristotelian model cannot ascribe any action to the trope. Consequently, the Indian trope falls outside the explanatory scope of standard narratology. In spite of its evident transformative influence on the main storyline, the Indian motif becomes diminished in a traditional narratological analysis when it is demoted to an entirely passive yet suspenseful outer circumstance in the drama.

The ardent reader of Jane Eyre, therefore, might wish to revisit the Indian motif when called by a different classicist voice, that of the dramatologist Bharata Muni resonating from ancient India. For when the storyline of Jane Eyre is viewed through the alternative narratological lens of the Bharatic tradition of the Nāṭyaśāstra (A Treatise on Drama) of Indian dramaturgy, whose theoretical focus lies primarily on the plot’s sandhi (संधि junctures) rather than on its imitation of a praxis (action), it all of a sudden becomes possible to uncover the deeper significance of the Indian ingredients within the plot.23

In the Bharatic narratology, the itivṛtta (इतिवृत्त plot) is divided into five broad action-oriented avasthā (अवस्था stages) that are tied together by five sandhi (junctures). The part of the story between Jane’s departure from Mr Rochester until her return to him can, in the Bharatic schema, be identified as the penultimate juncture known as vimarśa (विमर्श suspense), which is a crisis characterised by deceit, anger, or an obstacle that causes hesitation and doubt in the protagonist.24 It is within this transitional phase of the plot, the vimarśasandhi (विमर्शसंधि suspense juncture), that Brontë introduces the Indian motif.

The suspense juncture generally serves to tie together the plot’s middle stage with its final resolution. In the case of Jane Eyre, the suspense juncture contains a longer subplot of its own, namely the story of Jane’s stay with the Rivers siblings and in particular her platonic relationship with Mr Rivers. In the Bharatic narratology, such a subplot is called a patākā (पताका pennant), since it is a story within the story, which tapers out just like the triangular shape of a pennant flag. The pennant type of subplot is defined as an episode that is integral to the main plot, given that it helps to drive the main plot forward. It is marked by having its own distinct artha (अर्थ objective), which differs from the overall objective of the main plot.25

While the pennant subplot encompasses Jane’s encounter and relationship with Mr Rivers, its artha (objective) is the Indian motif, i.e., Mr Rivers’s proposition for Jane to go with him to India. This artha of the subplot represents an alternative to the artha of the main plot, which is Jane’s marriage to Mr Rochester. In relation to the larger plot structure, the subplot’s Indian motif correspondingly signifies an opening up within Jane towards the possibility of a new objective, a different life elsewhere. Although Jane decides not to go to India, it is the maturation of her character brought about by the alternative of the Indian motif that closes the suspense juncture in the plot and propels Jane into the final plot stage, namely the so-called phalayogāvasthā (फलयोगावस्था stage of reaching the result), which is represented by her return and marriage to Mr Rochester.

In the Bharatic narrative model, the phalayogāvasthā ends with another sandhi (juncture) of its own, the fifth juncture called nirvahaṇa (निर्वहण closure). The nirvahaṇasandhi (निर्वहणसंधि closure juncture) is, in the classical Bharatic schema, said to have fourteen possible forms.26 In the case of Jane Eyre, two of these forms of closure can be identified, namely bhāṣaṇa (भाषण a closing speech) and grathana (ग्रथन a tying together of the action). The bhāṣaṇa is the above-cited narration found in the novel’s three final paragraphs that recount what later became of Mr Rivers. The grathana is the re-emergence of the topos of India in the antepenultimate paragraph of the novel, echoing the Indian motif of the suspense juncture. The fact that Brontë returns to the Indian motif at this concluding point creates a narrative bridge between the living vision of Jane’s India and the dying reality of Mr Rivers’s India, solidifying the author’s overarching resolution to make India a focal point of the plot. Correspondingly, the link between the objective of the vimarśasandhi (suspense juncture) and the two narrative expressions of the nirvahaṇasandhi (closure juncture) reveals the centrality of the Indian motif for the entire novel.

India on Jane Eyre: The Narrative Transformations of the Indian Motif

In the Aristotelian theory of poetics, a turning point defines the moment in a play when the dramatic action begins to unravel, in Greek referred to as peripeteia (περιπέτεια reversal). ‘Jane, come with me to India’ engenders such a peripeteia by initiating the gradual return of Jane to Mr Rochester while simultaneously precluding Jane from ever arriving on Indian soil.27

In a paradoxical turn of events, Jane nevertheless has been transposed to India, and not by Charlotte Brontë, but by the Indians themselves. Jane first touched Indian soil in 1914 dressed in native sāṛī (साडी saree) and speaking Bengali as she stepped onto the literary scene in the Indian novel Sarlā. In the ensuing popular reception of Jane Eyre in India, Jane has ever since lived multifarious lives through numerous adaptations and translations of Brontë’s novel into disparate regional Indian languages. Nonetheless, in the Indian academic reception since the 1980s, Jane Eyre has forever remained a novel to be read in English, never contemplated with regard to its Indian motif, and invariably confined to the discursive English realm of modern social and literary theory.

As will be argued below, highlighting these different linguistic pathways through a chronological survey of the literary and cinematographic adaptations of the novel, juxtaposed with Jane Eyre’s academic reception and circulation in India, uncovers a state of irony in the significance of the Indian motif articulated with a Bharatic narratological awareness. For when the English novel is translocated specifically to India, the Indian motif loses its force and is replaced by other literary devices, signalling a narrative transformation.

In 1914, the Christian schoolteacher Nirmmalā Bālā Soma (নির্ম্মলা বালা সোম ) published the Bengali novel Sarlā (সরলা Sarlā) in 188 pages.28 It was self-published by the author and printed by N. Mukherjee at Gupta, Mukherjee & Co.’s Press in Calcutta. Soma had been educated at the renowned Bethune women’s college in Kolkata and went on to obtain a master’s degree in English from the University of Calcutta. The novel, written in Bangla language, i.e., Bengali, is a literary adaptation of Jane Eyre which recasts the story into the Bengal region of colonial India. The book consists of thirty chapters, most of which are just four to five pages in length. With a storyline and prose texture closely resembling Brontë’s Jane Eyre, it tells the story of the Indian female protagonist Ms. Sarlā, a faithful rendering of Jane, from her upbringing as an orphan into her life as a young adult. Sarlā works as a governess for Mr Śacīndrakumār Bandyopādhyāy with whom she gradually becomes romantically involved. Having discovered that he is bound by an existing marriage to the insane wife Unnādinī, Sarlā runs away and is accepted into the Christian family of Mr Śarat Bābu and his two sisters. After Sarlā, with Mr Śarat’s help, has obtained a large inheritance from a deceased uncle, Mr Śarat proposes to her, asking her to join him on travels to do Christian work. She rejects the proposal and instead returns to marry Mr Bandyopādhyāy, who, after a fateful fire, is now widowed and blind. Ten years later, Mr Śarat passes away, having lived an austere, solitary existence devoted to God. Sarlā briefly praises him as a most heroic and devout Christian, whose desires she never fulfilled.

In a short epilogue on the last page of the book, Soma remarks that she does not claim originality for her novel and does not consider it a translation. Without mentioning Jane Eyre explicitly, the author notes that the story of Sarlā is based on an unnamed English work, deviating from the original in many places. For instance, the novel does not contain the colonial dimension of Englishmen traveling to their Indian colony, but it retains the religious aspect of Christian mission in India. Being quite close to Brontë’s novel yet altered in certain ways, Soma’s literary work can best be described as an anurūpaṇ (अनुरूपण adaptation) of Jane Eyre. An adaptation, whether literary or cinematographic, is characterised by the reproduction of a prototypical story in a recognizable fashion while adding certain new elements of its own. Soma’s novel never became widespread in India. The writer was not well-known and the book was published independently in just a small number of copies without ever being reprinted. Sarlā remains the first Indian adaptation of Jane Eyre and also the version that stands the closest to Brontë’s original.

Three decades after Soma’s literary adaptation, the 1950s mark the period when Jane Eyre was introduced to a broader Indian audience. Just a few years after India had gained independence from British colonial rule in 1947, which took place precisely a century after Brontë’s publication of Jane Eyre in 1847, the first Indian cinematographic adaptation appeared in 1952, followed the next year by the first abridged translation into an Indian language, namely the Tamil translation of 1953. The first cinematographic adaptation was the Hindi-Urdu Bollywood film Saṅgdil (संगदिल سنگدل Stone-Hearted),29 bearing the English subtitle An Emotion Play of Classic Dimensions. Produced and directed by Ār. Sī. Talvār (b. 1910), it was shot at the Eastern Studios and Prakash Studios in Mumbai.³⁰ The film stars the actress Mumtāz Jahāṃ Begham Dehlavī (1933–1969, stage name Madhubālā) in the female lead role of Kamlā and Muhammad Yūsuf Khān (b. 1922, stage name Dilīp Kumār) in the male lead role of Śaṅkar.

Although Saṅgdil displays many elements detectable from the original novel, in his screenplay Rāmānand Sāgar (1917–2005)31 takes many liberties in constructing the female and male protagonists. The major difference is that while Jane and Mr Rochester first become acquainted as adults in Brontë’s narrative, the film portrays Kamlā and Śaṅkar as living in the same household since early childhood. Śaṅkar’s father adopts Kamlā after the death of her father, a close friend of his, and secretly usurps Kamlā’s inheritance, leaving her to the cruelty of his wife, who treats her like a servant. After the death of Śaṅkar’s father, the stepmother sends Kamlā to an orphanage. On the way to the orphanage, Kamlā manages to escape and is adopted by a group of Hindu pujārīn (पुजारीन priestesses) living in a local Śiva temple, where she grows up. Later in the film, the childhood friends Kamlā and Śaṅkar are gradually reunited as adults, when Kamlā visits Śaṅkar’s new estate in order to carry out religious worship as a devadāsī (देवदासी) performer of Hindu sacred dance.32

A series of events then unfolds, which is highly reminiscent of the second half of Brontë’s novel with certain alterations. When Kamlā leaves Śaṅkar on their wedding day as she discovers that he already is married to the insane woman Śīlā, she returns to the temple where she grew up in order to pursue a wholly celibate life as a Hindu priestess. There is, accordingly, no character in the film matching Mr Rivers and consequently Kamlā is never exposed to the element of having to learn a foreign language nor of having to go abroad as a missionary. Instead, while Kamlā places her personal belongings one by one into a sacrificial fire during a purification ritual aimed at fully devoting herself to the new religious life of a renunciate, Śaṅkar’s estate is set ablaze by Śīlā and burns to the ground, with Śīlā being consumed by the fire. When, during the ritual, Kamlā is asked by the high priestess whether she still has an attachment to anyone in the world, she internally hears Śaṅkar’s voice calling her name and realises her strong bond to him. Kamlā interrupts the ritual and returns to her beloved Śaṅkar, who has by then become blind and widowed.

Saṅgdil, which was an Indian box office hit, can certainly be considered an adaptation of Jane Eyre, in that it thoroughly rewrites the prototypical story of the English novel while retaining some familiar elements. The film is, though, not much further removed from the original than, for instance, the 1934 Hollywood movie adaptation of Jane Eyre directed by Christy Cabanne, starring Virginia Bruce and Colin Clive, which likewise makes many omissions and changes of its own to the story.33 Saṅgdil may thus be said to belong to a film genre similar to that of its literary ancestor, with the proviso that the change of medium from text to screen naturally involves transformations that transcend the strictly narrative aspect of the literary genre.34 This is particularly evident in the film’s inclusion of several song and dance segments, as is characteristic of most Bollywood films, such as the celebrated song Dhartī se dūr gore bādloṃ ke pār (धरती से दूर गोरे बादलों के पार Far from the Earth, Across the White Clouds).

Some of the creative modifications of narrative found in Saṅgdil were perhaps culturally necessitated when placing the story in an Indian setting inhabited by Indian characters. One such requisite is Kamlā’s upbringing as a temple priestess, because this is a profession that allows her as an adult to enter Śaṅkar’s estate. It would have been improbable for Kamlā to come to the estate as a governess, since Indian unmarried women normally did not hold such positions in the nineteenth century.

Other changes in the storyline may have been motivated by literary concerns aimed at opening up the story to the Indian audience, which may have served to draw the film into intertextual connections with distinctively Indian literary genres. In particular, the reunion of Kamlā and Śaṅkar in the middle of the film made possible by their childhood friendship echoes a beloved Indian literary device of abhijñāna (अभिज्ञान recognition). Famous across India from the Sanskrit poet Kālidāsa’s (4th-5th centuries) classic drama Abhijñānaśākuntala (The Recognition of Śakuntalā), this literary theme is a transformation of the lovers’ estrangement into their mutual recall and subsequent conjugal union. The film innovatively draws on Kālidāsa’s story to infuse Jane Eyre with a new potent reason for the love to unfold.

Saṅgdil is the Indian adaptation that portrays its female protagonist in the most powerful way, because it entirely leaves out any Mr Rivers character and instead has Kamlā seek an independent religious life as a Hindu renunciate priestess. Kamlā’s decision to return to Śaṅkar is not based on having been offered an alternative marriage to another man. It instead flows from her inner awakening that she still has an emotional connection to Śaṅkar, which she wishes to confront and eventually pursue. In this version, there is no manifest colonial aspect and the story’s religious dimension has been transformed from Christian to Hindu, and transposed onto Kamlā.

In 1959, Jane emerged in yet another Indian adaptive guise. The lauded South Indian writer Nīḷā Dēvi (ನೀಳಾ ದೇವಿ, b. 1932) from Bengaluru, Karnataka, published the Kannada novel Bēḍi Bandavaḷu (ಬೇಡಿ ಬಂದವಳು The Woman Who Came out of Need) in 240 pages. This was the second Indian book adaptation of Jane Eyre. The book was published by Mōhana Prakāśana in Mysuru.35 Analogous to the earlier Bengali novel by Soma, Dēvi recasts Brontë’s story into an Indian setting, keeping the plot close to the storyline of the English novel. The female protagonist Indu takes up a position as a private teacher for a young girl at the estate of Mr Prahlāda. The story then unfolds along the lines of the English novel, although all of the dialogue has been rewritten and Indu is a softer, less individualistic character than her British counterpart. Having left Mr Prahlāda’s estate upon the discovery of a mad wife in the attic, Indu is taken in to the home of Mr Nārāyaṇa and his two sisters. He is a young Brahmin, who works at a Hindu temple and is involved in distributing herbal medicine to the local rural community. When offered a job at a textile mill in faraway Ahmedabad in the Indian state of Gujarat, he proposes to Indu and asks her to accompany him. She rejects his proposal. At this moment, she remembers Mr Prahlāda and is overcome with longing. Soon thereafter, she telepathically hears Prahlāda crying out her name as he is blinded in a fire that burns down his estate, whereupon she returns and marries him. Mr Nārāyaṇa does not reappear in the story.

While the Kannada novel resembles Soma’s earlier Bengali work in the manner in which it adapts the English novel into an Indian setting, the Kannada version entirely lacks the Christian dimension, which remains prominent in the Bengali adaptation. The novel is the first Indian adaptation to replace, or at least substantially downplay, the religious mood of Jane Eyre in favour of a secular choice. Mr Nārāyaṇa proposes marriage to Indu, not for the sake of religious mission, which traditionally is a relatively unimportant aspect of Hinduism, but instead with the secular prospect of moving for his new job at a textile mill. The novel presents Indu as finding independence through her new position as a schoolteacher, and by the financial security that she obtains from getting an inheritance, without suggesting any inner transformation taking place within Indu that could explain her decision to return to Mr Prahlāda. In this sense, Indu’s character is slightly weakened in the Kannada novel.

In 1968, a decade after the publication of Dēvi’s Bēḍi Bandavaḷu, the novel was picked up and filmed under the same title Bēḍi Bandavaḷu (ಬೇಡಿ ಬಂದವಳು The Woman Who Came out of Need) by the South Indian director Si. Śrīnivāsan.36 The Kannada language film features the actress Candrakalā (1950–1999) as Indu and the actor Kalyāṇ Kumār (1928–1999) as Prahlāda. The filmization entails several minor changes to the story of the Kannada novel. A new element is the interspersed comic relief provided in the film by the supporting character Kr̥ṣṇa, a male servant at the estate, played by the South Indian comedian Baṅgle Śāma Rāv Dvārakānāth (stage name Dvārakīś, b. 1942). Another narrative difference from the Kannada novel is that Indu in the film serves as the governess not for one but for four girls at the estate. The film deals only briefly with Indu’s stay at the Nārāyaṇa family and Mr Nārāyaṇa does not propose marriage to Indu. Instead, he asks her about her general intentions to marry, which causes her to remember Prahlāda. Finally, the ending of the film differs slightly from the novel. When Indu discovers that Prahlāda has turned blind, she wishes to destroy her own eyesight with a lit candle. She is prevented from doing so by a doctor who enters the scene just in time to assure her that Prahlāda’s sight can be restored with surgery at a hospital in Bengaluru. The film ends with Prahlāda and Indu driving away for Bengaluru in the back of a jeep. In terms of filmic adaptative transformations, like Saṅgdil, the Kannada film includes several genre-altering song and dance routines not found in the Kannada novel, thereby imbuing the film with an added feature of the musical genre. Some of these are the song Ēḷu svaravu sēri (ಏಳು ಸ್ವರವು ಸೇರಿ Uniting the Seven Musical Notes) performed by the playback singer Pi. Suśīla (b. 1935) and the amorous tune Nīrinalli aleya uṅgura (ನೀರಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಅಲೆಯ ಉಂಗುರ Rings of Waves in the Water) performed by Suśīla and Pi. Bi. Śrīnivās (1930–2013).

