The story goes that after defeating Mandan Mishra - the great Buddhist philosopher of 8th Century, in a discourse, Adi Shankaracharya was finally intrigued by Mandan Mishras consort who on the plea of being the ardhangini (the better half) of her husband and herself being an equally enlightened scholar put a scholastic challenge to the Hindu sage. She asked him, "Well, most reverend sage, what do you know about the sexual act?" And since Shankaracharya had been a celibate, he had to request her to give him some time to answer, for he could do so only after he would have had an experience of the sort. Permission and relaxation thus granted, he walked out of the pulpit and went into the jungle. There, to his good luck, he happened to see the dead body of king Amrooka who had come on a hunt to the jungle and had been killed by some wild animal. Suddenly an idea flashed and Shankara decided to enter the body of the dead king. The soul of the sage deserted his mortal frame and the king came back to life. Shankara had learnt the yogic kala of transmigrating his soul thus into the others body. Shankara-in- Amrooka now went back to the palace, stayed as a king, enjoyed marital bliss with his queen and after having gained in experience, once again, went to the jungle. Left the body of the king, came back to his own corporeal frame. Attended the discourse of Mandan Mishras wife and finally could answer herproperly.
Well, the art of translation is a similar yogic kriya which involves the transmigration of ones soul into the body of the original poet/author. The translator is supposed to re-live the whole compositional experience of the translated poet and / or the to- be-translated piece of art. Translation is, in fact, a rehearsal, which is past performance. It is furthermore a performance beyond the performance. It is a diptych, a rear mirror glass fitted in front, a beyond to a by-gone, a future to a past un- hyphenatedby a present, a vector to a scalar called poetry, the image of Narcissus in the pond lovingly looking back at the shepherd now turned into a flower; it is love in love with its own image in the eyes of its love itself, a mirror facing another mirror - who sees whom? Who knows??
A translator is what Nirala- the great Hindi poet of the last Century says about the eyes of Lord Rama getting moist owing to a sudden flash of remembrance of his consort who at present is not with him and then -
Khinchgayedrigo me Ram ke Sita keRammayanayan...
(Suddenly so, there lurked in the eyes of Rama the Lords image-bearing eyes of Sita...)

TRANSLATION is an arch-a covenant like a rainbow between the original and the nearly original. It is the cupping of ones palm upon ones brows to have a better and more focused glimpse of something beyond, something deep and everything distanced.
Poets are liars they say and translators are lie-detectors and the best of them is the one who catches the liar red-handed! And if, for Eliot, a poet during poetic composition is a catalyst, the translator at his art is a redox exchanger.
Once (more) upon a time... says the translator what though Once upon a time...so goes the story.
(Anuraag Sharma)