Hindustani

David Grant Stewart, Sr.

(c) 2007

Hindustani uses an adapted Arabic alphabet.

The reason the letters دور DWR do not have a medial form is that if they lost their tails they would be indistinguishable from some other letters.

Any word beginning with any vowel must begin with the vowel placeholder ا alif. This serves the same function as the Assyrian or Sumerian character i which has the default sound I but can stand for any vowel. Notice that the Hindustani or Arabic placeholder character has exactly the same form as our Roman letter I. Countless similarities like this preserved in Hindustani will show you why we need it in our toolbox to reconstruct the language of Adam. The shape and sound are also preserved in the Chinese numeral for 1 but we will get to that farther down the road.

When a syllable begins with a vowel, it is introduced by the ٔ character called hamzeh. You get the idea that all these characters were originally syllables and that the default was consonant + vowel.

Since the hamzeh is a diacritical character [like an accent in Western languages, indicating pronunciation], it requires something to carry it, just as an accent cannot exist in any Western language without some letter under it. So the Arabic letters corresponding to the ancient Egyptian Hieratic characters, in turn representing hieroglyphs, are used. So the hamzeh replaces the ancient vowels that were originally stand alone syllables and presses their descendent characters back into their original service. We see this so much in language, that it becomes longer and less expressive. For example, we say “baptism by immersion” only because over two thousand years people have forgotten that baptism is immersion.

This little gem ّ is called tashdid in Hindustani [shadda in Arabic]. It doubles the letter below it. A dot in the letter does the same thing in Hebrew, as we will see later. This is a vestige from the language of Adam where a line over a character raises it to the next higher degree. Let’s look at this mark a little closer:

ّ You can see this carries its own mnemonic: a double loop means a doubled consonant. But there’s an even better mnemonic: This mark is what we call a “W.”  You noticed many years ago that W is not a double U at all, but a double V, so you concluded that it was formed at a time when U and V were the same letter. You also know have known all your life that W is the only letter in the alphabet that represents two other letters in the same alphabet. So now you know that it is entirely appropriate to use this as a sign in Hindustani and every other language using the Arabic alphabet, that the letter under it is like our W in that it is DOUBLED. Only our Muslim friends are more catholic in their tastes: any letter can be doubled with this sign. We Westerners are narrower in insisting that only U can be doubled, and only when it looks like a V but we do not call it so. Hooray for the Muslims! In hoc signo duplicas!

The sign ْ - let’s magnify it - ْ “sukun” - means there’s no vowel to the letter under it. So you see again that the default was that there was a vowel to the letter [consonant] under it. Of course you can see the mnemonic here. This character is our 0 – zero. Here it really means “nothing.”

The Hindustanis put a character over Arabic loan words that does not exist in my Arabic font but it looks rather like a tiny و W and is called “waslah.” This indicates that the letter under it is elided. If you’ve taken a first semester French course you know about elision. If not, it means that the letter is swallowed up by the one that follows it. So instead of the Arabic definite article AL -something, the L is dropped and the following consonant is doubled: AS -something. This happens all the time in Arabic and even a Westerner familiar with Arabic place names catches on pretty quickly as to what consonants elide the definite article.

The mark ٓ maddah occurs sometimes over and initial alif to show that it is long. It’s just a line, almost straight, like our macron ¯ serving exactly the same function.

Now on the off chance that you don’t happen to be a whiz at Arabic geography, the rule for elision is that the first letter [of an Arabic word, including Arabic loan words in Hindustani] happens to be a liquid or sibilant, elision is performed. In English, that means LMNR [liquids] or SZ [sibilants].

In Romance languages, we get -o as a sign of a masculine noun and -a as the sign of a feminine. In Hindustani, the sign of the masculine is ا [A, alif] at the end of a word; ۍ  [Y, yeh with a small slanted line under it, only approximated by this character] is the sign of the feminine.

The masculine plural is indicated by the suffixes ی E yeh in nouns and ڹ EN nun but with two dots below, like our childrEN, sometimes grammatically altered to وں

ON. Some of these characters do not come through exactly right because this font is designed for Arabic only; there should be a dot above the nun.

