Why Bengali Could Never Surpass Hindi to Become India’s Top Language

To the surprise of many, nearly 500 residents of Bengal – 200 of them Hindu and the rest Muslim – jointly petitioned the government in 1839 in favour of Persian against their native Bengali language.

It may come as a surprise to many people, but it’s true: Bengali had a chance to be India’s top language. The idea was killed after it faced stiff resistance from no one but Bengalis themselves, the rich and powerful ones, who favoured Persian.

The Bengali-Persian quarrel may be dead, but the politics of language is very much alive and well in India even today, nearly 200 years after the earlier episode played out.

With Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s Hindu-centric Bharatiya Janata Party pushing to impose Hindi as India’s national language, linguistic chauvinism is back to being centre stage in this nation of 1.4 billion people.

The government has backed off for now in the face of strong opposition from non-Hindi speakers, who account for 75% of the country’s population, but the war still rages on.

The fight has a history going back to 1800s when the British started thinking they were going to rule India for a long time. To prepare for it, they embarked upon patching together an administration that could keep Indians under tight control and, at the same time, extract hefty tax revenues from them.

This was a time when Bengal – then India’s most prosperous part – was in the grip of the British East India Company, whose main aim was to make lots of money for its owners. This massive corporation, founded under Queen Elizabeth I, was the world’s largest entity of its kind to be engaged in foreign trade then.

Incorporated on December 31, 1600, the company acted as a part trade organisation, part nation state and earned huge profits from trade with India, China, Persia and Indonesia for more than 200 years.

One of the difficulties the company faced in Bengal – and really a tough one – involved settling disputes related to land ownership and contracts as well as tax collections. After taking control of the region in the mid-1700s, the British retained the Mughal official language, Persian, as their official language. But in due course they learned to their great annoyance that people kept their land and tax records in their local dialects. And they used to submit the vernacular documents to courts whenever they ran into ownership or contract disputes.

Also read: Why Mamata Banerjee Is Backtracking From the Bengali Regionalist Stance

This created a nightmare for the judges. They needed to hire lots of translators to decipher the local records and interpret statements of warring parties. It cost the company a bundle, and its directors were not too happy about it. So the company set out to streamline the languages used in courts and tax collections.

While profit-making was certainly the main driver behind the company’s efforts to remove the language anomalies, its top dogs had other concerns, too. Some liberal trustees wanted justice to be dispensed in a language familiar to the judge as well as to the people at large. Others thought that the language of the people should be the language of the courts. To make it happen, however, was not really a piece of cake.

The colonial bosses had different views as to what vernacular or what script should be used. Some favoured retaining Farsi, others supported Hindustani in Persian (Urdu), and still others Hindustani in Nagari (Hindi). But they, in general, agreed that the convenience of the people should take precedence over the convenience of their rulers.

Examples of Devanagari manuscripts created between 13th and 19th centuries. Photo: Wikipedia

In the 1830s, when the company finally began replacing Farsi with different dialects, clashes broke out all over India. Some localities feared that many of their people, who did court-related work, would be jobless if they were to switch to a new script; others took it as an attack on their religion.

In Bombay and Madras presidencies, English and local languages had replaced Persian by 1832. In Bengal, a law passed in 1837 lifted the mandate that Persian must be used in court cases or tax disputes. The law also gave the governor power to come up with ideas to create a new language to replace Farsi.

In 1838, the governor decided to use vernaculars in Bengal, Bihar and Orissa. The governor’s staff outlined several options for languages and scripts: Persian in Persian scripts; Hindustani in Persian scripts, i.e. Urdu; English in Roman script; Hindi in Nagari and Bengali in Bengali script.

To the surprise of many, nearly 500 Dhaka residents petitioned the government in 1839 in favour of Persian against their native Bengali. Today’s Bengalis take enormous pride in the glory of their mother tongue, but their brethren generations ago were of different mold. Call them materialists or thoughtless whatever you like, they loved money more than language.

They argued that Bengali script varied from place to place; one line of Persian could do the work of ten lines of Bengali; the awkward written style [derisively dubbed the crab style] of Bengali read more slowly than that of Persian; and people from one district could barely understand the dialect of those from another district.

