Translator’s Ramblings: Part 3

Originally I just wanted to leave a reply to a couple of the comments on Ch.32, but since my thoughts always tend to go off in all kinds of directions, inevitably I decided I’d do a post instead. Obviously, don’t read this if you are not caught up to the updates yet 😛

At the end of Ch.32, I had invited you all, particularly those who are religious, to comment on Rajiva’s confession and his decision to act on his feelings, to break his monastic vows. As you know, I’m not a religious person (though not atheist, more like agnostic), hence why I was curious about the thoughts of those who are. So first and foremost, thank you for sharing them with me ❤

Disclaimer: I’m not trying to start an argument, nor am I criticizing anyone for their opinions. I believe in freedom of expression, and this to me is more like a discourse than a verbal spar. I just think it’s interesting to read and see people’s varying interpretations to the same material. It’s a fictional work, sure, but I still think it’s worth discussing, because what is written tend to reflect lived experiences, and that realism is what keeps us engaged, what keeps us invested in the characters, in the story.

Now onto the actual post:

I don’t mean to call you guys out like this, but it was necromancer and May‘s comments that made me pause and re-analyze Rajiva as a character, and the novel as a whole.

It is as necromancer said, had the other monks found about this, Rajiva would have been forced to leave his sangha (Buddhist community). He knew this, which was why he asked if he should “break his vows”–it is somewhat a poor word choice on my part in hindsight. What he was asking was whether he should renounce his status a monk for good, so he can be with Ai Qing, so she won’t have to leave. It was hard to find the right phrase that could convey all without being unnecessarily wordy. So that’s my fault as the translator, I apologize.

That said, I respectfully disagree with you both about the novel (and by extension, Xiao Chun) trying to make Rajiva as this seemingly “holy person”. If anything, it is the complete opposite. In fact, what the novel has been trying to get across is despite his training, despite his goal to become a true bhikkhu, Rajiva is always in a constant struggle to overcome his emotions, to break free of his ties to the earthly realm. It is a struggle that torments him greatly because he is someone who feels too much, too deeply. He is far too human to rid himself of attachments so easily.

He did cross an important line in the chapter, but it was a moment that had been built up by the preceding chapters, so it was neither sudden or out-of-character in my opinion. Let us recall the events leading up to this moment: Rajiva had lost both of his parents, one after another, in a very short period of time. We, as well as Ai Qing, could see the grief that consumed him, and even when his mind told him that he shouldn’t cry, he ended up doing so anyway. The death of a loved one is not easy to overcome, let alone the death of one’s parents, because the love you have for your parents, there is no beginning or end. You cannot pinpoint a specific moment in time where you realize you love your parents, because you always have, and neither can you point to a time when that love runs out, because it doesn’t. Death doesn’t change that truth.

Rajiva had just lost two loved ones in a row, so he was in a very vulnerable state of mind, even if it was not as obvious as the way his brother expressed himself. So when confronted with the news of Ai Qing leaving, I think a part of him reacted much more strongly than he would have, had he not just went through what he did. Here is someone else he loves (this he doesn’t–can’t deny), and that person is also about to leave him possibly for good this time. Did you see him fumbling for excuses to make her stay around for longer? From pretending to not have read Sima Qian’s Records, to bringing her to see the Kizil Grottoes, to making up new excursions for her come along? He even told her to be with his brother if that’s what will keep her in his sight, which was obviously a poor move since our Ai Qing is no toy to be passed around.

Rajiva was clearly desperate. Scared out of his mind, even. He was not able to be there for his mother when she passed, not that she would have wanted him to. He watched his father depart from this world with his own eyes. In both cases, there was not much he could do. But Ai Qing? Her situation was something that he could perhaps do something about. And if what she wanted was him…then he would not deny her. The first two goodbyes were already hard enough to endure, a third one coming right after them like this, would be too much for one to bear. A mind like his can only handle so much. And it is as he said, he had already broken his vows since a long time ago anyway, so what was one more infraction?

Perhaps I am reading far too much into Rajiva’s character, or it could be that I also have the benefit of hindsight, having already read the novel in its entirety. I think Ch.34 might help clear up some of your thoughts on Rajiva’s feelings regarding Ai Qing. Maybe that too is precisely the issue. The novel is narrated from Ai Qing’s perspective, so we are not always in the known about what Rajiva thinks or feels, and with his status as a monk, it is even harder to discern what is behind that mask of calm. I guess I could see why some of you would come to view Rajiva as this “holy person” as a result, and end up being disappointed when he turns out not to be. Yet at the same time, this is what drew Ai Qing in, what drew me and many other readers in, this seemingly “holy person” who turns out to be so full of warmth and emotions underneath, whose heart beats just like any other, who loves and grieves equally as hard as any of us. It is this humane side of him that makes Rajiva a three-dimensional character.

Xiao Chun didn’t set out writing this novel for it to be yet another dry biography on this famous translator monk (at least in Chinese Buddhist history), because she knew that if she did do that, nobody would be interested. When we pick up a novel, we know we’re in for some suspension of disbelief, and yet what keeps us going, what keeps us glued to the pages, is the nuggets of realism intertwined within the story. Only when we can relate to the characters, can empathize with their woes, can we feel invested in their journey, their struggles. A straight-laced Buddhist monk who has managed to completely detach from the earthly realm, who has cut through all fetters, would not have been an easy character to relate to. Because if that person doesn’t even feel to begin with, what emotions are we supposed to grasp onto then? So the only way to go is to tease out the layers, to unveil the mask of calm and reveal the humanity underneath. Because that is worth reading about—the journey to define oneself in the midst of this confusing and chaotic world, where principles are not so easily followed, and emotions not easily overcome.