Now I want to show you something interesting about the feminine plural. The suffixes are اڹ AN or ايڹ IYAN. The latter calls to mind the Armenian family name suffix. Let’s look at some examples. These are from Palmer’s book written in 1881.

ۥکٺّا KUTTA, dog. Is it masculine or feminine? Masculine. ۥکٺی KUTTE, dogs. Now watch: ۥکٺی کا KUTTE KA, of a dog. What is an interrogative suffix in Japanese is a sign of the genitive in Hindustani.  Plural: KUTTON KA of the dogs. Notice that in this instance the genitive plural is identical to the Greek, -ων ON.

But it gets better. لرکی LARKI girl. There’s something cheery sounding about that. Arabic is stingier than Hindustani and Persian with dots. There should be four dots over the R.

What do you suppose is the plural of girls? لرکیاڹ LARKIYAN.

Finally, “of the girls” is لرکیوڹ کا LARKIYON KA.

Here is a case for an R-N transform. The word for man or men is مرد MARD. The Danish word is MAND, preserved in the German word JEMAND, someone, anyone.

The masculine genitive plural is again identical to the Greek. مردوڹ کا MARDON KA of the men.

Inflections of nouns are indicated by postpositions, as in most inflected languages.

کا KA is the sign of the genitive. I think we mentioned this earlier.

کو KO indicates the object. Notice that this is like the Japanese n [W]O which serves exactly the same purpose: HmneZaM PA N [W]O KU DA SA I, “Bread [object], please!” i.e., “Please pass the bread.”

The agent is indicated by ڹى NE, analogous to the Russian M and Egyptian I M.

The ablative or instrumental case [the agent assumes part of that function, as you may suppose], is indicated by سى SE. Notice this calls to mind the Romance reflexive.

The locative [in] is indicated by مين MEN. Just the opposite of Hebrew מין, MIN, from.

The locative [on] is indicated by ڦر PAR, on. Remember the R - N transform I showed you in 3152? Making that same transform here we get [u]pon, identical to English.

The locative [up to] is ٺکٔ TAK. This calls to mind the Russian expression с тих пор, как “since” [lit. “from up to the time that”].

The vocative in Hindustani is the same as in many languages. How many times have you heard a Latin American exclaim “Ay!” Well, here it is on the other side of the globe: ای, “Ay!”

First person singular pronoun in Hindustani: مين MAIN, I. You can’t help but see the similarity of German “mein” and of course English “mine.”

2^nd person singular: is identical to the Romance languages: ٺو TU.

1^st plural: ھَمْ HAM, we.

2^nd plural: ٺم TUM, you. Nothing more than the singular with an M plural suffix.

Genitive 1^st singular مېرا MERA of me. Note the KA-RA switch for personal pronouns. The irony here is that both of these genitiv suffixes r postpositions constitute, combined, the Japanese word of the same meaning: q- KA RA, of, from, as in Btq-whszqTDO KO KA RA KI MA SHI TA KA Where did you come from?

ٺيرا TERA, of thee. This -RA partitive suffix also calls to mind the Egyptian RA which is or can be an indication that what follows is a fraction.

As you’d expect, “of us” is ھمارا HAMARA.

And “of you” is تمھار TUMHARA. Notice that sometimes the U is expressed, and other times, as here, it is merely implied.

What does “wo” mean? We’ll get that insight next time, from Hindustani, of all places, but then we’ll see that it was right under our noses all along. This word has retained its language of Adam meaning in both Hindustani and English, as we shall see.