The petition surprised many people not just because the Bengalis went against their mother tongue but also because both Muslims and Hindus jointly favoured Farsi. Of the signatories, 200 were Hindu and the rest Muslim.

Also read: Himachal High Court Passes Order in PIL to Make Pahari Official State Language

Both the Hindus and the Muslims, especially landowners and those who had to deal with the courts, understood Persian and Arabic connected with their business far better than any phrases in Shanscrit (to use the spelling of Nathaniel Halhed, the Englishman who wrote Bengali grammar), which contributed heavily to Bengali.

The Sadar Court of Bengal bought the argument that many dialects made Bengali unfit to be a court language; the court would need as many translators as dialects. The court also noted that to record judicial proceedings in Bengali or Hindi would require a third more time than in Persian because Bengali and Hindi scripts took longer to write.

So it permitted plaintiffs and defendants in all civil and criminal cases to submit papers in any language they wished in districts where either Urdu or Bengali was in use. In essence, the court killed an earlier decision to replace Farsi by the vernaculars, and allowed instead the local dialects to be added to Persian to conduct official business.

But the fight over picking a language continued, with different parties giving different arguments in support of their respective position. As a result, in 1940 the government barred district courts from using Nagari without prior approval from higher-ups. In the end, the Government of India, in consultation with provincial administrators, totally opposed Nagari, because a vast majority of the judges favoured Urdu.

While the Bengali resistance to Bengali was pure economics, in other parts of India the story was entirely different. In the North, for example, the conflict was more religious than material.

Religion intruded into language soon after Islam entered India. Muslim conquerors had a hard time talking with their new subjects in the hard-to-learn Shanscrit and often used their native idioms to clearly express themselves.

When this mixed dialect first appeared in Naagoree [now spelled as Nagari or Nagari] script, the Brahmmon showed disdain [One Language, Two Scripts, Christopher King, OUP India, 1994]. To the Vedic pundits, the Naagoree, which means writing, was too coarse.

So they had their sacred books published in “polished” Naagoree, or Daeb Naagoree, [now Debanagari] or the writing of the Gods. Hindu bankers, who were very active in the Ganges Delta and drew large traffic, circulated these books into the Bengal interior. However, Farsi remained India’s official language until the British changed it much later.

In 1757, the British became Bengal’s ruler defeating the Muslim. Under the British, the upper-class Hindu established themselves in a strong position in due course and turned Bengali into a “high-flying” medium of expression in the Shanscrit mold.

Syamacharan Ganguli, a Calcutta University fellow, protested the Shanscritization of Bengali. He instead pushed for assimilation of the vocabulary of written Bengali to the everyday speech of educated Bengalis [Essays and Criticisms by Syamacharan Ganguli, Cambridge University Press, 2009.] Several other Bengali literary giants, including Rabindranath Thakur, Haraprashad Shastri and Ramendrasundar Tribedi, went along with Ganguli.

The high-flying language was no good for common folks, because it was loaded with Shanscrit words. Neither was Ganguli’s Bengali of the educated, because illiterate farmers, weavers and fishermen all spoke local dialects. [An estimated 50% of Bengali words are distorted Shanscrit, 45% are pure Shanscrit, and the rest are foreign, according to linguist Suniti kumar Chatterji.]

As a result, Bengali has been “stunted in its growth by the cramming of a class of food” that it could not digest. This caused a permanent fissure with the Muslim, who viewed Shanscrit as a Hindu slang. The fallout was immense.

In the rest of India, the melee centred on Hindi and Urdu. The Hindu favoured Hindi and the Muslim wanted Urdu. When the British ordered the exclusive use of the Nagari script in school in 1880 to meet a Hindu demand in the state of Bihar, which was then under the Bengal Presidency, the Muslims howled.

As the quarrel went on between Hindus and Muslims, the colonial rulers made drastic changes to the way they exchanged information with the Indians. In the 1830s, English replaced Persian on the higher governmental level and the vernaculars became the medium of transactions on the lower. In much of north India, Urdu became the official vernacular.