Character-wise, the filmization of Bēḍi Bandavaḷu weakens Indu’s role even further. It omits both Indu’s employment as a schoolteacher and Mr Nārāyaṇa’s marriage proposal, and as a result it does not give Indu any concrete choice of another way to fulfilment. Indu finds financial independence through an inheritance, but is uncertain about what to do with her life. Her hesitancy builds up in the scene when Mr Nārāyaṇa inquires about her general plans to marry, which causes her to remember and long for Mr Prahlāda. Indu undergoes no emotional transformation at all and returns to Mr Prahlāda when, in her solitude, she realises that her heart belongs to him.

In the following year, 1969, after the commercial success of Bēḍi Bandavaḷu, a remake of the film was produced in the Tamil language entitled Cānti Nilaiyam (சாந்தி நிலையம் A Peaceful Home) directed by Ji. Es. Maṇi.37 Remarkably, it is the only production of the five Indian cinematographic adaptations made in colour. The film script was rewritten for the Tamil version by the screenwriter Citrālayā Kōpu (pen name Caṭakōpaṉ, 1959–1990) in a decidedly more melodramatic form, leading the plot even further away from the storyline of Brontë’s Jane Eyre. The film features Vacuntarā Tēvi (stage name Kāñcaṉā, b. 1939) in the female lead as Mālati and Kaṇapati Cuppiramaṇiyaṉ Carmā (stage name Jemiṉi Kaṇēcaṉ, 1920–2005) in the male lead as Pācukar. Mālati is hired as a governess at Pācukar’s estate to look after four girls and one boy, all of whom are very rowdy and naughty. The developing romance between Pācukar and Mālati is haunted by Pācukar’s mad wife, Janakī, who lives hidden in the attic. Janakī’s role is, though, relatively minor, since the plot’s main conflict has been shifted to Pācukar and Janakī’s brother Pālu, correlative to Brontë’s character Richard Mason, the brother of Bertha Mason. Pālu aggressively pressures Pācukar to pay him money in order to settle an old family feud. Long ago, Pācukar’s father was wrongfully accused of murder and the legal settlement forced Pācukar to marry the insane Janakī. Pācukar’s family was required to pay compensation, part of which Pācukar still owes Pālu. When Pālu interrupts the wedding of Mālati and Pācukar, Mālati runs away on foot. Pācukar and Pālu have a dramatic fist fight, during which Janakī sets the house on fire. Mālati does not manage to get far, since one of the children runs after her and is hit by a car, whereupon Mālati rushes back to bring the child to a hospital. Janakī and her atrocious brother both perish in the fire, while Pācukar survives with his sight intact. The film ends happily with Pācukar, Mālati, and the children reunited at the family table in the still-standing and now peaceful house, which has survived the fire. The Tamil version tends to reduce the female protagonist Mālati’s emotional independence to the extent that she only briefly escapes on foot, whereupon she immediately has to return to help the injured child, leaving Mālati no time or possibility to reflect on seeking a new life of her own.

In the same year, 1969, that Ji. Es. Maṇi released the Tamil film Cānti Nilaiyam, the director Pi. Sāmbaśivarāvu created his debut film, the Telugu thriller Ardharātri (అర్ధరాత్రి Midnight).38 While not exactly an adaptation but rather an appropriation of Jane Eyre that is here recast in a completely different filmic genre of suspense, this cloak-and-dagger Telugu film contains the Jane-Eyre-inspired themes of an orphan woman and a mad wife, two characters already well-known to Indian cinemagoers from the earlier Jane Eyre adaptations.39 The film starts with a murder and a prison escape. It then tells the story of a young orphan woman, Saraḷa, a name reminiscent of the Bengali Sarlā character from the 1914 novel by Soma. The female lead is played by the actress Bhāratī Viṣṇuvardhan (b. 1948). After being expelled from her childhood home by a mean stepmother, Saraḷa is hit by a car and is taken into the household of the driver, a childless rich man named Śrīdhar, played by the actor Koṅgara Jaggayya (1926–2004). Saraḷa looks after Śrīdhar and a romance develops between them. Every midnight the house is haunted by a strange female presence emerging from a cottage in the garden, which terrifies the household’s male servants. Intrigued by the mysterious phenomenon, Saraḷa unsuccessfully tries to find out what lies behind the apparition. When Śrīdhar and Saraḷa are to be married, their wedding is interrupted by the antagonist Kēśav. He reveals that Śrīdhar already is married to the mad woman Rāṇi, Kēśav’s sister, who lives in the mysterious cottage in the garden. Onto the scene steps Śrīdhar’s long-lost father, who escaped from prison at the beginning of the film. The father discloses that Kēśav long ago murdered Rāṇi’s boyfriend, referring back to the murder shown at the beginning of the film. The fatal event drove Rāṇi insane. Kēśav managed to pin the murder on Śrīdhar’s father, which in turn forced his son, Śrīdhar, to marry the traumatised Rāṇi. In a dramatic twist of events, Kēśav sets the garden cottage on fire, in which he and Śrīdhar get into a fight to the death. Rāṇi saves Śrīdhar from being killed by Kēśav. Badly hurt in the fire, she dies from her wounds while lying on the ground calling out the name of her beloved murdered boyfriend. The police arrive and arrest Kēśav and his thuggish servant. The last scene shows Śrīdhar and Saraḷa as a married couple.

In 1972, a Telugu cinematographic remake of the 1969 Tamil film Cānti Nilaiyam was released under the similar title Śānti Nilayaṃ (శాంతి నిలయం, A Peaceful Home) directed by Si. Vaikuṇṭha Rāma Śarma.40 It features the actress Añjalīdēvi (1927–2014) in the role of Mālati.

The two Indian novels and five cinematographic renditions, starting with the Bengali novel Sarlā in 1914 up to the Telugu film Śānti Nilayam in 1972, can all be characterised as widely differing from the English Jane Eyre in terms of their outer setting, culture, religion, and language, while sharing certain elements with Brontë’s storyline and the typological features of its characters. None of these works explicitly acknowledges its indebtedness to Jane Eyre and yet, in spite of all the narrative transformations introduced in the Indian books and films, a reader or viewer familiar with Brontë’s novel would undoubtedly be able to pinpoint the resemblances. In particular, the motifs of the orphan girl, the romantic relationship with the estate owner, his hidden mad wife, and the portentous fire are repeated points of similitude.

Their common denominator of relocating the story to an India inhabited by Indian characters creates a quaint sense of fictionalised displacement. The new native soil, however, is extrapolated not through cultural comparison but by a hybridised substitution of English manner and tongue with Indian demeanour and vernacular in a Western-inspired mise en scène. Through this narrative process of metonymic transposition, the sāṛī-clad acculturated Janes amplify the subsidiary Indian features of Brontë’s novel into their preponderant trait, nonetheless with one inadvertent consequence for the anticipated metamorphosis of Jane’s character. The full transference of the story to India causes the Indian motif in Brontë’s novel, with its specific function as a transformative transition of peripeteia in the plot’s dénouement, to be rendered mute. Depriving the Indian Janes — Sarlā, Kamlā, Indu, Mālati, and Saraḷa — of the opportunity to go on a Christian mission to India with the Mr Rivers characters circumscribes the story’s vimarśasandhi (suspense juncture) that in Brontë’s novel enabled Jane to realise her sovereign self. Facing this inherent dilemma, the authors of the Indian adaptations are forced to provide their Jane characters with alternatives for finding closure after the betrayal they suffer from the Mr Rochester personas — Bandyopādhyāy, Śaṅkar, Prahlāda, Pācukar, and Śrīdhar — which inevitably leads to the progressive weakening of Jane’s internal character.

Diminishing the Indian Janes inexorably brings the otherwise obscure figure of Bertha Mason to the fore as a catalyst for unravelling the plot. The desperation and madness of the wife in the attic becomes a prominent feature, especially in the 1969 Telugu thriller Ardharātri, wherein the female protagonist Saraḷa is portrayed as an extraordinarily passive individual unable to react even when learning that her suitor is already married. To resolve the plot’s consequent impasse, the mad Rāṇi is made to stop the villain brother from killing Śrīdhar by sacrificing herself in the flames. In this sense, Ardharātri could be regarded as the ultimate adaptation of Jane Eyre, since it is here that the mad Rāṇi’s suppressed rage and not Saraḷa’s dullness and indecisiveness becomes the actual dramatic device for the dénouement.

The character of the mad wife Bertha Mason with its gothic determinism has been a topic of enduring fascination for academic Brontë studies in South Asia. Remarkably, the discourse on madness in Indian scholarship focusses on Jane Eyre solely as a Victorian novel to be scrutinized in English, never beheld through the prism of the Indian adaptations and translations. In their discussion, South Asian scholars have relied primarily on the Western classics of feminist theory and postcolonial critique while entirely leaving out literary and cinematographic adaptations in Indian languages.41 Therefore, when India’s leading scholar on the Brontë sisters, Kalyani Ghosh,42 examines the figure of Bertha, she does so in terms of an argument largely drawn from the feminist analysis put forth earlier by the American literati Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar.43 Ghosh argues that Bertha is an archetypal figure of hunger, rebellion, and rage, who has been victimised and repressed under a patriarchal social order, highlighting a degree of affinity between Bertha and Jane as to their entrapment in their inner and outer imprisonments.44 In a similar vein, Ratna Nandi maintains that Bertha’s volcanic rage is a projection of Jane’s fiery nature, representing a forbidden female expression, the explosiveness of which symbolises a destructive end to the despotic rule of man.45

Already in 1957, the Indian-Canadian scholar Devendra P. Varma observed that Brontë’s idea of the hidden mad wife seems to have been borrowed from a comparable motif in Ann Radcliffe’s gothic novel A Sicilian Romance (1790).46 It needs to be remarked that the ubiquitous character of the mad wife in all seven adaptations speaks to the power of the ancient Indian trope of female madness present throughout centuries of classical Indian literature, with its prototype in Princess Ambā from the ancient Hindu epic Mahābhārata.47 This most famous scorned mad woman in the Indian literary tradition is the quintessential figure of female resistance to male repression and ultimate self-sacrifice on the altar of revenge. When the love and life of Princess Ambā have been ruined after a violent intervention by the male anti-hero Bhīṣma, Ambā wanders the earth in a state of madness and pursues extreme religious renunciation in search of vengeance. By committing religious suicide, she returns in a reincarnation as Śikhaṇḍin, becoming an instrument for the hero Arjuna to slay Bhīṣma on the epic battlefield of Kurukṣetra. In contrast, in the context of Indian Buddhist narratives, the thread of madness is a common literary device allowing female protagonists to escape from the clutches of unwanted arranged marriages and pursue alternative lifestyles as religious mendicants for the sake of enlightenment, exemplified by the female Buddhist saint Lakṣmī in the twelfth-century biography by Abhayadattaśrī. Feigning insanity, Princess Lakṣmī deters her suitor from marrying her and thereby avoids a marriage with an unvirtuous prince, who through his indulgence in hunting breaks the fundamental Buddhist ethic of non-violence.48

While the relocation of Jane Eyre to India in the literary and cinematographic adaptations may evoke such classic Indian literary portrayals of insanity, it at the same time eradicates the overt colonial implications of madness first pointed out by the Indian-American Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak in her highly influential postcolonial critique of the English novel.49 Spivak views Brontë’s Bertha as involving the construction of a self-immolating colonial subject who had to kill herself for the glorification of the coloniser’s social mission, thereby allowing Jane to realise her role as ‘the feminist individualist heroine of British fiction’.50 She notes that the underlying imperialistic staging of Bertha’s role remains obscure unless the reader is familiar with the British colonialist history of legal manipulation surrounding the former Hindu practice of widow self-immolation.51 In 1829, eighteen years prior to the publication of Brontë’s Jane Eyre, following a long political campaign in both Britain and India, the British government in India banned widow self-immolation, which Spivak maintains was a law imposed primarily for the sake of the colonial government to mandate itself as the protector of the Indian people against themselves.52

Spivak’s postcolonial critique has been bolstered by the Bangladeshi feminist scholar Firdous Azim.53 Azim extends Spivak’s earlier appraisal by asserting that the rise of the entire Western genre of the novel served an outright imperialistic purpose aimed at silencing and excluding women as well as persons of colour. Her analysis of Jane Eyre is — like Spivak’s — centred on the figure of Bertha Mason as Jane’s antithesis, her binary Other, who in a colonialist sense embodies attributes of savagery, madness, and sexuality.54

In the adaptations, strikingly the Indian Bertha characters do not hail from the West Indies and their stories do not entail the same imperialist subtext as found in Brontë’s work. Hence, the postcolonial critiques of the English novel raised by Spivak and Azim cannot be transferred outright to these adaptations. Nevertheless, the psychological antithesis between Bertha and Jane remains present throughout all the adaptations, magnifying the image of the mad wives’ rage proportionately as the Jane characters diminish in independence and strength in the later Indian film adaptations.

An issue closely related to the theme of madness is Brontë’s use of literary imagery. In a sophisticated feminist deconstruction of Jane Eyre, the Indian scholar Sonia Sarvipour,55 relying on Elaine Showalter’s feminist poetics,56 argues that the abundant images of dark corridors, locked rooms, and barely contained fires are significant examples of a unique female literary style characterised by recurrent themes of imprisonment, hidden rooms, and fantasies of mobility.⁵⁷ She contends that such tropes are suggestive of a thick mist of female repression, which enveloped the lives of Victorian women, and that Brontë’s language fundamentally is a masculine form of prose in spite of its frequent use of feminine figuration and imagery. Ultimately, Sarvipour defines this multivalence as a literary mode of unreadability or undecidability, which she argues lies at the very heart of feminist writing.

The diverse ways in which the Bertha character has been portrayed in the popular adaptations versus how she has been conceived of in the scholarly reception in India illustrates that there exists a dialectic tension between the adaptations within the popular reception and the scholarly critiques within the academic debate. The popular adaptations voice the narratives in Indian vernaculars and Indianize the characters, whereas every academic study limits the story to its English source text, discussing it primarily in the framework of Western discourse.58 The opposition between the popular and academic forms of reception is embedded in a particular politics of language and audience, whereby Indian scholars, writing for an educated English readership, are primarily in dialogue with research by non-Indian scholars, giving minimal cross-reference to the work by their Indian academic peers. They deliberate, acquiesce, or expostulate without heeding the prevailing adaptations and translations of Jane Eyre in the Indian regional languages.

The politics of language and audience can only be understood against the backdrop of the nature of the broader status of the English language, the circulation of English classics, and their presence in higher education in India. For to read a literary classic directly in English signals on the subcontinent a cosmopolitan standing, and accordingly every Indian city has a number of well-stocked bookstores specialising in English literature, such as the store chains Crossword Bookstore or Sapna Book House, each of which is sure to have a copy of Jane Eyre in its section of English classics. The considerable acclaim received today by the major works of nineteenth-century English literature imported to India is closely linked with the high social status and widespread use of the English language throughout South Asia in spite of, as well as because of, the language’s colonial history on the subcontinent. In short, English ‘is the “master language” of the urban nouveaux riches’.59 The English language functions governmentally and often practically as an unofficial lingua franca between the different speakers of the twenty-two Indian languages officially endorsed in the Indian Constitution, for which reason learning English and achieving cultivation in English literature are of economic and cultural importance both to the state and the individual.

As evidenced in the Indian system of education, an extraordinary seventeen percent of Indian children attend schools where English is the main medium of instruction, while the remaining pupils receive five to ten English language classes per week within the frame of a primary school education in Hindi (49%) or other Indian regional language (33%).60 English literature and its classics are indisputably valuable to Indians, although this statement must be read with the caveat in mind that India has a highly prolific production of Indian English literature involving its own English classics, to mention but a few, the writings by the Indian poets and novelists Mulk Raj Anand (1905–2004), R. K. Narayan (1906–2001), Raja Rao (1908–2006), A. Salman Rushdie (b. 1947), Vikram Seth (b. 1952), Amitav Ghosh (b. 1956), S. Arundhati Roy (b. 1961), and Kiran Desai (b. 1971). The British Victorian literature, to which Jane Eyre belongs, is without doubt just one among several forms of English literary classics in India.

The popularity of Jane Eyre as an English classic throughout India is demonstrated by its wide distribution and presence in school curricula. Aside from the many print and e-book English editions available on the continent from large multinational publishers, such as Penguin, HarperCollins, and Macmillan India, the novel has frequently been reprinted in English by a number of smaller domestic Indian publishers, including Atlantic Publishers and Distributors (New Delhi), Om Books (Hyderabad), Maple Press (Noida), Rupa Publications (New Delhi), Rama Brothers India (New Delhi), and Gyan Publishing House (New Delhi). Indian publishers have likewise brought out several abridged English versions of the novel, some of them illustrated, mainly intended for the children and student book market, e.g., those published by S. Chand Publishing (New Delhi) as part of their ‘Great Stories in Easy English’ series, Har-Anand Publications (New Delhi), and Om Kidz Books (Hyderabad) in their ‘Om Illustrated Classics’ series.