The sign of the remote demonstrative is the prefix ٷ WU. This is also the cognate of our English word “wo” and the “o-“ in “other.” These are all vestiges of the language of Adam word O which means separate, or remote. Sometimes it carries the notion of a companion such as in OLIBLISH which means “companion to the heart of intelligence, glory, etc.” but usually it means remote in time and space as in OMER, “remote in time and space from the beloved homeland of Egypt.” It is preserved in our word “wo” which means “separate, cut off, cast off, remote.” I explained some time ago that our word “other” is simply: [w]o + ther; - [w]o = culled out, separated, remote; ther = dual suffix, dual because it is impossible to have an “other” unless there is one in the first place. If you have only one brother, it is impossible to have an “other.” Try out these definitions on this scripture:

D&C 50:8: But the hypocrites shall be detected and shall be cut off, either in life or in death, even as I will; and wo unto them who are cut off from my church, for the same are overcome of the world.

and this one:

... wo unto them; because they have offended my little ones; they shall be severed from the ordinances of mine house ...

As in all the Romance and Slavic languages and Japanese, ک KA is the sign of the interrogative. Sometimes the Slavic K is disguised because it is softened as in Polish “czy.”

As in Russian, چچ J [I have put two of them here so you can see what an initial J looks like; otherwise the software changes it to the freestanding form] is the sign of the relative. Compare Russian же, тоже, также, уже.

As in Russian and English, ت T is correlative. Compare Russian когда, тогда and English when, then. WH serves as the sign of the interrogative in English, as you know.

These are important principles in understanding the original language. When we get there you will see that a matrix of meanings is associated with every consonant and every vowel. When the conversions are known, you will see that every language was originally completely logical and descriptive. For example, now you can see that the interrogative function in English is handled by the consonant cluster WH,  while the same function is handled by K, CZ, or CH in the Slavic languages, QUI or C in the Romance languages, M in the Semitic languages, and so on.

For example, يھ YIN this.

وُھ WUH that.

کون KAUN who?

جون JAUN who, which

ٺوٺ TAUN that same.

Now you are beginning to see patterns that make it a lot easier both to understand and to remember how things work. In the next discussion, we’ll see patterns that reinforce the ideas we have seen up to now.

Note the controlling effect of the leading consonants in English and its exact analogs in Hindustani.

يھان YAHAN here [= this-place].

وھان WAHAN there [= that-place].

کھان KAHAN where [= what- place?].

ڄھان JAHAN wherever [=whatever place].

تھان TAHAN there [=that place].

ادھر IDHAR hither [to this place]. Notice again the I as the sign of what is closest to the first person.

ادھر UDHAR thither [to that place]. Notice the difference between ادھر IDHAR and ادھر UDHAR? That’s right, there isn’t any. English, with its read, present tense, and read, past tense, is not the only language with written ambiguities.

کدھر KIDHAR whither [to what place?]. By now you’ve noticed that دھر DHAR carries the idea of direction; it is our own “road” backwards, and is cognate with Hebrew דרך, DEREK, road, way, path.

ڄدھر JIDHAR whither [to which place].

ٺدھر TIDHAR thither [to that place].

The comparative mood is expressed by using the instrumental or ablative on the object compared and without changing the adjective. The example Palmer gives in his 1881 grammar is: يھ لڙکا اس س اڇھا ھا YIH LARKA US SE ACHCHHA HAI

 يھ YIH This

 لڙکا  LARKA boy

 اس  US that

 س  SE ablative or instrumental case indicator

اڇھا ACHCHHA good

 ھا HAI is

 يھ لڙکا اس س اڇھا ھا YIH LARKA US SE ACHCHHA HAI This boy is better than that.

Notice that  يھ YIH  “this” in Hindustani compares with Chinese 这ZHE “this” exactly the same way Russian я YA compares with French “je”, both meaning “I”.

Also notice that the final word and syllable in this sentence, HAI, pronounced “HEH” is something you will hear a lot in Hindustani languages. This is perhaps the most distinguishing characteristic of Hindi, for example.

I’ve got to introduce the Persian comparative if for no other reason than that you will never forget it. The word for “better” in Persian is بھتر BIHTAR. This is sometimes used in Hindustani too.

The word for “all” in Hindustani is سب SAB. This is also the sign of the superlative, which we will illustrate.

سب لڙکون س اڇھا SAB LARKON SE ACHCHHA Best of all the boys.

سب  SAB all.

لڙکون  LARKON boys.

س  SE ablative or instrumental case indicator.