Hindi failed to reach that stature until the late 1800s. Hindi began replacing Urdu in the 1870s in Central Provinces and in the 1880s in Bihar, and by 1900s in the North-Western Provinces.

The Hindi-Urdu duel eventually exploded into Hindu-Muslim war. In free India, Hindi gained the national stature as a symbol of Hindu pride and spread nationwide like wildfire, partly thanks to Bombay movies.

Bengali, meanwhile, plunged into dark abyss, because Bengal’s partition dwarfed the region both demographically and economically, denying its language the edge it needed to be a power play. Bengali, as a regional small fry, never made the cut to the national level.

B.Z. Khasru is author of Bangladesh Liberation War, How India, U.S., China and the USSR Shaped the Outcome. His new book, One Eleven Minus Two, Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina’s War on Yunus an America, will be published shortly by Rupa & Co., New Delhi.

Debate | It’s Not Exaggeration to Say the British Codified the Language We Know as ‘Hindi’ Now

The initiative of Scottish linguist and the employee of East India Company, John Gilchrist and the Fort William College in Calcutta have been overlooked in a recent essay.

Imre Bangha of Oxford University, in a piece published on The Wire on September 12, 2020, referred to my 2019 essay – ‘Hindi was devised by a Scottish linguist of the East India Company – it can never be India’s National Language’ – in the very first paragraph.

Bangha introduced my essay by saying ‘those who resent the political role of Hindi in 20th century nationalism’: a comment that is unfortunately misplaced. My essay was a reaction to the Hindi imposition drive in the 21st century by the current Hindutva regime that wants to enforce Hindi as our ‘National Language’. This ‘social engineering mission’ is not acceptable to the non-Hindi speaking regions of India.

My essay argues on the line that India does not need a singular national language and provides the reasons for it. I was not resenting any political role of Hindi in 20th century nationalism. Bangha must already know that Vande Mataram – the rallying cry of 20th century Indian nationalism and the freedom movement – appeared in a novel written in Bengali, not Hindi.

Bangha’s explicit pro-Hindi sentimentalism – that makes him misunderstand, or even overlook, evidential facts – is revealed further when he bypasses the all-critical role of John Gilchrist and Fort William College in Calcutta, by focusing much of his piece upon comments made by George A. Grierson, and his ‘unclear’ ideas about Hindi being ‘a language, a speech and then a dialect.’

Bangha goes to discuss Rekhta and the Nagari script that no one has claimed to have been devised by the British, who only played a pivotal role in popularising it.

Also read: Pushing Hindi as Politics, Not Hindi as Language

Bangha concludes his piece by saying, ‘Although the colonial claim that the British created a new language – a language appropriate to the modern needs – has taken deep roots in contemporary thinking, it is only partially justified…the British created a highly Sanskritsied style of Khari boli perceiving it to be a Hindu speech variety.’

The last line only supports what was pointed out in my essay: the colonial British bifurcated secular Hindustani into two separate modern languages for Hindus and Muslims.

Gilchrist also claimed the same – as quoted in my essay – ‘bifurcation of Khariboli into two forms – the Hindustani language with Khariboli as the root – resulted in two languages (Hindi and Urdu), each with its own character and script.’

“In other words” – what I wrote in my essay – “what was Hindustani language was segregated into Hindi and Urdu (written in Devanagari and Persian scripts), codified and formalised.”

Blanconi; Dr John Borthwick Gilchrist (1759-1841); UCL Art Museum; Photo: Public domain

And this was achieved through the initiative of the Scottish linguist and the employee of East India Company, John Gilchrist (1759-1841) and the Fort William College in Calcutta (1800-1854).

This pivotal piece of history in modern Hindi’s origin is glossed over by Bangha who says, “Hindustani was standardised into its single modern grammar by Urdu intellectuals in the 18th century and by print culture and Hindi intellectuals in the 19th century. Although Fort William College also had its share in it, claiming its entire agency is exaggeration.”

By saying the above, Bangha completely omits the fact that the very first printed book in modern Hindi – Devanagari or Nagari type-set – was not written by someone with a surname of Sharma or Tripathi, but was written by John Gilchrist.