In the system of higher education, Jane Eyre appears frequently on the curricula of English departments at many Indian universities. The book is a standard component of the undergraduate course ‘Analysis of English Literature’, where it is read alongside Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations (1861), D. H. Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers (1913), and William Golding’s The Lord of the Flies (1954), albeit not always in its entirety and typically in the form of excerpts.61

In spite of the omnipresence of the novel in English throughout India and its primary importance to Indian academic discourse, it could be argued that the cinematographic adaptations in Indian vernaculars supersede the permeability of Jane Eyre across social strata, because an English-clad Jane stays perpetually aloof and exotic. While the English Jane Eyre is widespread, it is no match for the familiarity with the story effected by the box-office hits of the Indian film adaptations delivered in several major regional languages. Adaptation is thus the literary form that most eminently captures acculturation. Jane Eyre in India is accordingly not exclusively a literary classic in English or an Indian translation, but through its literary and cinematographic adaptations the Jane character has metamorphosed from a British governess to a polyglot South Asian maiden. The creative license exercised by the novelists and filmmakers to adjust and transform the story whilst retaining the recognizability of the original comprises the hallmark of these adaptations.

Jane Eyre in Anuvād: The Substance of Janeeyreness

Translation is, in a sense, the opposite of adaptation. While adaptation stands out through a difference to the original due to its distinctive feature of modifying the plot, the setting, or the medium, translation has conventionally been qualified by an expectation to reproduce the source text so adequately that the text itself becomes fully meaningful in the target language, whether it be an interlingual or intralingual rendering.62 This understanding of translation, which has been termed semantic equivalence, remains common to contemporary academic traditions across the West and India, despite the critique levelled against the idea in more recent Translation Studies.63

As will be argued, defining translation by equivalence, as opposed to the modification that is characteristic of adaptation, accidentally hides and suppresses many thriving forms of South Asian translational performativity. In light of this, to be able to discern the distinct qualities of the multifarious Indian translations of Jane Eyre presented below, it is first necessary to digress into the historical forms of Indian translational practices. Using these as a frame, it will be possible to arrive at a suitable definition of translation that may uncover a unique episteme of literary criticism for Indian translation theory.

At its very foundation, Indian civilisation is not culturally anchored in interlingual translation, unlike its European counterpart. In Europe, intellectual cultivation has been built on the edifice of translation, at first through Latin translations of the ancient Greek texts during the Roman Empire and subsequently through the Latin and later vernacular translations of the Bible.64 Europe — with its borrowed cultural roots transplanted through careful translation from Greek, Hebrew, Aramaic, Syriac, and Arabic — turned translation into such an art of significance and exactitude that it could unequivocally be considered a keystone in the historical formation of Europe’s many vernacular political and cultural identities, in the building of the modern European nation states, and in the wider European colonialism across the globe.65 The Christian Protestant Reformation of the early sixteenth century, for instance, coincided with the Latin and German Bible translations by Erasmus of Rotterdam and Martin Luther,66 while the Early Modern English language itself often is defined as commencing in 1611 with the printing of the King James Bible, a new English translation of the Christian scripture. Even the most recent global technological advances in digital machine translation in the twenty-first century have had their quantitative linguistic basis in the exactitude of the digital data corpus of the documents translated by the administrations of the European Union and the United Nations.

There is absolutely no comparable instance prior to modernity of any major text translated interlingually into an Indian language having a similar cultural impact on India, at least not if translation is understood narrowly as involving ‘equivalence’ in the sense in which translation was defined in 1959 by the influential Russian-American linguist Roman Jakobson, namely as a process of substituting linguistic codes entailing ‘two equivalent messages in two different codes’.67

There are, however, a few minor texts that were imported from outside of India in premodernity that continue to be influential. These include Persian and Arabic texts that were translated into Sanskrit and Indian vernaculars from the sixteenth century onwards, mostly into the South Indian Dakanī and Tamil languages as well as the Northeast Indian Middle Bengali language, as represented by the Bengali poets Ālāol (‘Alāwal, 1607–1673) and Abdul Hakim (‘Abd al-Ḥakīm, c.1600-c.1670).68 The translations are literal in nature and, anachronistically, this trait of semantic equivalence qualifies them as falling within the ambit of the modern Indian term anuvād (अनुवाद translation), which was introduced into Hindi in the late nineteenth century as a response to the English concept of translation.69 This is significant, because these seventeenth-century translations predate the introduction of the modern translational practices promulgated by Christian missionaries and European colonialists from the eighteenth century onwards.

It is worth mentioning that, parallel to these developments, in India itself other translations marked by semantic equivalence sprang up in the non-Islamic Jain communities in Western India, represented by poets such as Banārsidās of Agra (1587-c.1643) and the contemporary Hemrāj Paṇḍe, who translated entire texts from Sanskrit into Brajbhāṣā, an early form of the Hindi language that evolved from Prakrit and Apabhramsha.70 As for foreign major works of high cultural impact, it was first in modernity that they were transmitted into Indian languages. In this regard, the Bible translated into Tamil in 1706 and the Qur’an translated into Bengali in 1886 and then into Urdu in 1902 stand out.

While, in premodern times, there was no import of foreign cultures into Indian educational and intellectual institutions through interlingual translation, there nevertheless was a historic opposite movement of translation flowing out of India having far-reaching impact. From the second to the fifteenth centuries, interlingual translation of texts for the export of Indian religions and literature was prevalent, with numerous works written in Sanskrit and other Indian languages being translated into foreign languages. Thousands of Indian Buddhist scriptures and commentaries were translated into East and Inner Asian languages, in particular Chinese and Tibetan.71 Moreover, from the sixth century onwards, a number of literary and religious works were translated into Persian and Arabic, including story collections, poems, epics, and Hindu mystical works.72

Although Indian scholars often supervised the translation endeavours from Indian into foreign languages as presiding experts, these specialists never felt compelled to translate non-Indian works into the classical languages of South Asia. In fact, the dominant literary form of translation from the very inception of Indian literature has always been intralingual. Its embodiment is exegesis entailing interpretation and commentarial reiteration, as represented by the exegetic device of anuvāda (अनुवाद repetition, paraphrase). Etymologically, Sanskrit anuvāda consists of two distinct morphemes anu (अनु after) and vāda (वाद speech), and has a specific technical application in the context of a Sanskrit commentarial literary method of intralingual rewriting and supplementing of an earlier stated vidhi (विधि rule) or pakṣa (पक्ष assertion) within the one language of Sanskrit.73 For instance, a seventh-century commentator makes use of anuvāda in the sense of reiterating an opponent’s position, in Sanskrit parapakṣānuvāda (परपक्षानुवाद reiteration of others’ position), in a scholastic debate.74

Given that the hallmark of intralingual hermeneutics is a non-equivalence between the source and target texts, the early history of Indian translation is marked by a flexible intertextuality that has influenced both the interlingual exchange between the Indian indigenous languages and the degree of semantic equivalence in their literary representations.75 These translational forms range within the classical spectrum from the non-literal Kannada varṇaka (ವರ್ಣಕ retelling) to the word-for-word Sanskrit chāyā (छाया shadow), often transferring a text into multiple Indian languages as well as displaying non-linear multitextuality across traditions.

A typical exemplification of an ancient source transmitted interlingually and intertextually is the Prakrit epic Paümacarẏa (The Passage of Padma). Belonging to a genre of mahākāvya (महाकाव्य grand poem, epic), this Jain work has many commonalities with the Hindu epic Rāmāyaṇa (The Course of Rāma). The first version of the text was composed in an ancient Prakrit vernacular by the Jain monk Vimalasūri around the fifth century CE, entitled Paümacarẏa (The Passage of Padma). It was then adapted into a Sanskrit version, the Padmacarita (The Passage of Padma), in the seventh century by Raviṣeṇa. Finally, during the ninth century, the South Indian poet Svayambhūdeva adapted the story under the title Paümacariu (The Passage of Padma) into the medieval Apabhramsha vernacular, which linguistically was a precursor for Old Hindi. Although the three linguistic versions of the Paümacarẏa share the same narrative structure, they are by no means word-for-word translations of semantic equivalence and therefore could be said to belong under the notion of varṇaka (retelling).76

Another form of varṇaka (retelling) is represented in the genre of the scholarly writing of śāstra (शास्त्र treatise). Its classic example is the ninth-century text on poetics written in Old Kannada entitled Kavirājamārga (The Royal Road of Poets) by Śrīvijaya. Being an interlingual and intertextual translation of the major Sanskrit treatise on literary theory Kāvyādarśa (The Mirror of Poetry), it parallels 230 verses from this late-seventh-century classic by the poetician Daṇḍin while innovating the remaining 302 verses of the text.77

Neither of the two texts proclaim themselves as varṇaka (retelling), however, there is a medieval epic that specifically identifies itself as such, directly acknowledging its reliance on an earlier work. The case in point is the Old Kannada Vikramārjunavijaya written by Pampa (902–75 CE), which is a rendering of the Sanskrit epic Mahābhārata by Vyāsa. Already at the outset of the poem, Pampa declares:

No past poet has given a varṇaka (retelling) in Kannada of the long story of the Mahābhārata in its entirety and without any loss to its structure. In doing so, to fuse poetic description with the story elements, only Pampa is competent.78

The author describes his style of writing as a varṇaka (retelling) of the Mahābhārata as its source text. Pampa’s perception of the question of equivalence is encapsulated in one of the poem’s verses, wherein he describes himself as ‘swimming across the vast and divine ocean of the sage Vyāsa.’79 It is notable that in spite of telling the story of the Sanskrit Mahābhārata in its entirety and maintaining the internal structure of the epic, Pampa shortened the epic down to a mere 1609 verses as compared to the more than 89000 verses of the Sanskrit text. If swimming were to be seen as a trope for fluid translation of non-semantic equivalence, it could be deemed that Pampa’s poem is not only a translational adaptation but also a paradigmatic medieval example of an abridgement and, as shall be argued further on, abridgement is a defining characteristic of many of the modern Indian translations of Jane Eyre.

Parallel to varṇaka (retelling), chāyā (shadow) proliferated over the course of the first millennium CE, bringing to the fore word-for-word interlingual translation of smaller textual passages consisting of individual verses or prose sentences from the Prakrit vernaculars into Sanskrit. It was practised especially by Jain exegetes, who were masters of transposing Jain Prakrit scriptures into Sanskrit commentarial writing. Chāyā (shadow) could be considered the earliest Indian term for translation.80 Its usage is limited to commentaries and dramatic stage writing in Sanskrit, wherein it features as interpolated translation of Prakrit linguistic elements that are of non-Sanskritic provenance.

In the case of a commentary, a Prakrit pericope is first cited in its original form, then furnished with a literal Sanskrit chāyā translation, and thereupon expounded in Sanskrit prose. In the case of stage writing, a Prakrit dialogue spoken by either a woman or lower-caste man is first cited in its original form and then furnished with a literal Sanskrit chāyā translation. The use of chāyā translation, a tradition that has continued to the present day, is necessitated by the fact that the older Prakrit vernacular forms had become linguistically archaic by the middle of the first millennium.81

The indicative feature of chāyā is its precise equivalence between the Prakrit source text and the Sanskrit translation, obtained through the application of systematic principles of phonetic correspondence and through the faithful reproduction of grammatical and syntactical structures. Chāyā positively fulfils the trademarks of the modern definition of translation as ‘two equivalent messages in two different codes’ with a characteristic leeway for some level of interpretation common to all forms of literal translation.

Dictated by the rather undifferentiated nature of the Prakrit phonetic forms, subtle yet at times considerable interpretative compromises are required because the Sanskrit language is phonetically more elaborate. A conspicuous instance of such a translational interpretation from Prakrit to Sanskrit is the rendering of the Buddhist scriptural term sutta (सुत्त sermon) into the Brahmanical literary term sūtra (सूत्र thread, mnemonic formula). Instead of translating the Prakrit sutta into Sanskrit sūkta (सूक्त well-spoken, aphorism), which would likely have been the linguistically correct equivalent, the Buddhist translators selected the Brahmanical Sanskrit term sūtra in order to appropriate the prestige of this well-established Brahmanical term. Under the circumstances, a translational decision was made to avoid a rhetorically less compelling Sanskrit word sūkta, even though it was phonetically and semantically equal to the Prakrit sutta.82

It would be remiss to omit mention of the precursors to chāyā in the older Indic literature. Verily, the history of writing in India begins with a translation in the year 260 BCE, when the Indian Emperor Aśoka issued an edict incised on a rock in the frontier region of Kandahar, Afghanistan. The edict features a bilingual proclamation in Greek and Aramaic believed to have been a literal translation from a now lost common source text in a Prakrit vernacular.83

Later precursors to chāyā dating to the first century BCE involve literal translations of Prakrit portions of texts into another Prakrit vernacular or Sanskrit. These include the early Buddhist aphoristic treatise Dhammapada (Words of Dharma) rendered from the Prakrit Pāli language into the Prakrit Gāndhārī language under the same title and into an enlarged Sanskrit recension entitled Udānavarga (Chapters of Utterances). The translations share with their source an underlying textual structure and some of the chapter headings and verses.84

The above short exposition of the history of translation in premodern India demonstrates a varying degree of equivalence in the classical textual practices of literary transmission within one language or across languages through anuvāda (paraphrase), varṇaka (retelling), and chāyā (shadow). Accordingly, Jakobson’s definition for translation would, if applied to the Indian literary heritage, eclipse and consequently reject the premodern translational practices. Although the theory of equivalence has been dislodged in recent scholarship, it reverberates in the proclamations made by some contemporary literary critics, who argue that speaking of translation in premodern India ‘makes no cultural sense in this world’,85 amounts to ‘a non-history’ prior to the colonial impact in the nineteenth century,⁸⁶ or requires demoting premodern Indian translation to transcreation.87 In contrast, it could be argued that the classical Indian intertextual processes fall well within the bounds of the etymological configuration of the classical Latin notions of translatio (carrying across), transferre (transfer), and vertere (turning) of a text,88 whereby the European metaphor of semantic movement is echoed in the Indian images of verbal repetition. Among contemporary Indian academics, there are therefore some who have consistently employed the term translation for the premodern period also.89

Counterintuitively, the classical translational practices of anuvāda (paraphrase), varṇaka (retelling), and chāyā (shadow) have not abated in modern India and exist side by side with the new forms of interlingual translation that became commonplace in British colonial India. By the nineteenth century, numerous translations of European and non-European works were produced in all Indian languages and copious translations between the different Indian regional languages themselves began to flourish across the continent initiating the era of modern translational practices alongside scholarly methods of philology.90

Post-independence India has become home to new sophisticated paradigms of semantic equivalence, fusing traditional forms of linguistic sciences with modern forms of vernacular textualities. Innovative efforts to produce modern literal translations of classical Indian works have drawn on indigenous reading practices to balance the subjectivity of translation with the objectivity of grammatical scrutiny. It suffices to mention the large body of work by the contemporary Rajasthani scholar Kamal Chand Sogani employing what is known as the samjhane kī Sogāṇī paddhati (समझने की सोगाणी पद्धति Sogāṇī Comprehension Method) of vyākarṇātmak anuvād (व्याकरणात्मक अनुवाद grammatical translation).91

It is in this ambience that the modern Hindi concept of anuvād (translation) was coined and persists as a household term into the twentieth and twenty-first centuries in the complex literary landscape of India, and it is in this sense that the Indian translations of Jane Eyre are referred to as anuvād (translations).92

The below examination of the numerous anuvād (translations) of Jane Eyre into Indian bhāṣā (भाषा vernaculars) accordingly reveals a plethora of underground renditions of the literary work that stubbornly resist the superimposition of academic universalising definitions onto their proliferating praxis. The publications will be reviewed in chronological order in terms of their geographical, linguistic, and bibliographical distinctions. Through considering their varying length and degree of abridgement, through identifying their paratextual self-proclamations as translations or other textual forms, and through unpacking their modes of acknowledgement of the original novel and its author, it is hoped to reach a conclusion as to their translational status.

Following the period of the six decades of Indian Jane Eyre adaptations bracketed by the appearance of the Bengali novel Sarlā in 1914 and the release of the Telugu film Śānti Nilayam in 1972, the late 1970s witnessed the dawn of the era of Indian Jane Eyre translations. Only a single translation into Tamil had been produced earlier in the 1950s. To date, at least nineteen translations of Jane Eyre into nine South Asian languages have been published throughout India, Bangladesh, and Nepal: Tamil (1953), Bengali (1977, 1990, 1991, 2006, 2010, 2011, 2018, 2019), Punjabi (1981), Malayalam (1983, 2020), Gujarati (1993, 2009), Nepali (1997), Assamese (1999, 2014), Hindi (2002), and Kannada (2014).

The very first translation of Jane Eyre into an Indian language was published in 1953 by the Tirunelvēlit Ten̲n̲intiya Caiva­cittānta Nūr̲patippuk Kal̲akam (திருநெல்வேலித் தென்னிந்திய சைவசித்தாந்த நூற்பதிப்புக் கழகம் The South India Saiva Siddhanta Publishing Society of Tirunelveli) in the South Indian city of Tirunelveli, Tamil Nadu. It is a translation into Tamil language bearing the title Jēn̲ Ayar (ஜேன் அயர் Jane Eyre). The translator is given as Kācināta Piḷḷai Appātturai (காசிநாத பிள்ளை அப்பாத்துரை, 1907–1989). The book consists of 110 pages. A slightly enlarged reprint in 143 pages was brought out under the title Jēn̲ Ayar: Ulakap pukal̲ per̲r̲a nāval (ஜேன் அயர்: உலகப் புகழ் பெற்ற நாவல் Jane Eyre: A World-Renowned Novel) in 2003 by the publishing house Cāratā Māṇikkam Patippakam (சாரதா மாணிக்கம் பதிப்பகம்) in Chennai, Tamil Nadu. The translator’s name is given in the reprint as Kā Appātturaiyār (கா அப்பாத்துரையார்).

