“The Hanuman Chalisa by Tulsidas is one of the best-known and best-loved poems in the world. Tens of millions of people recite it by heart, and chant it daily, as well as in times singularly joyful or sorrowful—or when they feel the need for support or courage.
So too did Bhaskar, the precocious young mathematician in A Suitable Boy who, as a child, loved to participate in the annual Ramlila in Brahmpur in his role as a monkey warrior.”

I’ve heard the Hanuman Chalisa since childhood – it was sung or played on cassettes at religious gatherings; the closer, if you will, at the end of prayer gatherings at home or in temples in the US. It is the one bhajan, hymn, almost every Indian (north Indian, anyway) knows by heart. I’ve also seen it engraved in temples in India, telling Hanuman’s story succinctly in 40-ish couplets. Hanuman – the ‘monkey god’ who, as Vikram Seth describes, has many roles:
warrior, protector, remover of obstacles, teacher, devotee, adviser, bestower of good things, intercessor, friend, miracle worker, god.
I’ve carried a pocket version of the Hanuman Chalisa in Hindi for years, my tattered copy replaced recently with one found in my agnostic, physicist father’s dresser (even he was a fan). Memorizing the entire poem is now a personal goal but this seems much harder to do than when I was in grade school. I thought if I understood all of the Awadhi words, I would know logically which couplet comes next but the English translations I found on the web were too…flowery. Then, while browsing online for new fiction by Indian authors, I found an unexpected gem – Vikram Seth’s translation of the Hanuman Chalisa. Vikram Seth!
Seth writes he did this translation of the Hanuman Chalisa “as a labor of love” ten years before its release in 2024, when he was “persuaded to publish it.” Whoever convinced him, thank you!
It is a gorgeous, slim book – the vermillion red cover, with ‘Sri Hanuman Chalisa’ in Hindi text, embossed in metallic gold, is simply beautiful.
In the introduction, Seth gives a short lesson on the structure of the Hanuman Chalisa, the number of beats in each line in the two different kinds of couplets, which makes listening to the Chalisa now so much more enjoyable for me. Seth says he was tempted to add notes on the Hanuman Chalisa’s history, more context about the characters and events, and “a detailed analysis of the rhythm and prosody of the [couplets]…” He decided against the notes to keep the translation simple.
And it is, a simple translation, and visually uncluttered. The left pages show the Hindi text and transliteration of either a couplet or a quatrain. Pages on the right have Seth’s English translation.

I was so pleased to see the Hindi text – given that transliteration schemes can vary, reading the lines in Hindi, reassured me of correct pronunciation. Seth points out he kept the transliteration simple as well – another thank you! This may not sit well with purists but, for someone who was transliterating Hindi film songs at age 10 and thought she had invented ‘Hindi-in-English,’ I’m with Vikram Seth. He kept it simple
in order to make the sound of the poem accessible to those who cannot read the Hindi text, to add a simple phonetic transliteration…
The most joyful aspect of this translation, however, is pure Vikram Seth:
I translated the Hanuman Chalisa using both rhythm and rhyme because I wanted to convey something of the incantatory pleasure of the original.
Seth refers to the “pulse’ of the original quatrains, the chaupais – when one sings or recites the Hanuman Chalisa, there is a ‘traditional’ rhythm, tune. Seth’s English translation wonderfully retains that rhythm in almost every line. And then, Seth seems to apologize how in certain cases he wasn’t able to “…recreate the wonderfully musical echoes and alliterations of the original…” I read some of the quatrains aloud (I admit, I was skeptical, even of Seth), and it works. This is what was missing from the translations I had seen on the internet.
Seth dedicates his translation of the Hanuman Chalisa to Bhaskar, of A Suitable Boy,
…who learned the poem when he was five, but who spent his fifties fighting the chauvinism and intolerance to which this and many other well-beloved religious texts and rituals have been put.
Seth continues,
Nothing could be further from the humanity and inclusivity of the best of Hinduism than the self-aggrandisement and wilful cruelty of those who use the religion in which—in the lottery of life—they happen to be born, in order to attack or demean others.
After a couple of rough years, the Hanuman Chalisa has become my balm. Its rhythm, voices in the family singing in unison – I listen to it often – a contemporary version from a few years ago by Shekhar Ravjiani – a less ‘frenzied’ version the traditional compositions. I play it when I’m flying, especially at take off – having Hanuman, the Son of the Wind, along can’t hurt. I’ve read Seth’s translation several times in the three or four days I’ve had the book – whether it will help me to recite the entire Hanuman Chalisa by heart remains to be seen, but I will definitely enjoy the process.
“pavanatanaya sankata haran, mangala
moorati roop
raama lakhana seetaa sahit, hridaya basahu
sura bhoop
Son of the Wind, crisis dispeller,
blessed form, I implore—
With Ram, Lakshman and Sita,
dwell thou in my heart’s core.”
~ The Hanuman Chalisa, translated by Vikram Seth ~ Speaking Tiger (India), 2024.
So glad Seth came through for you, Reeta! 😉
a surprising find!
Thanks to the miracle of youtube, anyone can listen to the Hanumanchalisa now.
The chalisa expresses its spirituality in the mode of adoration which – in addition to its relative obscurity where I grew up – doesnt quite touch me, although Awadhi has a sweet seductive quality.
My own Awadhi addiction is fed by Sant Kabeer’s compositions that never fail to engage the mind and elevate the heart. The joy and innocence of these little girls only underlines Kabeer’s message of impermanence.
Says the clay to the potter: Who are you to crush me so ? A day will come when you will lie crushed under me.
I can relate to regionality of devotional songs – I’m now (pleasantly) getting accustomed to
‘Sukhkharta, dukhharta varta vignachi, noorvi poorvi prem krupya jayachi’
(but this isn’t calming as the Chalisa – makes me want to find a sword)
2nd and 3rd most-listened to on my ‘Soul’ playlist are V.1 & V.2 of Kabir Amritwani, each about 1 hour, set to a traditional tune. My mother had the CDs so I haven’t actually watched the videos. The Awadhi in Kabir’s couplets is
more simple for me, discovering more dohe in recent years has been — enlightening – how relevant they still are today. The one you’ve referenced – Maati kahe, – such a different composition (for a UPite) – lovely.
If I had to pick one that has been with me since childhoood –
Dukh me sumiran sab karen, sukh me kare na koi, jo sukh me sumiran karen to dukh kaahe hoye
– everyone prays when in need/suffering; if we prayed when happy/content, then why would there be suffering. Simplistic, but…
Lately, when I look at the useless 30′ palm tree in my yard, which may one day crush my house, I think of:
‘Bada hua to kya hua, jaisa ped khajoor, panti ko chhaya nahi, phal laage athi door’
-so what if one is great, tall, like a date palm – it provides no shade and the dates are too far to reach anyway 🙂
For an hour of Awadhi, #4 on my playlist is the CliffsNotes version of Tulsidas’ Ramayana – 1 hour, hitting all the high points: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpDFUCqRKEA
https://youtu.be/JWrqvgJ4oLM?si=I1fLfXIS09xxA7us
This should be the link to V.1 of Kabir Amritwani