And it was a work titled ‘A Grammar of the Hindoostanee Language, or Part Third of Volume First, of a System of Hindoostanee Philology’, Calcutta: Chronicle Press, 1796.

The first two volumes of the grammar were included in the very first work that Gilchrist published: ‘A Dictionary: English and Hindoostanee’, Calcutta: Stuart and Cooper, 1787-90.

The grammar of modern Hindi – as we know it to be now – was ultimately standardised by John Gilchrist of Fort William College.

In order to popularise Hindi, Gilchrist recruited and paid native writers to produce works in accordance to that grammar.

It was also Fort William College that got these works – vernacular textbooks, dictionaries and literary creations – published by the ‘Serampore Mission Press’ – one of the earliest printing presses in India, and got them widely disseminated all across India.

These inconvertible facts make it unreasonable to say – like Bangha has said in his piece – that the ‘entire agency’ of the college’s role is an ‘exaggeration’.

One also needs to point out that the Devanagari or Nagari type-face or font was developed by the Orientalist, typographer and founding member of The Asiatic Society, Charles Wilkins and one of the employees of Wilkin’s printing press in Calcutta, Panchanan Karmakar: a Bengali born in Hooghly district. The reference to this is print expert Arun Bapurao Naik, son of legendary Bapurao Naik, the author of Indian Bookprinting and other notable works.

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Fort William College in Calcutta – under Gilchrist’s leadership – became a centre for both Hindi and Urdu prose. It started within the premises of Fort William, in the location, where the Raj Bhavan – or the present Governor’s residence – was built (between 1799 to 1803) by Governor-General Wellesley.

So the college was moved in 1800 to another building – originally designed by Thomas Lyon in 1777 – in the nearby area, now known as the Dalhousie Square or the B.B.D Bag.

Several structural changes were made to the building to accommodate a new hostel, several halls (for examination and lectures) and four libraries dedicated to the cause of Hindi, Urdu and other languages.

The institution gathered writers from all over India to compose Hindi, Urdu and other vernacular texts; and hence, even after it moved out of the B.B.D Bag building in 1830, the 150-meter long premises of the former college still continues to be known as the “Writers’ building”: a famous landmark of Calcutta; the old secretariat building of the State of West Bengal and the actual historical birthplace of modern Hindi.

Devdan Chaudhuri is the author of the novel Anatomy of Life. He is also a poet whose works have featured in Modern English Poetry by Younger Indians published by Sahitya Akademi; a short story writer; an essayist on politics and culture and one of the contributing editors of The Punch Magazine. He lives in Kolkata.

Was Hindi Really Created by India’s British Colonial Rulers?

The idea behind the British linguistic claims, namely that Hindus used a Sanskritised language, was incorrect.

As a person who studies early modern vernaculars, I often hear the opinion that Hindi was created a little more than 200 years ago by the British. This view is nowadays shared by both Hindi and non-Hindi speakers. Those who resent the political role of Hindi in 20th century nationalism claim, as the title of an article by a Bengali author does, that “Hindi was devised by a Scottish linguist of the East India Company – it can never be India’s National Language”.

Similarly, one of the leading Hindi publishing houses, Vani Prakashan, states in its home page that Hindi, in its present form, is the language that is born in modern times”. In contrast, most 20th century scholars working under the ideas of the Indian freedom struggle underlined the continuity of modern Hindi with earlier literary idioms, such as Avadhi and Brajbhasha (though rarely with Hindustani).

A young Grierson. Photo: Goodreads

However, the clearest formulation of the idea of the birth of a new language is the one found in Sir George A. Grierson’s The Modern Vernacular Literature of Hindustan (1889, page 108, emphasis mine):

[The early nineteenth century witnessed] the birth of that wonderful hybrid language known to Europeans as Hindi and invented by them. In 1803, under Gilchrist’s tuition, Lallū Jī Lāl wrote the Prem Sāgar… with this peculiarity, that he used only nouns and particles of Indian, instead of those of Arabic or Persian origin. The result was practically a newly invented speech.