The second translation was issued in 1977 in Dhaka, Bangladesh, by the publishing house Muktadhārā (মুক্তধারা). Entitled Jen Āẏār (জেন আয়ার Jane Eyre), it was translated into Bengali by Surāiyā Ākhtār Begam (সুরাইয়া আখতার বেগম) in merely 43 pages.93

The third translation appeared four years later in 1981. It was rendered into the Punjabi language in the North-Western Indian state of Punjab under the title Sarvetam viśva mārit Jen Āir (ਸਰਵੇਤਮ ਵਿਸ਼ਵ ਮਾਰਿਤ ਜੇਨ ਆਇਰ The World-Renowned Jane Eyre) and was printed in 2000 copies by the Bhāṣā Vibhāg (ਭਾਸ਼ਾ ਵਿਭਾਗ Language Department) in the city of Patiala, Punjab. The book’s front matter lists Charlotte Brontë as the mūl lekhak (ਮੂਲ ਲੇਖਕ original author) and the anuvādak (ਅਨੁਵਾਦਕ translator) as Kesar Siṅgh Ūberāi (ਕੇਸਰ ਸਿੰਘ ਊਬੇਰਾਇ, 1911–1994), who was a university professor. The precise number of pages of the slim volume is not known.94

In 1983, a translation into Malayalam was published in the South Indian state of Kerala under the title Ṣārlaṟṟ Brōṇṭi: Jeyn Eyar (ഷാർലറ്റ് ബ്രോൺടി ജെയ്ൻ എയർ Charlotte Brontë: Jane Eyre). The volume was published by Ḍi Si Buks (ഡി സി ബുക്സ് D. C. Books) in the city of Kottayam. The front matter characterises it as a punarākhyānaṃ (പുനരാഖ്യാനം retelling) that was made by Yōgācārya En Gōvindan Nāyar (യോഗാചാര്യ എന്‍ ഗോവിന്ദന്‍ നായര്‍). The book consists of 151 pages. The latest fourth reprint was published in 2015 by the same press.

Another translation into Bengali language was published in 1990, again released by Muktadhārā in Dhaka, Bangladesh. It is entitled Jen Āẏār (জেন আয়ার Jane Eyre). The book cover states that the version is saṃkṣepit o rūpāntarit (সংক্ষেপিত ও রূপান্তরিত abridged and transformed). The descriptive term saṃkṣepit (abridged) can etymologically be broken down into saṃ (সং altogether) and kṣepit (ক্ষেপিত contracted). The word rūpāntarit is an adjectival form of the noun rūpāntar (রূপান্তর rendition). Moreover, the cover states that the book was created by Kabīr Caudhurī (কবীর চৌধুরী, 1923–2011), an award-winning Bangladeshi writer and translator. The volume consists of 50 pages.

A different translation into Bengali was published in Kolkata, India, in 1991 by the publishing house Dev Sāhitya Kuṭīr Prāibheṭ Limiṭeḍ (দেব সাহিত্য কুটীর প্রাইভেট লিমিটেড). It is entitled Jen Āẏār (জেন আয়ার Jane Eyre) and was translated by Sudhīndranāth Rāhā (সুধীন্দ্রনাথ রাহা, 1897–1986). It has 88 pages.

The first translation into Gujarati was issued in the West Indian state of Gujarat in 1993 by the publishing house Navbhārat Sāhitya Mandir (નવભારત સાહિત્ય મંદિર) in the city of Ahmedabad. The book is entitled Śārloṭ Bronṭe kṛt Jen Eyar (શાર્લોટ બ્રોન્ટે કૃત જેન એયર Jane Eyre written by Charlotte Brontë), while the front matter adds the English title Jane Eyre (Novel) by: Charlotte Bronte. It was translated by Hansā Sī. Paṭel (હંસા સી. પટેલ). It is notable that the book cover names Paṭel as the anu., which stands for anuvādak (અનુવાદક translator), while the front matter mentions her as the bhāvānuvādak (ભાવાનુવાદક gist translator). Additionally, the front matter informs in English that the book was translated by Paṭel and that the mūḷ lekhikā (મૂળ લેખિકા original authoress) is Śārloṭ Bronṭe (શાર્લોટ બ્રોનટે Charlotte Brontë). The volume consists of 210 pages. This highly abbreviated Gujarati translation in conjunction with the complete Hindi (2002) and Kannada (2014) translations will be critical to the subsequent synoptic assessment of literalness and abridgement in the Indian reception of Jane Eyre.

A translation into Nepali was made by Sairu Rai in 1997, as can be determined from its citation in an article by the Indian literary historian Sudesh Manger.95

In 1999, a translation into Assamese was published in the city of Guwahati, Assam, in North-Eastern India by the publishing house Pūrbāñcal Prakāś (পূৰ্বাঞ্চল প্ৰকাশ). The volume is entitled Jen Āẏār (জেন আয়াৰ Jane Eyre) and was translated by Subhadrā Baruwā (সুভদ্রা বৰুৱা). It has 151 pages.

In the year 2002, the first-ever translation into Hindi appeared. It was published by Rājkamal Prakāśan Prāiveṭ Limiṭeḍ (राजकमल प्रकाशन प्राइवेट लिमिटेड) in New Delhi and is entitled Jen Āyar (जेन आयर Jane Eyre) with added mention of the author Śārloṭ Bronṭe (शार्लोट ब्रॉन्टे Charlotte Brontë). The front matter repeats the title and adds in parenthesis the word upanyās (उपन्यास novel). Translated by Vidyā Sinhā (विद्या सिन्हा),96 who is characterised in the front matter as the anuvādikā (अनुवादिका female translator), it consists of 472 pages and was printed in 450 copies. Remarkably, this publication constitutes a fully unabridged and literal translation of the English novel. Only two other Indian publications can claim such status.

Another translation into Bengali was published in 2006 by the publishing house Sebā Prakāśanī (সেবা প্রকাশনী) in Dhaka, Bangladesh. The book is entitled Kiśor klāsik: Jen Āẏār, Liṭl Uimen, Bhyāniṭi Pheẏār (কিশোর ক্লাসিক জেন আয়ার লিট্ল উইমেন ভ্যানিটি ফেয়ার Teenager Classics: Jane Eyre, Little Women, Vanity Fair). The book cover states that it is a rūpāntar (রূপান্তর rendition) and that it was translated by Kājī Śāhnūr Hosen (কাজী শাহনূর হোসেন). On page five of the book, Śārlaṭ Branṭi (শার্লট ব্রনটি Charlotte Brontë) features as the author. The Jane Eyre portion of the book is found on pages 5–83. The literary term rūpāntar generally means translation and is likely to be taken as such by the Bengali reader. However, here it could have a narrower etymological sense of remaking a text into antar (অন্তর another) rūp (রূপ form), hinting at a textual practice other than literal translation.

In 2009, a second translation into Gujarati was brought out by Bālvinod Prakāśan (બાલવિનોદ પ્રકાશન), a publishing house for children’s books in Ahmedabad, Gujarat. The book is a compilation of Oliver Goldsmith’s eighteenth-century novel The Vicar of Wakefield and Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre. Entitled Veīkphīlḍano bhalo pādrī, Bicārī Anāth Chokarī (વેઈકફીલ્ડનો ભલો પાદરી, બિચારી અનાથ છોકરી The Vicar of Wakefield, The Poor Orphan Girl), it preserves the original title of Goldsmith’s novel in translation, while it modifies the title Jane Eyre into The Poor Orphan Girl. The book cover adds the English subtitle Jane Eyre: By Charlotte Bronte, announces that it is a saṃkṣipt bhāvānuvād (સંક્ષિપ્ત ભાવાનુવાદ abridged gist translation), and informs the reader that it was translated by Manasukh Kākaḍiyā (મનસુખ કાકડિયા). The combined volume consists of 248 pages.

In 2010, a fifth translation into Bengali was released by Pāñjerī Pāblikeśans (পাঞ্জেরী পাবলিকেশন্স Panjeri Publications) in Dhaka, Bangladesh. The book is entitled Śārlaṭ Branṭi: Jen Āẏār (শার্লট ব্রিন্ট জেন আয়ার Charlotte Brontë: Jane Eyre) and was published in the series Pāñjerī Sacitra Kiśor Klāsik Sirij (পাঞ্জেরী সচিত্র কিশোর ক্লাসিক সিরিজ Panjeri Illustrated Teenage Classics Series). The book cover defines the book as a rūpāntar (রূপান্তর rendition) made by Dhrub Nīl (ধ্রুব নীল), a writer of numerous children’s books. It consists of 168 pages and contains hand-drawn illustrations.

A sixth translation into Bengali was made in 2011 by the publishing house Phrenḍs Buk Karṇār (ফ্রেন্ডস্ বুক কর্ণার Friends Book Corner) in Dhaka, Bangladesh, under the title Śārlaṭ Branṭi: Jen Āẏār (শার্লট ব্রন্টি জেন আয়ার Charlotte Brontë: Jane Eyre). The cover states that the anubād (অনুবাদ translation)97 was made by Khurram Hosāhin (খুররম হোসাইন). The volume amounts to 138 pages.

The year 2014 saw the release of the sole translation of Jane Eyre into Kannada to date. It was published by Tēju Pablikēṣans (ತೇಜು ಪಬ್ಲಿಕೇಷನ್ಸ್ Tēju Publications) in Bengaluru, Karnataka, and is entitled Jēn Air (ಜೇನ್ ಏರ್ Jane Eyre). The book cover states that the mūla (ಮೂಲ original) was composed by Śāleṭ Brāṇṭi (ಶಾಲೆಟ್ ಬ್ರಾಂಟಿ Charlotte Brontë) and that it is a Kannaḍakke anuvāda (ಕನ್ನಡಕ್ಕೆ ಅನುವಾದ Kannada translation) made by Śyāmalā Mādhava (ಶ್ಯಾಮಲಾ ಮಾಧವ).98 The front matter gives the English title Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte’s English Novel) and specifies in Kannada Iṅgliṣ mūla: Śālaṭ Brāṇṭi (ಇಂಗ್ಲಿಷ್ ಮೂಲ ಶಾಲಟ್ ಬ್ರಾಂಟಿ English Original: Charlotte Brontë). It consists of 488 pages and was printed in 1000 copies. This literal translation of Jane Eyre is fully unabridged and is the second Indian publication of such status.

In 2014, a second translation into Assamese appeared. The book is published by Śarāighāṭ Prakāśan (শৰাইঘাট প্ৰকাশন) in Guwahati, Assam, and bears the title Jen Eẏār (জেন এয়াৰ Jane Eyre) and the subtitle Śbārlaṭ Braṇṭir ‘Jen Eẏār’ra anubād (শ্বাৰলট ব্ৰণ্টিৰ ‘জেন এয়াৰ’ৰ অনুবাদ Translation of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre). The book, which is the second edition, was published in the series Kāljaẏī Sāhitya (কালজয়ী সাহিত্য Timeless Literature). It was translated by Junu Mahanta (জুনু মহন্ত) and has 147 pages.

The seventh translation into Bengali was brought out in 2018 by the publishing house Biśbasāhitya Bhaban (বিশ্বসাহিত্য ভবন) in Dhaka, Bangladesh. It is entitled Śārlaṭ Branṭir pāṭhaknandit o śilpottīrṇa upanyās: Jen Āẏār (শার্লট ব্রন্টির পাঠকনন্দিত ও শিল্পোত্তীর্ণ উপন্যাস জেন আয়ার Charlotte Brontë’s Delightful and Artistic Novel: Jane Eyre). The book cover states that it is an anubād o sampādanāy (অনুবাদ ও সম্পাদনায় translation and edition) and a kiśor saṃskaraṇ (কিশোর সংস্করণ version for teenagers) created by Muhaḥ Jākir Hosen (মুহঃ জাকির হোসেন). It consists of 144 pages.

An eighth translation into Bengali appeared the following year in 2019, published by Uttaraṇ (উত্তরণ) in Dhaka, Bangladesh. The title is Jen Āẏār (জেন আয়ার Jane Eyre). The cover states that it is a bhāṣāntar (ভাষান্তর translation) made by Sālehā Caudhurī (সালেহা চৌধুরী) and that the mūl (মূল original) is by Śārlaṭ Branṭi (শার্লট ব্রন্টি Charlotte Brontë). It has 128 pages.

Finally, in 2020 there appeared a second translation into Malayalam language by Saikataṃ Buks (സൈകതം ബുക്സ് Saikatham Books) in the South Indian city of Kothamangalam, Kerala. The Malayalam title of the translation is Jeyn Eyr (ജെയ്ൻ എയ്ർ Jane Eyre) with the added English subtitle Jane Eyre: Charlotte Brontë. The back cover states that it is a vivarttanaṃ (വിവർത്തനം translation) created by Sāṟa Dīpa Ceṟiyān (സാറ ദീപ ചെറിയാൻ). It consists of 304 pages. Its voluminous size suggests that the translation might be unabridged and literal, perhaps constituting the third publication of that nature. The Malayalam term vivarttanaṃ is etymologically derived from Sanskrit vivartana (विवर्तन turning) and is cognate with the Latin vertere (turning), which when speaking of translation evokes an image of turning a text from one language into another.

From the above treatment of the nineteen South Asian Jane Eyre renderings, it transpires that modern Indian languages employ a wide array of literary terms to denote the creators of textual transference and their activities. Whereas the literary and cinematographic adaptations of Jane Eyre do not in any way acknowledge their debt to Charlotte Brontë and accordingly leave out any technical term to identify themselves as reworkings of the novel, the translations invoke the name of the English writer, provide the original title of the novel, and explicitly characterise themselves using labels that describe translational forms that signify their makers as translators and their literary products as translations. These important classificatory markers allow for a theoretical reflection on translation as fundamentally characterised by exhibiting semiotic signs of textual transference, which sets it apart from adaptation, and will open onto the ensuing discussion of what distinguishes translation from adaptation and abridgement.

The designation used most frequently for the makers of the Jane Eyre translations is the term anuvādak (translator) employed in the abridged translations into Punjabi (1981) and Gujarati (1993). The gender-specific anuvādikā (female translator) appears but once in the unabridged and literal translation into Hindi (2002), even though many of the nineteen Jane Eyre translators are women. Finally, a unique Indian appellative bhāvānuvādak (gist translator) surfaces in the context of the abridged Gujarati translation (1993) and notably it appears in an abstract form as bhāvānuvād (gist translation) in the other abridged Gujarati translation (2009). The two Gujarati translations are the only cases where the notion of bhāv (ભાવ gist) is stressed. Literally, the word bhāv carries the sense of gist, or main idea, i.e., it denotes the quintessence or general meaning of a work. Additionally, the word bhāv may in some contexts carry the sense of emotion, particularly a poetic sentiment, which could be taken as expressing the general spirit of a work. To capture this semantic range, the term bhāv shall here be rendered into English as ‘gist’ understood in the sense of general contents. The compound form bhāvānuvād (gist translation) can then be broken down into the two constituent parts bhāv (gist) and anuvād (translation). At times, it has been rendered into English as free translation although more precisely it denotes a gist translation in the sense that the translation attempts to convey only the main drift, including the overall emotional sentiment, of the source text. In this sense, it is in opposition to the Hindi term śābdik anuvād (शाब्दिक अनुवाद literal translation) connoting an unabridged anuvād (translation) of each śabd (शब्द word).

More broadly, the term bhāvānuvād (gist translation) has especially been used by contemporary Gujarati Jain scholars for their free translations of classical Prakrit and Sanskrit texts into modern Gujarati, Hindi, or English languages.99 Appropriately, the objective of the bhāvānuvādak (gist translator) is not to create an exhaustive semantic anuvād (translation) of the individual śabd (words) but to encapsulate the bhāv (gist, sentiment) behind the textual passages without changing the storyline, as it is done in an anurūpaṇ (adaptation). In this sense, bhāvānuvād could be taken as an overall Indian term for abridged translation.

Nevertheless, perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the Indian translational nomenclature is the insistence on assigning the Hindi, Bengali, Assamese, Kannada, and Malayalam translations with the respective standard terms anuvād (translation), anubād (translation) or bhāṣāntar (translation), anuvāda (translation), and vivarttanaṃ (translation), applied to both unabridged as well as abridged publications. At the same time, not all the abridged Jane Eyre translations label themselves in such definite terms. The 1983 abridged Malayalam translation of Jane Eyre characterises itself as a punarākhyānaṃ (retelling), whose morphemes punar (പുനർ again) and ākhyānaṃ (ആഖ്യാനം telling) echo the medieval South Indian poet Pampa’s description of his own abridged Mahābhārata poem in the Old Kannada language as a varṇaka (retelling) of the larger Sanskrit source text. By the same token, some of the Bengali abridged translations label themselves as rūpāntar (rendition) and not as anubād (translation), as it is the case with the Bengali publications implicitly intended for teenage readers (1990, 2010, 2019) or specified as such with the phrases kiśōr klāsik (teenager classic) and kaiśōr saṃskaraṇ (version for teenagers) in three other Bengali editions (2006, 2010, 2018).

