Ob-Ugric, XI – Khanty (Tsingala)
The final class was spent looking at a text in a Southern dialect of Khanty, Tsingala, on the heavenly origins of the bear. Western dialects of Khanty divide into North and South; accordingly, Tsingala is related to Demjanka, Konda, and Krasnojarsk. These forms are probably extinct.
The text was noted down in 1899 by Vasilii Yakovlevich from ‘two old folks’ in a village on the Irtysh, reproduced from E. Vértes (ed.), K. F. Karjalainens Südostjakische Textsammlungen I, Helsinki, Suomalais-Ugralainen Seura, MSFOu 157, pp. 113-5, and translated as ‘A medve égi származásárol’ in E. Vértes (ed.), Hadmenet, nászmenet. Irtisi osztják mesék és mondák, Budapest, Európa, 1975, pp. 5-6. The frequency of repetition and parallels would suggest that the text is particularly archaic. As in other dialects of Ostyak, the past tense is unmarked. The present is marked with -l or -t.
FlailingpawMan (jāwətta ketpe xuj) and TjaperwomanMother (ťăpərneŋ aŋkə) are the bear’s ancestors, he is lowered to the earth by his seven-times-indented father (Numi Torem, as seven is sacred) on a metal chain:
karsəɣər təjnə wǎx sēɣər təjnə
vaslánc végen fém lánc végen
which would also suggest that metal was available in prehistory, prior to the re-primitivisation process mentioned elsewhere in these posts. A hunter and his dog disturb the bear from hibernation, but with customary circumlocution, the hunter is referred to only as xǎr jǎxtə xuj (erdőjáró ember), and the bear is never named. Killing a bear is the most taboo expression of them all, and as such idioms will pose a translation problem:
nuŋət ītə pājəŋ xǎttəŋ tūrəm pāɣəttam
Vértes translates this into Hungarian as ‘leszállítalak a véres alsó világba’, into German as ’so töte ich Dich’.
The text was a relatively easy read. Not only because Tsingala uses a similar word order to Hungarian, or because a number of words are by now familiar from looking at other Ob-Ugric languages: jāŋx (to go, also found in Ómagyar Mária Siralom), jast (to say), amp (dog), kət kittət (two hands/két kezet), wərta (to make), tēwət (to eat), səmem (my heart).
When asked whether Hungarian and its distant relatives are similar, the answer has to be a boring ‘yes and no’. Although the split occurred thousands of years ago, studying these languages without a knowledge of Hungarian would probably be too demanding. It’s also a peculiar feeling to come across something and think, that’s a little bit just like Hungarian!
The classes were greatly rewarding, a rare insight into cultures so unfamiliar and fascinating, and, having also served as an introduction to historical and comparative linguistics for those of us relatively new to the field, allow one to refute any crackpot linguistic theory with confidence. On a broader cultural note, the origins of the Hungarian language will always be tied in with ideas of the origins (and therefore belonging) of the Hungarian people, to the extent that fantastic visions of the latter will inform the former. While the premises of the nineteenth-cenutry ugor-török háború may not have survived intact, the desire and search for anchorage most certainly have. It wouldn’t do university departments of Russian any harm, either, to acknowledge languages and cultures native to Russia.