Translation is always a daunting task as the invention of terms like 'transcreation' shows. Any replacement of one language with another in a creative work necessarily requires the intervention of a personality, a medium, a philosophy, and a readership at least partially alien to the original. When Rabindranath's song-lyrics-Rabindrasangeet-are in focus, the task moves upward in scale from "daunting" to "herculean" considering the greatness of the creative genius. Moreover, the fusion of thought and melody achieved in this unique creation-also the sonic impact of the language and rhythm-remains untransferable, not to be tinkered with. Even when the words are uttered as speech they ring with a music-less music, creating a magical language.

Into the crucible of Rabindrasangeet have been poured Tagore's preoccupation with the Upanishads, acquired from his father, the Maharshi, an acquaintance with rural Bengal in the gentle natural beauty of which he delighted, and Vaishnava philosophy which was a traditional component of Bengali culture. Furthermore, the divine madness of the bauls of rural Bengal, their songs of the open road leading nowhere and everywhere, the personal and intimate nature of their awareness of the man-god relationship, have inescapably entered Rabindranath's sangeet as an adjunct of his familiarity with the baul community in his Shilaidaha and Birbhum days. For the casual reader, an awareness of these formative factors in reading Rabindrasangeet as geetikabya which the poet himself endorsed in a brief prefatory note to Gitabitan, is a necessary rigour for improved comprehension.

For the intrepid translator, the impact of these influences poses certain difficulties. For instance, while Rabindranath's song-lyrics are often imbued with the mysticism inherent in the Vaishnava use of the Radha-Krishna legend which is for the aware reader to decipher, the translator is confronted with the task of translating words like the frequently-used viraha for which no adequate linguistic or conceptual equivalent exists in English. Yet viraha as word and thought is inescapable in both the Puja-parjay or devotional and the Prem-parjay or love songs. Conceptually defining the divine-human relationship in the devotional songs, it has an equally significant import in the intensely emotional love songs thus blurring all distinctiveness of Prem and Puja.

Significant also is the constant but constantly altering use of the words poth and pothik which gain in meaning and ambience against the backdrop of Baul philosophy. The translator has, necessarily, had to be aware of the subtle shades and nuances of words such as these (Uryapa or udashin, udash, udashi) while translating. An awareness of the context was essential.

The quirks of the Bengali language, as well as its elasticity, threw up another poser for the translator even as they tuned in with the poet's deliberate creation of mystery and the chance open to him to induct the vocabulary of mysticism into his songs. A major instance is the enigmatic use of shey. While gender-confusion was a problem to be dealt with according to the discretion and comprehension of the translator, for the poet it was an opportunity to mystify and leave all conclusions modernistically open. In the poet's use of the subtle nuances of the Radha-Krishna myth in which there is a free exchange of roles between lover and beloved, devotee and deity, for example, shey could be conveniently used to underscore the enigma. In other instances, shey might denote the other self, human or divine, with whom the poet engages in an ongoing conversation.