Overall, when considering the nineteen Indian Jane Eyre translations, the basic distinction underlying the principle of equivalence is between saṅkṣipt (संक्षिप्त abridged) and asaṅkṣipt (असंक्षिप्त unabridged). Although only two publications (Bengali 1990, Gujarati 2009) make explicit use of the technical term saṅkṣipt or saṃkṣepit (abridged), the textual analysis as well as the condensed volume size of fourteen other publications (Tamil 1953, Bengali 1977, 1991, 2006, 2010, 2011, 2018, 2019, Punjabi 1981, Malayalam 1983, Gujarati 1993, Nepali 1997, Assamese 1999, 2014) corroborate that they too must be considered saṅkṣipt (abridged) in contrast to the 918 pages found in the first edition of Brontë’s English novel from 1847, or the 400 to 600 pages typical of modern English editions. The remaining three literal translations (Hindi 2002, Kannada 2014, Malayalam 2020) must conversely be defined as asaṅkṣipt (unabridged), a term whose individual morphemes mean a (अ not), saṃ (सं altogether), and kṣipt (क्षिप्त contracted).

On the whole, in view of the fact that the Indian Jane Eyre translations consistently acknowledge their reliance on Charlotte Brontë’s novel and that nine of the nineteen publications, including both abridged and unabridged versions, explicitly declare themselves as anuvād (translation) through some form of translational nomenclature, such as rūpāntar (rendition), it must be concluded that the totality of the nineteen Jane Eyre publications in Indian bhāṣā (vernaculars), in spite of their varying forms and degrees of equivalence, uniformly are to be considered translations in the broad sense of the English term denoting textual transference. Ergo, they are all translations.

At the same time, the limitation dictated by the provision of Jakobsonian semantic equivalence makes it impossible to include the full range of these Indian adaptational and translational forms under the English notion of translation and to appreciate these renderings on their own terms. To encompass and study the full range of Indian Jane Eyre renditions, it is necessary to put forth a new and more inclusive theoretical elucidation of the term translation. Such broadened principles shall here be rooted in India’s own literary terminology, formal analysis, conceptual history, and philosophy. The proposed theory has to step away from the pitfalls of semantic equivalence and be sufficiently non-hierarchical to acknowledge the actual praxis of adaptation and translation on the subcontinent. It must stretch the Jakobsonian notion to encompass both premodern and modern, classical and non-classical, as well as theoretical and practical manifestations of Indian literary practices. Furthermore, the ramifications of the definition must make it possible to apply the term in the interpretation of actual literary texts. The proposed definition is thus:

An anurūpaṇ (अनुरूपण adaptation) or anuvād (अनुवाद translation) is a pariṇāmī paryāy (परिणामी पर्याय transformed modality) derived from the dravya (द्रव्य substance) of a srot pāṭh (स्रोत पाठ source text) through dravyārthik samtulyatā (द्रव्यार्थिक समतुल्यता substantive equivalence) in a kathātmik vyākhyā (कथात्मिक व्याख्या narrative interpretation) instantiating a sāhityik prakār (साहित्यिक प्रकार literary type).

Without the use of the technical literary terms in Hindi, the proposed definition is:

An adaptation or translation is a transformed modality derived from the substance of a source text through substantive equivalence in a narrative interpretation instantiating a literary type.

The proffered definition juxtaposes and puts on equal footing what are normally regarded as two distinct literary forms, anurūpaṇ (adaptation) and anuvād (translation). The postulated correspondence between the two is a consequence of broadening anuvād (translation) to include forms of non-semantic equivalence. Nevertheless, the differentiation between the two terms is maintained in order to uphold a narrative criterion, whereby anurūpaṇ (adaptation) is understood as involving changes to the overall storyline and setting whereas anuvād (translation) does not.

Both anurūpaṇ (adaptation) and anuvād (translation) are in the proposed definition philosophically characterised as pariṇāmī paryāy (transformed modality) entailing an evolution of a dravya (substance). In Indian philosophy, the ancient Sanskrit concept of pariṇāma (परिणाम transformation), in Hindi romanized as pariṇām, is an ontological position linked with a processual view of causation, according to which causes evolve into effects that inhere in their causes. The causes and effects are all paryāy (पर्याय modalities) existing as individual states within the single continuum of a given entity. The continuum is a dravya (substance) being an abstract form that permeates all its paryāy (modalities) from the first cause to any subsequent effect.

The traditional exemplifications for this ontological principle presented in the classical Indian sources are the element of jal (जल water) and kanak (कनक gold). The dravya (substance) jal (water) is said to exist in different paryāy (modalities) of liquid, ice, and vapour, which are pariṇām (transformations) of the same dravya (substance) sharing a quality of jaltva (जलत्व waterness). Similarly, the dravya (substance) kanak (gold) exists in different paryāy (modalities) of gold ore, unwrought purified gold, and gold jewellery, which are pariṇām (transformations) sharing a characteristic of kanaktva (कनकत्व goldness). Significantly, none of these paryāy (modalities) is more important or original than the other, each being just a mere instantiation of the same underlying dravya (substance).

When applied to translation theory, the ontological principles of (1) pariṇām (transformation), (2) paryāy (modalities), and (3) dravya (substance) respectively correspond to (1) the creative process, (2) the limitless versions of source texts, adaptations, and translations, and (3) the shared literary type. In the case at hand, the dravya (substance) Jane Eyre can be said to exist in different paryāy (modalities) of the source text, adaptations, and translations, which all are pariṇām (transformations) sharing a quality of janeeyreness. None of these paryāy (modalities) is more important or original than the other, each being a mere instantiation.

The dravya (substance) Jane Eyre then signifies an abstraction of the literary text as a prototype or archetype. The prototype is a sāhityik prakār (literary type), which incorporates within it all the concrete instances of the novel. Notably, the substance is not limited to the source text, which means that the prototype or hypotext for a given translation is not necessarily confined to the work in the original language. Rather, the abstract substance is augmented by each new instance. This may be seen in the way in which the Indian cinematographic adaptations of Jane Eyre display a clear progressive development of certain elements of the story over the course of the individual adaptations. The later adaptations simulate not only Brontë’s original work but also the earlier Indian film adaptations. For instance, the 1969 Telugu thriller Ardharātri bears more resemblance to the preceding Indian film adaptations than it does to Brontë’s novel. The process of augmentation of the substance may be seen in the way in which a given translation may bear close resemblance to the style of earlier translations of the work and, in such a case, exhibits equivalence with its source text in the original English language as well as with certain earlier translations in the target language.

Janeeyreness is the quality that identifies a given text as belonging to a prototype, consisting in the elements of the text that exhibit comparative equivalence to that type. In the case of the Indian Jane Eyre adaptations, these elements are primarily the repeated motifs of the orphan girl, the romantic relationship with the estate owner, his hidden mad wife, and the portentous fire, which, as points of typological similitude, provide the reader or viewer with a recognition of the literary type in the given textual or filmic instance.

The concept of samtulyatā (equivalence) can consequently be broadened to include the new notion of dravyārthik samtulyatā (substantive equivalence) encompassing but not limited to śābdārthik samtulyatā (शाब्दार्थिक समतुल्यता semantic equivalence), since the different paryāy (modalities) are considered equal in the common dravya (substance) as a shared sāhityik prakār (literary type). Each paryāy (modality) is different through its pariṇāmī (transformed) kathātmik vyākhyā (narrative interpretation) into, for example, an adapted screenplay or a rendition for teenagers. Each paryāy remains a unique instantiation of the dravya (substance) Jane Eyre as the sāhityik prakār (literary type) of janeeyreness. In modern literary discourse, the polarity between dravya (substance) and paryāy (modality) is reminiscent of the differentiation between the singular work (French oeuvre) and the pluralised texts (French texte) introduced by the literary critic Roland Barthes.100

In the classical Indian context, this polarity harks back to the Indian notion of naya (नय perspective), which opens the door to a new literary dialectical hermeneutic, which could be termed anuvādik nayavād (अनुवादिक नयवाद translational perspectivism).101 The hermeneutic of translational perspectivism entails bifurcated aspects of a dravyārthik naya (द्रव्यार्थिक नय substantive perspective) and a paryāyārthik naya (पर्यायार्थिक नय modal perspective).¹⁰² From a dravyārthik naya (substantive perspective) there is an emphasis on sameness and belonging to an abstract literary type. Oppositely, from a paryāyārthik naya (modal perspective) there is emphasis on difference and being unique, resulting in a dialectic between the various instances of the dravya (substance).

In the former case of adopting a substantive perspective, there is a sense of continuity, as when viewing Jane Eyre as a singular literary work across all its many different textual instantiations in both the source and target languages. This would include the various editions and reprints of the English text, the literal translations into other languages, as well as other forms of reworking the text that are semantically more divergent, as seen with the abridged versions and gist translations. It would also include the more creative adaptations of Jane Eyre in literature, film, or other media, such as illustrated comic books. All these versions can then be considered multifarious instances of the same underlying literary work in the abstract sense of a substance, given that they all share certain defining characteristics of janeeyreness, i.e., they are recognizable as individual forms of that literary type.

In the latter case of adopting a modal perspective, the accentuation shifts from viewing sameness to perceiving the individual differences between one instantiation and the next in a non-hierarchical sense, even when a given instance exhibits little or no semantic equivalence to its source text.

The hermeneutic of translational perspectivism has the advantage that it allows for the continued use of the common terms adaptation, abridgement, and translation while dispensing with any textual hierarchy between them. All modalities of the novel in any form may be regarded as pluralised texts that are instantiations of the same singular literary work and each modality augments the substance of the literary work with a new reiteration. In this view, an abridged translation of Jane Eyre, in spite of its brevity, can rightfully be regarded as a translation tout court, because each rendering exhibits a unique modality of shared janeeyreness.

Bhāṣā in Jane Eyre: The Epiphany of Substantive Equivalence

Although itself a classic, Jane Eyre was not written in a European classical language such as Latin. Rather, like many other authors of the Victorian era, Charlotte Brontë made use of a colloquial English language in a written literary form, which is far removed from the European classical notion of prose.103 Aptly, the Indian translations of Jane Eyre display a comparable vernacularity that is embedded in the myriad of Indian bhāṣā, a term literally meaning speech, which since the early nineteenth century onwards has generally come to denote language in a vernacular non-classical sense.104 The Indian bhāṣā (vernacular) of Hindustani was, in point of fact, what Jane herself engaged in learning when presented with the prospect of going to India in the early nineteenth century. Globally, the nineteenth century witnessed a swell of the vernaculars and as the tremendous wave of translational activities swept the world, universities were propelled to establish numerous language departments, a development also seen in India.

Correspondingly, Jane Eyre was never translated into any classical language of India and the colloquial character of Brontë’s English is closely reflected in the Indian translations of Jane Eyre of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Brontë’s Victorian English is not readily understandable to most Indian readers and the fact that the Indian book market is dominated by abridged Indian versions of Jane Eyre aimed especially at an adolescent audience confirms the complexities that Indian school pupils face when studying the English classics of the nineteenth century.

Fittingly, the Indian translators of Jane Eyre are mostly from an educational background and the majority of them are women. The translations are typically produced by retired Indian schoolteachers and small Indian publishing houses warmly welcome new abridged translations of any well-known English classic.105 An abridged translation offers an easier read free from the many difficulties that exist in accessing and comprehending all the literary, cultural, and historical intricacies of nineteenth-century English writing, which undoubtedly persist for the average Indian reader even when served in a good literal translation. The abridged translations likewise have the purpose of providing school pupils with book summaries of the major classics. Reading Jane Eyre in a local bhāṣā (vernacular) makes the novel intelligible but in a cultural frame that differs from that of the English language.

Whether abridged or literal, a translation into an Indian bhāṣā (vernacular) transforms the source text in a way that empowers the reader to create a new kathātmik vyākhyā (narrative interpretation) of the story within the bhāṣā itself. Reading a foreign classic in a native bhāṣā transports the story into the richness of the bhāṣā’s own language, culture, and aesthetic sense. Poetically, such transformation can be compared to a scene early in Ār. Sī. Talvār’s Jane Eyre film adaptation Saṅgdil. In the act, the orphan girl Kamlā and her childhood friend Śaṅkar go to the household nursemaid to hear a fairy tale.106 As Kamlā listens attentively to the story about a princess and a prince, the stage instantly transforms from the outer setting of the nursemaid’s quarters into Kamlā’s inner imagination, where she places herself into the narrative as its central female character, the princess. At this point, the princess is attacked in her palace by an evil witch in the form of Kamlā’s strict stepmother. When she escapes up a flight of stairs leading to the top of a tower, she calls out to her friend, the prince in the form of Śaṅkar, who swiftly comes to her rescue. Abandoning the confines of the palace, the prince and princess then ride together on his white stallion through the sky among white clouds while singing a duet about their love far away from this stern world.107 The refrain of the song goes ājā basā leṃ nayā saṅsār (आजा बसा लें नया संसार ‘Come, let’s inhabit a new world!’).¹⁰⁸ This transfiguration from outer realism to inner self-imagination is an apt allegory for the transformative nature of translation, which changes the literal strictures of the source text into a new imaginative world in the target language, augmenting the substance of the literary work. In this vein, the transformative aspect of the bhāṣā is closely linked with how the equivalence of translation is to be understood. Jakobson’s principle of equivalence, which could be compared to an equals sign placed between the source and target languages in the translational equation, is semantic in nature.

However, close examination of the Indian literal translations of Jane Eyre reveals that sameness in meaning not only tends to be transferred interlingually from English to Indian bhāṣā (vernacular) but intermittently emerges intralingually from within the linguistic structure of the bhāṣā itself, because the very nature of language is the intralingual and not interlingual generation of meaning ‘through differences without positive terms’.109 Accordingly, words take on their own meaning in the bhāṣā (vernacular) through internal semantic contrasts rather than through semantic equivalence between the English word and its Indian bhāṣā correlate. The translational equation has dravyārthik samtulyatā (substantive equivalence), encountered oftentimes in abridged translation and adaptation. The greater freedom of creative license afforded by abridged translation and adaptation in recreating the original work in the bhāṣā (vernacular) at times endows both with a stronger transformative power than is usually met with in a translation that is strictly literal and espouses semantic equivalence. On that account, the equals sign becomes the shared dravya (substance) of the abstract literary work rather than a reciprocal word-for-word signification.

To illustrate the unstable nature of equivalence, two sets of synoptic parallels presented below will serve as a basis for discussing its ramifications. To begin with, two literal bhāṣā translations will be juxtaposed against the English original exemplified by three selected passages. Thereafter, an abridged bhāṣā translation will be contrasted with the same two literal bhāṣā translations and the English original exemplified by two selected passages.

In the first synoptic survey, the two bhāṣā translations into Hindi (2002) and Kannada (2014) will be considered, representing a North Indian Indo-European language and a South Indian Dravidian language respectively. Overall, the translational equation between the English original Jane Eyre and the Hindi and Kannada literal translations can be said to be predominantly of a semantic character reflected both in the Indian bhāṣā (vernacular) and in the back-translations.110 A typical example would be the faithful rendering of the following:

English111	Hindi112	Kannada113
‘I want you to give up German and learn Hindostanee’	मैं चाहता हूँ कि तुम जर्मन सीखना छोड़ दो और हिन्दुस्तानी भाषा सीखो । maiṃ cāhtā hūm̐ ki tum jarman sīkhnā choṛ do aur Hindustānī bhāṣā sīkho. I want that you give up learning German and [instead] learn Hindustani language.	ನೀನು ಜರ್ಮನ್ ಬಿಟ್ಟುಬಿಟ್ಟು ಹಿಂದುಸ್ತಾನೀ ಕಲಿಯಬೇಕೆಂದು ಬಯಸುತ್ತೇನೆ. nīnu jarman biṭṭubiṭṭu hindustānī kaliyabēkendu bayasuttēne. I want you to give up German [and] learn Hindustani.

The Hindi and Kannada translations here transfer the source text into the target languages with complete and equivalent meaning.

Among the sentences that closely reproduce the original text, a fraction exhibits minor semantic variance, especially when the English text uses culturally specific elements:

English114	Hindi115	Kannada116
‘And I shall see it again,’ he said aloud, ‘in dreams when I sleep by the Ganges: and again in a more remote hour — when another slumber overcomes me — on the shore of a darker stream!’	फिर जोर से बोले, ‘मैं इन्हें फिर देखूँगा, स्वप्न में, जब मैं गंगा के पास सो रहा हूँगा, और फिर किसी सुदूर घड़ी में जब चिर-निद्रा मुझे किसी अँधेरी नदी के पास गोद में ले लेगी ।’ phir jor se bole, ‘maiṃ inheṃ phir dekhūṅgā, svapna meṃ, jab maiṃ gaṅgā ke pās so rahā hūṅgā, aur phir kisī sudūr ghaṛī meṃ jab cir-nidrā mujhe kisī andherī nadī ke pās god meṃ le legī.’ Then he said loudly, ‘I will see them again, in dreams, when I will be sleeping near the Gaṅgā [river], and then again in a remote moment, when a deep sleep will take me into [its] lap near some dark river.’	‘ನಾನದನ್ನು ಪುನಃ ಕಾಣುವೆ’ ಅವರು ಗಟ್ಟಿಯಾಗಿ ಅಂದರು, ‘ಗಂಗಾತೀರದಲ್ಲಿ ಮಲಗಿರುವಾಗ, ಮತ್ತೆ ಇನ್ಯಾವುದೋ ನದೀದಡದಲ್ಲಿ , ಮಲಗಿರುತ್ತಾ, ಕನಸಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಮತ್ತೆ ಕಾಣುವೆ.’ ‘nānadannu punaḥ kāṇuve’ avaru gaṭṭiyāgi andaru, ‘gaṅgātīradalli malagiruvāga, matte inyāvudō nadīdaḍadalli, malagiruttā, kanasinalli matte kāṇuve.’ ‘I will see it again,’ he said loudly, ‘while sleeping on the bank of the Gaṅgā [river], [and] then again while sleeping on the shore of another river, I will see it again in [my] dreams.’