اڇھا ACHCHHA good

سب لڙکون س اڇھا SAB LARKON SE ACHCHHA Best of all the boys.

Numbers

Left to right, they are: ١٢٣٤٥٦٧٨٩٠ with slight dialectical variations mainly in the number 4. The odd thing about numbers written in Arabic script of languages that use it, is that they are generally written left to right even when all the letters themselves are written right to left.

One peculiarity we see in other languages besides Hindustani is that the numbers immediately preceding the decades (20-1, 30-1, ..., 80-1) are all expressed not as 19, 29, etc. but as 20-1, 30-1, and so on.

One very peculiar trait of Hindustani is that the name of the number 60, ساٿھ SATH, is the same as the word in Slavic and other languages for 100, сот SOT. This reflects on the fact that anciently the numbering system was hexigesimal, base 60, instead of decimal, base 10 or 100.

Hindustani verbs are constructed of an ideological root and the verb “to be.” This is like most other languages but it is a little more apparent in Hindustani.

All the examples we are giving in Hindustani come from Palmer’s 1881 grammar as previously mentioned. Let’s look at the verb “fall” it its root form: گِر GIR. Let’s blow it up a bit so we can see the details. گِر

Note that this is functionally equivalent to the Portuguese word of the same meaning, CAIR [KI-EAR]. Remember that there was a time for several hundred years in Latin when C and G were indistinguishable, so anyone named CAIUS could also be pronounced GAIUS. In fact this is why our G looks like a C - it used to be a C but the - was added to indicate a voiced C, and the letter G was born.

This گِر GIR is an important root because it comes directly from the language of Adam through Sumerian. [This is why I’m dragging you through Hindustani.] GIR in Sumerian carries the notions of a flash as lightning, falling, and that which is downward, namely the lowest member or extremity of the body, the feet. So in Sumerian we have NIMGIR, that which flashes and falls [GIR] from on high {NIM, NIN], the word for lightning. Notice too that with the Egyptian and Chinese R-L equivalence, we have the English word LEG, recalling that every syllable can be read in both directions. With the Slavic G-D equivalence and the Egyptian R-P equivalence, we have the Latin PED of the same meaning.

This گِر GIR is only the root in Hindustani. To make it an infinitized verb, we have to add the suffix نا NA so that the verb in infinitive form becomes گرنا [let’s blow it up] گرنا GIR NA, “to fall.” You can see that this assembly logic is identical to English: “strength,” a noun, but “strength-en,”  to confer the attribute of “strength,” to make strong.

Everything I’ve said here you already knew, but in a different form, and probably never gave it a thought. In translating the original language, all these thoughts must be kept presently in our minds simultaneously, or we can not do it.

The Hindustani “I am falling” is represented by گِرون GIR-UN. Note the similarity between the Hindustani -UN and the English -ING, where the former is practically a sloppy pronunciation of the latter. (“Are ya cumun?”  “Nope. Ahm still eatun.”).

The root of the verb “write” is لِكھ LIKH. Here the H does not represent a part of the K sound but is an entirely separate letter. Recognizing that the final H in the Arabic alphabet is equivalent to a T, we have here the exact Latin root of reading that which is written, LECT as in lecture, which originally meant to read a written paper to others.

Now let’s look at a very important root, د DE, give. This is exactly the same root as the same word of the same meaning and pronunciation in the language of Adam, identical to what scholars call the T in Hieratic. In the other three forms of Adamic it is D in Phoenician script, X in Hieroglyphic script, and T in Cuneiform script. In all four writing systems it means the same things: provide, possess, protect, strong, exalted. It is the same AD we saw in the name ADAM and the DI we saw in ADAM ONDI AHMAN. Chinese and Romance languages preserve it as the sign of the possessive, also called genitive case by grammarians. Thus we have in Chinese  我的书 WO DE SHU, my book, and in Portuguese O LIVRO DE JOAO,  John’s book, and in Russian Я тебе даю книгу, I give you a book, d even in our own language, endow, to give somebody something.

There are countless other interesting aspects of Hindustani but we will find them in other languages too, so let’s move on to Demotic.