The Hindi translation displays minor semantic variance to the source text in its slightly nondescript rendering of the English ‘on the shore of a darker stream’ into kisī andherī nadī ke pās ‘near some dark river’, while the Kannada translation employs a less distinguished expression inyāvudō nadīdaḍadalli ‘on the shore of another river’. Both translations in varying degree lack the deeper connotation of the English phrase ‘a darker stream’, which in the passage symbolises death by implying the ancient Greek notion of the mythological river Styx in the afterlife or the Christian trope of mythological rivers in the underworld appearing in Dante’s Divine Comedy. The Hindi translation manages to convey the sense of dying with its images of deep sleep and a dark river, but does not evoke any allegorical reference to Greek or Christian mythology. The Kannada translation, in contrast, completely misses the point with its overtly general phrase ‘another river’ and altogether fails to convey the implication of the scene where Mr Rivers in a moment of prescience sees himself remembering the English countryside at the future time of his death. The Kannada rendering of the phrase is a typical example of a translation that falls short in terms of the full semantic range of the source text due to the fact that the indefinite expression ‘another river’ does not in any way evoke the corresponding Indian notion of the mythic Vaitaraṇī river, which a deceased person in the afterlife has to cross to enter the realm of the dead, and Indian readers unfamiliar with Greek or Christian mythologies will therefore not perceive the allegory. Thence, although being literal, translations of semantic equivalence regularly leave out some of the deeper semantic connotations of the source text, as discussed theoretically by Jakobson.117

In contradistinction to an aim for semantic equivalence, literal translations on occasion consciously curtail the semantic equivalence by circumnavigating uncomfortable or controversial aspects of the original:

English118	Hindi119	Kannada120
‘Firm, faithful, and devoted, full of energy, and zeal, and truth, he labours for his race; he clears their painful way to improvement; he hews down like a giant the prejudices of creed and caste that encumber it.’	पक्का, आस्थावान और विश्वासी, शक्ति, उत्साह और सच्चाई से भरे, वह व्यक्ति अपनी जाति के लिए परिश्रम कर रहा है, उसकी कष्ट-भरी राहों को साफ करके उसे प्रगति की ओर ले जा रहा है। रास्ते में आनेवाले, धर्म और जाति के व्यवधानों को वह राक्षस की भाँति चूर-चूर कर रहा है। pakkā, āsthāvān aur viśvāsī, śakti, utsāh aur saccāī se bhare, vah vyakti apnī jāti ke lie pariśram kar rahā hai, uskī kaṣṭ-bharī rāhoṃ ko sāph karke use pragti kī or le jā rahā hai. rāste meṃ ānevāle, dharm aur jāti ke vyavdhānoṃ ko vah rākṣas kī bhānti cūr-cūr kar rahā hai. Determined, faithful and devoted, powerful, full of zeal and truth, that man is doing efforts for his caste, having cleared his ways full of hardship, taking him towards improvement. Like a demon, he is shattering whatever comes in the way as obstacles to religion and caste.	ದೃಢ, ನಿಷ್ಠಾವಂತ ಸಮರ್ಪಣಾ ಭಾವದ, ಶಕ್ತ್ಯುತ್ಸಾಹಗಳ ಆತ ತನ್ನ ಜನರಿಗಾಗಿ ಶ್ರಮಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದಾರೆ. ಅವರನ್ನು ಸುಧಾರಿಸಲು ಯತ್ನಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದಾರೆ; ಜಾತಿ, ಪಂಥದ ಭೇದ ಭಾವವನ್ನು ತೊಡೆದುಹಾಕಲು ಯತ್ನಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದಾರೆ. dṛḍha, niṣṭhāvanta samarpaṇā bhāvada, śaktyutsāhagaḷa āta tanna janarigāgi śramisuttiddāre. avarannu sudhārisalu yatnisuttiddāre; jāti, panthada bhēda bhāvavannu toḍeduhākalu yatnisuttiddāre. Firm, faithful, devoted, with energy and enthusiasm, he labours for his people. He strives to improve them. He strives to expunge the discriminatory attitude of caste and creed.

Both the Hindi and Kannada translators clearly struggle with this passage so imbued with polemical undertones for the modern postcolonial reader. Words ripe with controversial meanings are either omitted or altered in the Indian bhāṣā (vernacular). A particular exemplification is the English word ‘race’ in the expression ‘he labours for his race’ and the word ‘caste’ in the clause ‘he hews down like a giant the prejudices of creed and caste that encumber it.’

In the context of England in the mid-nineteenth century, by ‘race’ Brontë must surely have intended ‘mankind’ in a Christian universalist sense, as is evident from the remainder of the sentence that qualifies the antecedent noun ‘race’ with the clause ‘he clears their painful way to improvement’ as well as with the agreement of the pronoun ‘it’. In this way, when Mr Rivers as a Christian missionary is portrayed to be working towards the moral-religious improvement of his Indian converts, these Indian persons must be understood as included in the labours that Mr Rivers undertakes for the sake of ‘his race’, i.e., for the sake of mankind. It must be added that in the twenty-first century, the English word ‘race’ no longer implies humankind in general and primarily carries association with the issue of race theories. This latter connotation has found its way into the modern Hindi and Kannada languages through the English homophonous loanwords res (रेस) and rēs (ರೇಸ್) respectively, which correctly are not employed in either translation of the passage. Still, the Hindi translator misinterprets ‘race’ by rendering it with the unfitting word jāti (caste) and the Kannada translator chooses the word jana (people), which is closer in meaning yet nevertheless imperfect. Neither of the two Indian words conveys the intended English universalist sense ‘mankind’, which in Hindi and Kannada would be manuṣyajāti (मनुष्यजाति, ಮನುಷ್ಯಜಾತಿ) or similar. Devoid of universality, the Hindi apnī jāti ke lie (for his caste) and the Kannada tanna janarigāgi (for his people) diminish the stature of Mr Rivers and his mission by insinuating that he labours exclusively for his own ethnic group.

By the word ‘caste’ Brontë seems to be referring primarily to the Indian ‘caste system’ in a Hindu socio-religious sense. The word has retained its European nineteenth-century meaning and has today become common parlance in Indian English. The English concept originates from the sixteenth-century Portuguese and Spanish casta (racial lineage, ethnic descendance). There are two primary words for the indigenous caste system in India, namely varṇa (caste, literally ‘colour’) and jāti (birth group), dating back to ancient times and having their own connotations different from that of the Portuguese-Spanish word. Both the Hindi and Kannada translators accurately choose the word jāti, which is the closest to represent the English word ‘caste’.

Remarkably, when the Hindi translator first employs the word jāti to render ‘race’ and again uses the same word jāti to signify the word ‘caste’, the circumscribed meaning of the first occurrence in apnī jāti ‘his caste’ foreshadows and thereby alters the meaning of the second occurrence of jāti, changing ‘caste’ in the general sense of the Indian caste system to ‘his caste’. The implication of the Hindi passage becomes that the missionary Mr Rivers is not at all concerned with removing the social prejudices of the Hindu caste system but rather that he like a demon shatters any obstacle to his own ethnic kind. Though the second jāti is technically equivalent to the semantic sense of the English word ‘caste’, this intentional yet subtle shift in meaning on the part of the Hindi translator removes the English novel’s implied critique of the Indian caste system and shifts it onto the British missionary, thereby circumventing a passage in the English source text which might otherwise have seemed accusatory to the Indian reader.

The three synoptic instances of literal bhāṣā translation provided above all involve a certain dialectical oscillation between equivalence and variance in relation to the source text. Jakobson called this phenomenon ‘equivalence in difference’, which he exemplified with circumlocutions in neologisms and subtle interlingual variations in grammatical patterns.121 The case in point is that the English word ‘race’ and its decisively unequal translations into Hindi and Kannada exceed Jakobson’s notion of semantic equivalence in difference. Per contra, when translation instead is defined as a pariṇāmī paryāy (transformed modality), the transformative character of the translation comes to the fore, acknowledging the many ways in which a translation can create new meaning.

In the second synoptic survey, the West Indian Gujarati bhāṣā abridged translation (1993) will be contrasted against the original Jane Eyre in English and the same two literal bhāṣā translations in Hindi and Kannada. Overall, the Gujarati abridged translation is transformative in its substantive equivalence by radically condensing the source text, which is a translational equation quite unlike any form of semantic equivalence. An illustrative example is the diffused Gujarati rendering of an English passage describing the ten-year-old Jane being sent off to a boarding school by her heartless stepmother Mrs Reed, at which point Jane is subjected to an interview by the intimidating school principal, Mr Brocklehurst. First the full passage is given in English, Hindi, and Kannada, whereupon the highly truncated Gujarati rendering follows:

English122	Hindi123	Kannada124
‘No sight so sad as that of a naughty child,’ he began, ‘especially a naughty little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?’	उन्होंने बोलना आरम्भ किया, ‘एक दुष्ट बच्चे को देखने से बुरा कोई और दृश्य नहीं होता, विशेषकर जब वह दुष्ट एक छोटी लड़की हो। तुम्हें पता है कि मरने के बाद दुष्ट कहाँ जाते हैं?’ unhonne bolnā ārambh kiyā, ‘ek duṣṭ bacce ko dekhne se burā koī aur dr̥śya nahīṃ hotā, viśeṣkar jab vah duṣṭ ek choṭī laṛkī ho. tumheṃ patā hai ki marne ke bād duṣṭ kahām̐ jāte haiṃ?’ He started speaking, ‘There is no worse sight than seeing a wicked child, especially when that wicked one is a little girl. Do you know where the wicked go after death?’	[sentence omitted in the Kannada translation]
‘They go to hell,’ was my ready and orthodox answer.	मैंने तुरन्त परम्परागत उत्तर दिया, ‘नरक में जाते हैं।’ maiṃne turant paramparāgat uttar diyā, ‘narak meṃ jāte haiṃ.’ I immediately replied traditionally, ‘They go to hell.’	‘ಅವರು ನರಕಕ್ಕೆ ಹೋಗುವರು.’ ಶಾಸ್ತ್ರಬದ್ಧವಾದ ಸಿದ್ಧ ಉತ್ತರ ನನ್ನಿಂದ ಹೊರಬಿತ್ತು. ‘avaru narakakke hōguvaru.’ śāstrabaddhavāda siddha uttara nanninda horabittu. ‘They go to hell.’ I had a readymade orthodox answer.

English	Hindi	Kannada
‘And what is hell? Can you tell me that?’	‘नरक क्या होता है? बता सकती हो?’ ‘narak kyā hotā hai? batā saktī ho?’ ‘What is hell? Can you tell?’	‘ಈ ನರಕವೆಂದರೇನು, ಹೇಳಬಲ್ಲೆಯಾ?’ ‘ī narakavendarēnu, hēḷaballeyā?’ ‘Can you tell what this hell is?’
‘A pit full of fire.’	‘अग्नि से भरी एक खाई ।’ ‘agni se bharī ek khāī.’ ‘A chasm full of fire.’	‘ಅದೊಂದು ಅಗ್ನಿಕುಂಡ.’ ‘adondu agnikuṇḍa.’ ‘It is a fire pit.’
‘And should you like to fall into that pit and to be burning there for ever?’	‘क्या तुम उस खाई में गिरना और जलते रहना चाहोगी?’ ‘kyā tum us khāī meṃ girnā aur jalte rahnā cāhogī?’ ‘Would you like to fall into that chasm and keep burning?’	‘ಆ ಅಗ್ನಿಕುಂಡಕ್ಕೆ ಬಿದ್ದು ನಿರಂತರ ಉರಿಯುತ್ತಿರಬೇಕೇ, ನಿನಗೆ?’ ‘ā agnikuṇḍakke biddu nirantara uriyuttirabēkē, ninage?’ ‘Do you want to fall into that fire pit and be burning there forever?’
‘No, sir.’	‘नहीं, श्रीमान!’ ‘nahīṃ, śrīmān!’ ‘No, sir!’	‘ಇಲ್ಲ, ಸರ್.’ ‘illa, sar.’ ‘No, sir.’
‘What must you do to avoid it?’	‘तो इससे बचने के लिए तुम्हें क्या करना चाहिए?’ ‘to isse bacne ke lie tumheṃ kyā karnā cāhie?’ ‘So what should you do to avoid it?’	‘ಅದನ್ನು ತಪ್ಪಿಸಿಕೊಳ್ಳಲು ಏನು ಮಾಡಬೇಕು?’ ‘adannu tappisikoḷḷalu ēnu māḍabēku?’ ‘To avoid it, what should be done?’

English	Hindi	Kannada
I deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable: ‘I must keep in good health, and not die.’	मैं एक क्षण सोचती रही और फिर जो उत्तर मैंने दिया वह आपत्तिजनक था, ‘मुझे अपना स्वास्थ्य अच्छा रखना चाहिए, ताकि मरूँ नहीं।’ maiṃ ek kṣaṇ soctī rahī aur phir jo uttar maiṃne diyā vah āpattijanak thā, ‘mujhe apnā svāsthya acchā rakhnā cāhie, tāki marūm̐ nahīṃ.’ I kept thinking for a moment and then the answer I gave was objectionable, ‘I must keep my health good, so that I do not die.’	ಕ್ಷಣ ತಡೆದು ನಾನು ಉತ್ತರಿಸಿದೆ, ‘ಸಾಯದಂತೆ ಒಳ್ಳೆಯ ಆರೋಗ್ಯದಿಂದಿರಬೇಕು.’ kṣaṇa taḍedu nānu uttariside, ‘sāyadante oḷḷeya ārōgyadindirabēku.’ Waiting for a moment, I replied: ‘One should keep in good health in order not to die.’

English	Hindi	Kannada
‘How can you keep in good health? Children younger than you die daily. I buried a little child of five years old only a day or two since, — a good little child, whose soul is now in heaven. It is to be feared the same could not be said of you, were you to be called hence.’	‘तुम स्वास्थ्य अच्छा बनाकर कैसे रख सकती हो? तुमसे भी छोटे बच्चे प्रतिदिन मरते हैं। एक-दो ही दिन पहले मैंने एक पाँच वर्ष के बच्चे को दफनाया था — एक भला बच्चा जिसकी आत्मा स्वर्ग में चली गई। यदि तुम्हें वहाँ से बुलावा आ जाए, तो तुम्हारे विषय में तो भला नहीं कहा जा सकता।’ ‘tum svāsthya acchā banākar kaise rakh saktī ho? tumse bhī choṭe bacce pratidin marte haiṃ. ek-do hī din pahle maiṃne ek pāñc varṣ ke bacce ko daphnāyā thā — ek bhalā baccā jiskī ātmā svarg meṃ calī gaī. yadi tumheṃ vahām̐ se bulāvā ā jāe, to tumhāre viṣay meṃ to bhalā nahīṃ kahā jā saktā.’ ‘How can you maintain good health? Children even younger than you die every day. One or two days ago, I buried a five-year-old child — a virtuous child whose soul has gone to heaven. If a call for you comes from there, then such good words could not be said about you.’	‘ಒಳ್ಳೆಯ ಆರೋಗ್ಯದಿಂದಿರುವುದೆಂತು? ದಿನವೂ ನಿನಗಿಂತಲೂ ಎಳೆಯ ಮಕ್ಕಳು ಸಾಯುತ್ತಿರುತ್ತಾರೆ. ಐದು ವರ್ಷದ ಪುಟ್ಟ ಬಾಲೆಯೊಬ್ಬಳನ್ನು ಇದೀಗ ಒಂದೆರಡು ದಿನಗಳ ಹಿಂದಷ್ಟೇ ಮಣ್ಣುಮಾಡಿ ಬಂದೆ. ಒಳ್ಳೆಯವಳಾದ ಪುಟ್ಟ ಹುಡುಗಿ; ಅವಳ ಆತ್ಮವೀಗ ಸ್ವರ್ಗದಲ್ಲಿದೆ. ನಿನಗೆ ಕರೆ ಬಂದುದೇ ಆದರೆ, ನಿನ್ನ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಈ ಮಾತನ್ನು ಹೇಳಲಾಗದು.’ ‘oḷḷeya ārōgyadindiruvudentu? dinavū ninagintalū eḷeya makkaḷu sāyuttiruttāre. aidu varṣada puṭṭa bāleyobbaḷannu idīga onderaḍu dinagaḷa hindaṣṭē maṇṇumāḍi bande. oḷḷeyavaḷāda puṭṭa huḍugi; avaḷa ātmavīga svargadallide. Ninage kare bandudē ādare, ninna bagge ī mātannu hēḷalāgadu.’ ‘What is it to be in good health? Children younger than you die daily. I buried a five-year-old girl just one or two days back. A good little girl. Her soul is now in heaven. If you get [such] a call, one could not say such a word about you.’

English	Hindi	Kannada
Not being in a condition to remove his doubt, I only cast my eyes down on the two large feet planted on the rug, and sighed; wishing myself far enough away.	उसकी शंकाओं को दूर करने की स्थिति में नहीं होने के कारण मैंने अपनी आँखें नीचे गड़ा दीं और कालीन पर रखे उसके दो चौड़े-चौड़े पैरों को देखने लगी। उससे दूर भागने की इच्छा करते हुए मैंने आह भरी। uskī śaṅkāoṃ ko dūr karne kī sthiti meṃ nahīṃ hone ke kāraṇ maiṃne apnī āṅkheṃ nīce gaṛā dīṃ aur kālīn par rakhe uske do cauṛe-cauṛe pairoṃ ko dekhne lagī. usse dūr bhāgne kī icchā karte hue maiṃne āh bharī. Not being in a position to dispel his doubts, I put my eyes down and kept watching his two wide feet on the carpet. Wishing to run away from him, I sighed.	ಆತನ ಸಂಶಯವನ್ನು ನಿವಾರಿಸುವುದು ಸಾಧ್ಯವಿಲ್ಲವಾಗಿ, ನನ್ನೆದುರಿಗೆ ನೆಲದಲ್ಲಿ ಊರಲಾಗಿದ್ದ ಆ ದೊಡ್ಡ ಪಾದಗಳನ್ನೇ ದಿಟ್ಟಿಸುತ್ತಾ, ದೂರವೆಲ್ಲಾದರೂ ಹೋಗುವುದು ಸಾಧ್ಯವಾದರೆ, ಎಂದಾಶಿಸುತ್ತಾ ನಾನು ನಿಡುಸುಯ್ದೆ. ātana sañśayavannu nivārisuvudu sādhyavillavāgi, nannedurige neladalli ūralāgidda ā doḍḍa pādagaḷannē diṭṭisuttā, dūravellādarū hōguvudu sādhyavādare, endāśisuttā nānu niḍusuyde. Since it was not possible to remove his doubt, looking at his large feet resting on the ground in front of me, wishing to go somewhere far away, I sighed.

English	Hindi	Kannada
‘I hope that sigh is from the heart, and that you repent ever having been the occasion of discomfort to your excellent benefactress.’	‘मुझे आशा है कि यह आह तुम्हारे हृदय से निकली है और अपनी परम् उपकारिन को कभी दुख पहुँचाने के लिए तुम्हें पश्चात्ताप हो रहा है।’ ‘mujhe āśā hai ki yah āh tumhāre hr̥day se niklī hai aur apnī param upkārin ko kabhī dukh pahuñcāne ke lie tumheṃ paścāttāp ho rahā hai.’ ‘I hope that this sigh comes from your heart and that you are repenting ever causing suffering for your excellent benefactor.’	‘ಇದೀಗ ಈ ನಿಟ್ಟುಸಿರು ನಿನ್ನ ಹೃದಯದಾಳದಿಂದಲೇ ಬಂದಿರುವುದು ಎಂದುಕೊಳ್ಳುತ್ತೇನೆ. ಶ್ರೇಷ್ಟಳಾದ ನಿನ್ನ ಪೋಷಕಿಗೆ ಅಹಿತವೆನಿಸುವಂತೆ ನಡಕೊಂಡ ಬಗ್ಗೆಯೂ ನೀನು ಪರಿತಪಿಸುವೆ, ಎಂದಂದುಕೊಂಡಿದ್ದೇನೆ.’ ‘idīga ī niṭṭusiru ninna hṛdayadāḷadindalē bandiruvudu endukoḷḷuttēne. śrēṣṭaḷāda ninna pōṣakige ahitavenisuvante naḍakoṇḍa baggeyū nīnu paritapisuve, endandukoṇḍiddēne.’ ‘Now, I think this sigh has come out from the depth of your heart. I think you are repenting for the misbehaviour to your benefactress.’
‘Benefactress! benefactress!’ said I inwardly: ‘they all call Mrs. Reed my benefactress; if so, a benefactress is a disagreeable thing.’	‘उपकारिन! उपकारिन! सभी श्रीमती रीड को मेरी उपकारिन कहते हैं। यही यदि उपकार है तो उपकारिन निश्चय ही एक अप्रिय वस्तु है,’ मैंने मन-ही-मन कहा था। ‘upkārin! upkārin! sabhī śrīmatī rīḍ ko merī upkārin kahte haiṃ. yahī yadi upkār hai to upkārin niścay hī ek apriy vastu hai,’ maiṃne man-hī-man kahā thā. ‘Benefactor! Benefactor! Everyone calls Mrs. Reed my benefactor. If this is a benefit, then a benefactor is certainly an unpleasant thing,’ I said inwardly in my mind.	ಪೋಷಕಿ! ಎಲ್ಲರೂ ಮಿಸೆಸ್ ರೀಡ್ ರನ್ನು ನನ್ನ ಪೋಷಕಿಯೆನ್ನುತ್ತಾರೆ. ಇಂಥ ಪೋಷಕಿ ಬೇಡವೇ ಬೇಡ, ಎಂದಂದುಕೊಂಡೆ. pōṣaki! ellarū mises rīḍ rannu nanna pōṣakiyennuttāre. intha pōṣaki bēḍavē bēḍa, endandukoṇḍe. Benefactress! Everyone calls Mrs. Reed my benefactress. I do not need such a benefactress. So I thought.

English	Hindi	Kannada
‘Do you say your prayers night and morning?’ continued my interrogator.	प्रश्नकर्ता ने पूछना जारी रखा, ‘क्या तुम सुबह-शाम प्रार्थना करती हो?’ praśnakartā ne pūchnā jārī rakhā, ‘kyā tum subah-śām prārthnā kartī ho?’ The questioner continued to ask questions: ‘Do you pray in the morning and evening?’	‘ಬೆಳಗೂ ರಾತ್ರಿಯೂ ನೀನು ಪ್ರಾರ್ಥನೆ ಪಠಿಸುತ್ತೀಯಾ?’ – ನನ್ನಾ ಪರೀಕ್ಷಕ ಮುಂದುವರಿಸಿದರು. ‘beḷagū rātriyū nīnu prārthane paṭhisuttīyā?’ – nannā parīkṣaka munduvarisidaru. ‘Do you recite your prayers in the morning and at night?’ – my interrogator continued.
‘Yes, sir.’	‘हाँ, श्रीमान।’ ‘hām̐, śrīmān.’ ‘Yes, sir.’	‘ಹೌದು, ಸರ್.’ ‘haudu, sar.’ ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Do you read your bible?’	‘क्या तुम बाइबिल पढ़ती हो?’ ‘kyā tum bāibil paṛhtī ho?’ ‘Do you read the Bible?’	‘ಬೈಬಲ್ ಓದುತ್ತೀಯಾ?’ ‘baibal ōduttīyā?’ ‘Do you read the Bible?’
‘Sometimes.’	‘कभी-कभी।’ ‘kabhī-kabhī.’ ‘Sometimes.’	‘ಕೆಲವೊಮ್ಮೆ.’ ‘kelavomme.’ ‘Sometimes.’
‘With pleasure? Are you fond of it?’	‘प्रसन्नता से? क्या तुम्हें बाइबिल अच्छा लगता है?’ ‘prasanntā se? kyā tumheṃ bāibil acchā lagtā hai?’ ‘With pleasure? Do you like the Bible?’	‘ಸಂತೋಷದಿಂದಲೇ? ಬೈಬಲ್ ನಿನಗಿಷ್ಟವೇ?’ ‘santōṣadindalē? baibal ninagiṣṭavē?’ ‘With pleasure? Do you like the Bible?’

English	Hindi	Kannada
‘I like Revelations and the Book of Daniel, and Genesis and Samuel, and a little bit of Exodus, and some parts of Kings and Chronicles, and Job and Jonah.’	‘मुझे रिवीलेशन, डेनियल की किताब, जेनेसिस और सैमुएल थोड़ा एक्जोडस, किंग और क्रोनिकिल का कुछ भाग तथा जॉब और जोना अच्छे लगते हैं।’ ‘mujhe rivīleśan, ḍeniyal kī kitāb, jenesis aur saimuel thoṛā ekjoḍas, kiṅg aur kronikil kā kuch bhāg tathā job aur jonā acche lagte haiṃ.’ ‘I like Revelations, the Book of Daniel, Genesis and Samuel, a little bit of Exodus, some parts from Kings and Chronicles, as well as Job and Jonah.’	‘ರಿವಿಲೇಶನ್ಸ್, ಡ್ಯಾನಿಯೆಲ್, ಜೆನೆಸಿಸ್, ಸ್ಯಾಮ್ಯುಯೆಲ್, ಜಾಬ್, ಜೋನಾ, ರಾಜರ ವೃತ್ತಾಂತಗಳು, ಇವೆಲ್ಲ ನನಗಿಷ್ಟ.’ ‘rivilēśans, ḍyāniyel, jenesis, syāmyuyel, jāb, jōnā, rājara vṛttāntagaḷu, ivella nanagiṣṭa.’ ‘I like Revelations, Daniel, Genesis, Samuel, Job, Jonah, [and some] episodes of Kings and Chronicles.’
‘And the Psalms? I hope you like them.’	‘और साम (Psalms)? आशा है, उन्हें भी तुम पसन्द करती हो?’ ‘aur sām (Psalms)? āśā hai, unheṃ bhī tum pasand kartī ho?’ ‘And the Psalms? I hope you like them too?’	‘ಮತ್ತು ಕೀರ್ತನೆಗಳು? ಅವು ನಿನಗೆ ಇಷ್ಟವಷ್ಟೇ?’ ‘mattu kīrtanegaḷu? avu ninage iṣṭavaṣṭē?’ ‘And the Psalms? Do you like them too?’
‘No, Sir.’	‘नहीं, श्रीमान!’ ‘nahīṃ, śrīmān!’ ‘No, sir!’	‘ಇಲ್ಲ, ಸರ್.’ ‘illa, sar.’ ‘No, sir.’

English	Hindi	Kannada
‘No? Oh, shocking! I have a little boy, younger than you, who knows six Psalms by heart; and when you ask him which he would rather have, a gingerbread-nut to eat, or a verse of a Psalm to learn, he says: ‘Oh! The verse of a Psalm! Angels sing Psalms;’ says he, ‘I wish to be a little angel here below;’ he then gets two nuts in recompense for his infant piety.’	‘नहीं! बड़े दुख की बात है। अरे, मेरा एक छोटा लड़का है, तुमसे भी छोटा। वह छह साम रटे हुए है। यदि तुम उससे पूछोगी कि चॉकलेट लोगे या साम की एक कविता सीखोगे, तो वह कहेगा कि ‘साम की कविता। देवदूत भी साम गाते है! मैं इसी संसार में एक छोटा-सा देवदूत बनना चाहता हूँ।’ अपनी शैशव-भक्ति के बदले तब उसे दो चॉकलेट मिल जाते हैं।’ ‘nahīṃ! baṛe dukh kī bāt hai. are, merā ek choṭā laṛkā hai, tumse bhī choṭā. vah chah sām raṭe hue hai. yadi tum usse pūchogī ki cokleṭ loge yā sām kī ek kavitā sīkhoge, to vah kahegā ki ‘sām kī kavitā. devdūt bhī sām gāte hai! maiṃ isī sāṅsār meṃ ek choṭā-sā devdūt bananā cāhtā hūm̐.’ apnī śaiśav-bhakti ke badle tab use do cokleṭ mil jāte haiṃ.	‘ಇಲ್ಲವೇ? ಆಶ್ಚರ್ಯ! ನಿನಗಿಂತ ಕಿರಿಯನಾದ ಚಿಕ್ಕ ಹುಡುಗನಿದ್ದಾನೆ; ಅವನಿಗೆ ಆರು ಕೀರ್ತನೆಗಳು ಕಂಠಪಾಠ ಆಗಿವೆ. ತಿನ್ನಲು ಒಂದು ಜಿಂಜರ್ ಬ್ರೆಡ್ ನಟ್ ಬೇಕೇ, ಇಲ್ಲಾ, ಕಲಿಯಲು ಕೀರ್ತನೆಯ ಚರಣ ಒಂದಿರಲೇ, ಎಂದು ಕೇಳಿದರೆ, ‘ಓ! ಕೀರ್ತನೆಯ ಚರಣ! ದೇವ ಕಿನ್ನರರು ಕೀರ್ತನೆಗಳನ್ನು ಹಾಡುತ್ತಾರೆ. ನಾನು ಭೂಮಿಯ ಮೇಲಿನ ಪುಟ್ಟ ಕಿನ್ನರನಾಗಬಯಸುತ್ತೇನೆ.’ ಎಂದು ಅವನನ್ನುತ್ತಾನೆ. ಅವನ ಈ ಮುಗ್ಧ ಮಗುತನವೇ ಅವನಿಗೆ ಇಮ್ಮಡಿ ನಟ್ಸ್ ಸಿಗುವಂತೆ ಮಾಡುತ್ತದೆ.’ ‘illavē? āścarya! ninaginta kiriyanāda cikka huḍuganiddāne; avanige āru kīrtanegaḷu kaṇṭhapāṭha āgive. tinnalu ondu jiñjar breḍ naṭ bēkē, illā, kaliyalu kīrtaneya caraṇa ondiralē, endu kēḷidare, ‘ō! kīrtaneya caraṇa! dēva kinnararu kīrtanegaḷannu hāḍuttāre. nānu bhūmiya mēlina puṭṭa kinnaranāgabayasuttēne.’ endu avanannuttāne. avana ī mugdha magutanavē avanige immaḍi naṭs siguvante māḍuttade.’

	‘No! That is very sad. Well, I have a little boy, even younger than you. He memorised six Psalms. If you ask him whether he would rather have a chocolate or learn a poem from the Psalms, then he replies, ‘A poem from the Psalms. Angels too sing the Psalms! I want to be a little angel in this world.’ In exchange for his infant devotion, he then gets two chocolates.’	‘No? Surprising! There is a little boy younger than you. He has six psalms memorised. If asked, do you want a gingerbread nut to eat or a verse of a psalm to learn, he says ‘Oh, a verse of the Psalms. Divine kinnaras [celestial musicians, angels] sing psalms. I want to be a little kinnara on earth.’ This kind of innocent infancy gets him two nuts.’
‘Psalms are not interesting,’ I remarked.	‘साम पढ़ने में मन नहीं लगता,’ मैंने विचार प्रकट किया। ‘sām paṛhne meṃ man nahīṃ lagtā,’ maiṃne vicār prakaṭ kiyā. I expressed the opinion, ‘I do not have a mind for reading the Psalms.’	‘ಕೀರ್ತನೆಗಳು ಆಸಕ್ತಿಕರವಾಗಿಲ್ಲ’ ನಾನಂದೆ. ‘kīrtanegaḷu āsaktikaravāgilla’ nānande. ‘The Psalms are not interesting,’ I said.

English	Hindi	Kannada
‘That proves you have a wicked heart; and you must pray to God to change it: to give you a new and a clean one: to take away your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.’	‘इससे प्रमाणित हुआ की तुम दुष्ट हृदय की हो। ईश्वर से प्रार्थना करो कि वे इसे बदल दें, तुम्हें नया और स्वच्छ हृदय दें, तुम्हारे पत्थर का हृदय हटाकर हाड़-मांस का हृदय दें।’ ‘isse pramāṇit huā kī tum duṣṭ hr̥day kī ho. īśvar se prārthnā karo ki ve ise badal deṃ, tumheṃ nayā aur svacch hr̥day deṃ, tumhāre patthar kā hr̥day haṭākar hāṛ-māṃs kā hr̥day deṃ.’ ‘This proves that you have a wicked heart. Pray to God that He will change it, that He will give you a new and clean heart, that He will remove your heart of stone and instead give you a heart of flesh.’	‘ನಿನ್ನದು ಕೆಡುಕು ಹೃದಯವೆಂದು ಇದರಿಂದಲೇ ತಿಳಿಯುತ್ತದೆ. ಅದನ್ನು ಬದಲಿಸಿ ಹೊಸತೊಂದು ಪರಿಶುದ್ಧ ಹೃದಯವನ್ನೀಯುವಂತೆ, ಈ ಕಲ್ಲು ಹೃದಯದ ಬದಲಿಗೆ ರಕ್ತ ಮಾಂಸದ ಹೃದಯವನ್ನೀಯುವಂತೆ ನೀನು ದೇವರಲ್ಲಿ ಪ್ರಾರ್ಥಿಸಬೇಕು.’ ‘ninnadu keḍuku hṛdayavendu idarindalē tiḷiyuttade. adannu badalisi hosatondu pariśuddha hṛdayavannīyuvante, ī kallu hṛdayada badalige rakta mānsada hṛdayavannīyuvante nīnu dēvaralli prārthisabēku.’ ‘This shows that your heart is wicked. You should pray to God to change your heart to a pure heart, to give [you] a heart of blood and flesh in place of your heart of stone.’

Gujarati125

બ્રોકલહર્સ્ટે મને સ્કૂલે જવાનું ગમશે કે કેમ અને પ્રાર્થના કરું છું કે નહીં, એમ પ્રશ્નો પૂછ્યા. અને હું તે બધું કરું છું. એમ મેં કહ્યું ત્યારે તેમણે મને ભક્તિગીતો આવડે છે કે નહીં, પૂછ્યું. તેના જવાબમાં મેં જ્યારે ના પાડી ત્યારે તેઓ બોલી ઊઠ્યા કે ભક્તિગીતો આવડે નહીં તે નર્કમાં જાય છે. તે પછી તેમણે નર્કમાં ભયંકર તેજ અગ્નિમાં તેવા માણસોને બાળવામાં આવે છે. એમ કહી મને સારી છોકરી બનવા કહ્યું. brokalharsṭe mane skūle javānuṃ gamśe ke kem ane prārthnā karuṃ chuṃ ke nahīṃ, em praśno pūchyā. ane huṃ te badhuṃ karuṃ chuṃ. em meṃ kahyuṃ tyāre temṇe mane bhaktigīto āvḍe che ke nahīṃ, pūchyuṃ. tenā javābmāṃ meṃ jyāre nā pāḍī tyāre teo bolī ūṭhyā ke bhaktigīto āvḍe nahīṃ te narkmāṃ jāy che. te pachī temṇe narkmāṃ bhayaṃkar tej agnimāṃ tevā māṇsone bāḷvāmāṃ āve che. em kahī mane sārī chokrī banvā kahyuṃ. Brocklehurst asked me questions, such as whether I like to go to school and whether I pray, and [I said that] I do all of that. When I had said so, he asked whether I know [how to sing] devotional songs. When I replied in the negative, he declared at once that those who do not know devotional songs go to hell. He then said that such humans are burnt in a terrifying blazing fire in hell. Having said so, he asked me to be a good girl.

The Gujarati abridged translation condenses the long original passage into a brief paraphrase in the form of a short third-person diegetic narrative without any dialogue in direct speech. It does so by fully removing any culture-specific elements, in this case the theological references to the Bible. It preserves only one technical term, but alters its meaning from Psalms in English to bhaktigīto (devotional songs) in Gujarati bhāṣā (vernacular). By using a term that is associated with daily Hindu religious rituals in Indian society, it manages to align a familiar Gujarati notion with a corresponding Christian concept. The unabridged Hindi and Kannada translations, on the other hand, effortlessly manage to express the rather specialised wording of the English passage with near semantic equivalence.

The stark difference between the Gujarati abridged translation and the source text provokes the question whether such a form of textual reproduction ought to be called a translation at all. It is probably not possible to subsume this type of rendering under Jakobson’s ‘equivalence in difference’, but it could be understood as a pariṇāmī paryāy (transformed modality). The abridged paraphrase of the source text retains the janeeyreness as a sāhityik prakār (literary type) in a sufficient degree to perceive the Gujarati text as an instantiation of the work, even if condensed. Hence, it is here only possible to speak of a dravyārthik samtulyatā (substantive equivalence).

Yet, abridged translation is not only paraphrase, for it may also contain more elaborate passages that are closer to word-for-word translation. In such portions, even an abridged translation may introduce transformed meanings in the bhāṣā (vernacular) that augment the substance of the source text markedly. In the case of Jane Eyre, a very suitable example is the scene where Jane and Mr Rochester have their first formal conversation at Thornfield Hall. The topic of the exchange is their chance encounter during the preceding evening when Mr Rochester fell off his horse. The full passage is first given in English, Hindi, and Kannada, whereupon the rather surprisingly literal rendering of the same passage in the otherwise abridged Gujarati translation follows:

English126	Hindi127	Kannada128
‘I thought not. And so you were waiting for your people when you sat on that stile?’	‘मैं भी यही समझता था। तो तुम उस घुमावदार पुलिया पर बैठकर अपने मित्रों की प्रतीक्षा कर रही थी?’ ‘maiṃ bhī yahī samajhtā thā. to tum us ghumāvdār puliyā par baiṭhkar apne mitroṃ kī pratīkṣā kar rahī thī?’ ‘I also thought so. And so you were sitting on that round culvert waiting for your friends?’	‘ಇಲ್ಲವೆಂದೇ ನಾನೂ ಎಣಿಸಿದೆ. ಹಾಗಾದರೆ ನೀನಲ್ಲಿ ಆ ಶಿಲಾಹಾಸಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಕುಳಿತು ನಿನ್ನ ಜನರಿಗಾಗಿ ಕಾಯುತ್ತಿದ್ದೆಯಾ?’ ‘illavendē nānū eṇiside. hāgādare nīnalli ā śilāhāsinalli kuḷitu ninna janarigāgi kāyuttiddeyā?’ ‘I thought not. If so, were you sitting on that stone waiting for your people?’
‘For whom, sir?’	‘किसकी महाशय?’ ‘kiskī mahāśay?’ ‘For whom, sir?’	‘ಯಾರಿಗಾಗಿ ಸರ್?’ ‘yārigāgi sar?’ ‘For whom, sir?’
‘For the men in green: it was a proper moonlight evening for them. Did I break through one of your rings, that you spread that damned ice on the causeway?’	‘जंगल में रहनेवाली परियों की। कल की चाँदनी पूर्णतः उनके अनुकूल थी। क्या मैंने तुम लोगों का कोई गोल तोड़ दिया था जिससे क्रुद्ध होकर तुमने रास्ते पर वह दुखदायी बर्फ बिछा दिया?’ ‘jaṅgal meṃ rahnevālī pariyoṃ kī. kal kī cāndnī pūrṇtaḥ unke anukūl thī. kyā maiṃne tum logoṃ kā koī gol toṛ diyā thā jisse kruddh hokar tumne rāste par vah dukhdāyī barph bichā diyā?’ ‘For those beings living in the jungle. Yesterday’s moonlight was perfectly suited for them. Did I break some sphere of yours, due to which you got angry and spread that painful ice on the road?’	‘ಹಸಿರುಡುಗೆಯವರಿಗಾಗಿ; ಅದು ಅದಕ್ಕೆ ತಕ್ಕ ಬೆಳದಿಂಗಳ ರಾತ್ರಿಯಾಗಿತ್ತು. ನಾನೇನು ನಿನ್ನ ಪರಿಧಿಯನ್ನು ಅತಿಕ್ರಮಿಸಿದೆನೇ, ನೀನು ಹಾಗೆ ನನ್ನ ದಾರಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಹಿಮ ಚೆಲ್ಲಲು?’ ‘hasiruḍugeyavarigāgi; adu adakke takka beḷadiṇgaḷa rātriyāgittu. nānēnu ninna paridhiyannu atikramisidenē, nīnu hāge nanna dāriyalli hima cellalu?’ ‘For the people dressed in green. It was a proper moonlight night. Did I cross your circle that you spread snow on my path?’
	Gujarati129
	‘મને ખબર જ હતી કે નહીં જ હોય. તો તમે પથ્થર ઉપર બેસીને તમારા સાગરીતોની રાહ જોતાં હતાં?’ ‘શું કહ્યું સાહેબ?’ ‘કેમ, પેલા લીલા રંગના માણસો … ચાંદની રાત પણ હતી. તે જ તમને ગમે છે ને? મેં તે લક્ષ્મણરેખા ઓળંગી? તમે જે બરફ ઉપર દોરી હતી તે?’ ‘mane khabar ja hatī ke nahīṁ ja hoya. to tame paththar upar besīne tamārā sāgarītonī rāh jotāṃ hatāṃ?’ ‘śuṃ kahyuṃ sāheb?’ ‘kem, pelā līlā raṅgnā māṇso … cāndnī rāt paṇ hatī. te ja tamne game che ne? meṃ te lakṣmaṇrekhā oḷaṅgī? tame je baraph upar dorī hatī te?’ ‘I knew for sure that would not be the case. So were you sitting on that stone waiting for your accomplices[?]’ ‘What did you say, sir?’ ‘Well, those green-coloured men … It was a moonlit night too. That is exactly what you like, isn’t it? Did I cross the line of Lakṣmaṇ, which you had drawn on the ice?’

In the original English text, attention must here be drawn to the sentence ‘Did I break through one of your rings, that you spread that damned ice on the causeway?’, where the purport of the word ‘rings’ needs to be considered. The allegorical source of the rings stems from a folkloristic belief in fairies found in the pre-Christian culture of Europe. The idea of a fairy ring or fairy circle originates with an actual physical indentation of varying size caused by a certain kind of subterranean fungi that naturally occurs on the ground or in the grass.130 In European folklore, these rings are associated with magical beings such as fairies, elves, or witches, who are believed to dance within their boundaries on moonlit nights. Thus, when in the same passage Mr Rochester speaks of ‘the men in green’, he is referring to supernatural beings of the forest, who typically are portrayed in green clothes. He thereby implies that Jane conspired with those beings and caused him to fall from his horse as a punishment for having transgressed the sacred boundary of the circle. In folkloric beliefs, trespassing a fairy ring is considered a violation and dangerous for humans.

When reproducing the English ‘Did I break through one of your rings’, the Hindi translation in its literal attempt to formulate the clause betrays the allegorical aspect of the idiom. The result is a somewhat dull and overly literal reading kyā maiṃne tum logoṃ kā koī gol toṛ diyā (Did I break some sphere of yours). The chosen word for ring, in Hindi gol (गोल) meaning sphere or circle, does not evoke the full connotation of the English word in its mythical sense. Although the Kannada translation for ring, paridhi (ಪರಿಧಿ), approximates the meaning of the English word as it signifies an enclosure or boundary and from a purely semantic point of view is a correct choice, it too lacks the folkloristic force of the image.

Astoundingly, the Gujarati translation, which otherwise tends to discard cultural complexities from the source text, approaches the clause at hand through a highly effective translational strategy. Instead of resorting to a literal translation, it captures the imagination of the audience by employing a corresponding Indian allegory. Drawing on an Indian folkloric belief, Paṭel translates the English word ‘rings’ with lakṣmaṇrekhā (લક્ષ્મણરેખા the line of Lakṣmaṇ).131 This Indian adage, referring to a strict boundary or rule that may never be broken or crossed, has its origin in the folk theatre tradition of rāmlīlā (रामलीला plays of Rām).132 Just as in the case of the fairy ring, crossing the lakṣmaṇrekhā (the line of Lakṣmaṇ) brings bad luck and danger. The central scene common to all the rāmlīlā plays is the abduction of Sītā. While staying in a forest exile, the hero Rām goes out to catch a golden deer for his wife Sītā. When he does not return, Sītā requests Rām’s younger brother Lakṣmaṇ to go and look for him. Concerned for her safety, Lakṣmaṇ draws a rekhā (line) on the ground encircling Sītā to form a protective boundary that she is told not to cross. During his absence, however, the evil Rāvaṇ, disguised as a noble ascetic, tricks Sītā to step out of the circle, at which point he snatches her and carries her away. This turn of events constitutes the primary complication in the plot, leading to Rām’s epic struggle to rescue Sītā. Over the centuries, the dictum lakṣmaṇrekhā (the line of Lakṣmaṇ) became so widespread that it has become an Indian household turn of phrase for any limit or boundary not to be transgressed.133

The clever narrative device of the lakṣmaṇrekhā (the line of Lakṣmaṇ) may serve as a fitting example of the intertwined relationship between anuvād (translation), bhāṣā (vernacular), and kathātmik pariṇām (कथात्मिक परिणाम narrative transformation). The translational dependency is a transformative escape from the confines of literalness that allows immersion into the story within the innovative narrative setting of the bhāṣā (vernacular), quite like Kamlā’s imaginative flight from the evil witch in Saṅgdil. In this manner, the Gujarati abridged translation opens up the substance of janeeyreness to the literary world of the rāmlīlā, adding another modality to what the janeeyreness may mean by creating a sandhi (juncture) of substantive equivalence between Jane and Sītā.

Kathātmik pariṇām (narrative transformation) is intrinsic to anuvād (translation) into a bhāṣā (vernacular), as has been instantiated through the selected synoptic readings of Jane Eyre in Hindi, Kannada, and Gujarati. Whether in the exemplification of the literal Hindi translation’s subtle rendering of the English word race into jāti (caste) or the overt occurrence of the Gujarati abridged translation’s substitution of the English fairy ring with the allegory of lakṣmaṇrekhā (the line of Lakṣmaṇ), translation transforms the narrative of a novel into the literary realm of the bhāṣā (vernacular). In such cases, the equivalences between the source text and the translation are more substantive than semantic, inasmuch as the formation of meaning in the bhāṣā (vernacular) occurs primarily within the intralingual linguistic, poetic, and literary formations of the bhāṣā itself, whereas the interlingual transference between the source and target languages is secondary.

Dravyārthik samtulyatā (substantive equivalence), being a broader term than śabdārthik samtulyatā (semantic equivalence), therefore comes to include not only literal translation but also abridged translation and even adaptation. The breadth of the concept tallies with the great variety of translational practices that are observable in the long history of translation in classical and modern Indian sources. An adaptation, such as the film Saṅgdil, or an abridged translation, such as Paṭel’s Gujarati version, is no less substantively equivalent to Jane Eyre than is the Hindi or Kannada literal translation, given that they similarly coalesce in the dravya (substance) Jane Eyre, having qualities of janeeyreness.

The notion of dravyārthik samtulyatā (substantive equivalence) has the potential to create a sense of continuity and consolidation between the classical and modern Indian practices of intertextuality and translation, without any need to dismiss certain forms of textual transformation, such as abridgement or gist translation, as being inferior or outright inadmissible. The very widespread Indian use of abridgement, which is so evident in the case of the modern Indian Jane Eyre renditions, is unsurprising when this contemporary translational practice is viewed historically in comparison to the common literary practices of textual adaptation and retelling within the classical Indian traditions. Summary, paraphrase, and reworking were more widespread writing styles in the classical traditions than literal word-for-word translation. Hence, the textual expectations raised by the modern Indian term anuvād (translation) may differ somewhat from the assumptions invoked by the English term translation.

The generic quality of substantive equivalence prompts the critical question of what the cognitive principle for distinguishing between the Indian phenomena of literal translation, abridged translation, and adaptation might be. Unpacking a universal notion of translation for the purpose of discerning its particulars necessitates recourse to a new theoretical criterion that would allow for setting these three distinct literary practices apart, without the drawback of misconstruing them as mutually exclusive counterparts. Avoiding the proclivity in the European tradition to treat adaptation, abridgement, and translation as diametrical opposites must be at the core of such a modus operandi, which in turn has to take advantage of a theoretical discourse outside the boundaries of occidental parameters.

In the Indian context of poetics, such a criterion may be derived from the classical Indian theory of alaṃkāra (अलंकार tropes), wherein the cognitive term dīpaka (दीपक illumination, epiphany) could serve as a basis for proposing a contiguity between the three practices without asserting an opposition.

The dīpaka (epiphany) is a poetic element that triggers an understanding in the reader of the overall character and meaning of a text. According to the late seventh-century poetician Daṇḍin, the dīpaka takes the form of a hint or sign provided either at the outset, in the middle, or at the end of a work that causes the reader to understand what the given poem is about, for instance the topic of springtime.134 Using such a cognitive principle, it will be argued that engaging the literary notion of dīpaka in translation theory makes it possible to distinguish between literal translation, abridged translation, and adaptation.

A literal translation tends to signal its translational character from the very outset of the publication, for instance, by the fact that the title of the translation corresponds to that of a known work or that concrete paratextual statements are provided on the book cover or in the front matter naming the original author and the translator. These elements given already at the outset of the book can be understood as signs that trigger a dīpaka (epiphany) enabling the reader to identify the text at hand as a literal translation.

Disregarding such hints at the start of the publication, the true character of an abridgement first becomes fully assessable towards the middle of the reading, when the reader is in a position to realise the full extent of the omissions and paraphrases in the rendering. Therefore, in the case of an abridged translation, the dīpaka (epiphany) arises only in the middle of the reading.

Whether a work is an adaptation can be determined solely at the very completion of the reading or viewing, at which point the congruence of the parallels in the storylines between the adaptation and its source text as a whole becomes evident. On this assumption, with adaptations, the dīpaka (epiphany) arises at the end.

These three types of observable signs of transformational configuration are tropes of dīpaka (epiphany) enabling the audience to realise a particular modality as being either literal translation, abridged translation, or adaptation. From a dravyārthik naya (substantive perspective), the three literary practices are similar with regard to being equal instantiations of a given literary work sharing substantive equivalence. From a paryāyārthik naya (modal perspective), they differ in terms of their internal tropological figuration of when and how the dīpaka (epiphany) arises and it is this difference that distinguishes the three translational practices. By regarding the three literary practices analogously as pariṇām (transformations), any irreconcilable dichotomy between equivalence and difference falls away and there need not be an opposition between translation, abridgement, and adaptation.

Dīpaka (epiphany), being a cognition, is a state of consciousness. The tropological cognition of the dīpaka is what induces the consciousness of the reader to conceive of a relation between the source text and the translation in a moment of revelation or illumination. This translational consciousness135 is at once etic and emic.¹³⁶ It is etic owing to the interlingual nature of that relation induced by perceiving a form of equivalence across cultures, while it is emic in as much as the consciousness is mythically enmeshed in an intralingual deep structure of the reader’s personal set of languages, which erects borders of heterolinguistic difference.¹³⁷

Through the synchronicity of these etic and emic aspects, the consciousness transcends the dichotomy of equivalence and difference. The outcome is a metonymic interplay of the source text and the translation, meeting at the sandhi (juncture), as it were, formed by the dīpaka cognition. Accordingly, the nature of a dīpaka cognition is to create a sandhi (juncture) that transforms the initially separate poetic elements into a perception of a then-unified literary substance. Seeing the narrative transformation of janeeyreness in the given instance of Jane Eyre, whether it be translation, abridgement, or adaptation, thereby offers a pathway to a consolidated theory of translation.

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