[I]ts prose in one uniform artificial dialect, the mother tongue of no native born Indian, [was] forced into acceptance by the prestige of its inventors, by the fact that the first books written in it were of a highly popular character, and because it found a sphere in which it was eminently useful.

We can see that both the idea of colonial agency as well as the imagery of birth goes back at least to this early statement.

Interestingly, the linguist Grierson’s ideas about what Hindi is are unclear. In these two paragraphs, he calls it a language, a speech and then a dialect. Furthermore, the contents of his study contradicts his statement since The Modern Vernacular Literature of Hindustan, just as its chief source, the Hindi Śhivsingh saroj (1877), presents a history in which modern Hindi is the culmination of a tradition that includes Avadhi, Brajbhasha and other literary idioms. Yet, it is clear that he does not want to leave any doubt that Hindi is the gift of colonial administration to India and qualifies the three words used synonymously for language as hybrid, newly invented and artificial. One can hear these qualifications for Hindi even today.

Although Grierson was a great early linguist and one of the best connoisseurs of Indian vernaculars, his concept of this new idiom lacks clarity. Is his Hindi language, a speech and then a dialect? In general usage, dialect normally means a local, lower form of language dependent on a higher, standard version. In Grierson’s use above, the word dialect would seem unclear as there is no standard above it.

Colonial thinkers for long did not acknowledge the existence of various vernacular languages in India and simply claimed that the language of India is Sanskrit or Persian and that there are numberless dialects. Grierson tries to cut out a middle way by attributing both language and dialect status to Hindi. Most people without a background in linguistics and especially sociolinguistics would be lost in how to distinguish language from dialect. One convenient way that the colonial officers used was that languages have literatures while dialects do not. Since the British discovered Vidyāpati only later, the young Grierson’s earnest efforts to grant an independent language status to Bihari (Maithili) in the 1870s were thwarted by the colonial administration arguing that dialects in Bihar lacked literature.

Today, those who advocate that Hindi was created by colonial officers are deeply indebted to colonial thinking in this perception. Furthermore, there is also a perceptible reluctance to look back to times before the British influence on Indian culture. The fact is that there was indeed a widely used contact language in India that the British subsequently adopted for the purpose of printing and the teaching of their own officials. They referred to this language by various names. In the 18th century, they most frequently called it “Moors” while in the 17th, “Indostan”. They described it as the most important contact language within the Mughal Empire, particularly useful to deal with women.

The “Hindustani” entry of Hobson-Jobson informs us that the first Englishman known to speak “Indostan” was Thomas Coryat (c1577–1617), nowadays celebrated as the first tourist, about whom it was noted in that he spoke the language so well that he was able to quarrel in it with women. A later visitor, John Fryer (c1650-1733), a doctor of the East India Company wrote in 1673,

“The Language at Court is Persian, that commonly spoke is Indostan (for which they have no proper Character, the written Language being called Banyan), which is a mixture of Persian and Sclavonian [i.e. Indian vernacular], as are all the dialects of India.”

So much for Grierson’s newly-found hybridity.

Coryat’s Crudities and John Fryer on the frontispiece of his New Account of East India and Persia. Photos: Wikipedia

It is important to note that Fryer was not aware of “Indostan” being a written language. My study in Francesca Orsini’s Before the Divide, showed that the literary version of this language came to be called Rekhta by the 17th century. My current research examines, how, along with the literary production in Rekhta, Hindustani was present in 17-18th century India in grammar books and legal documents.

Babur. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

The oldest and most numerous extant Hindustani documents are literary, that is Rekhta, works. The first authentic written specimen from north India is a couplet (muj-kā na huā kuj havas-i mānak-o motī…) in the Persian-script present in the 1529 Diwan of Mughal emperor Babur. This was followed by various experiments in composing Rekhta or including Hindustani passages into works at the Mughal court. An interesting example of the use of the vernacular for female voice can be observed in Sard-o-garm-i zamāna, a Persian narrative poem attributed to a certain ‘Ishqi Khan (d. 1582). At some point, it presents how a wealthy landowner is greeted on his arrival home by his Hindustani wife,

… haũ tirī lauṇḍī tū mirā ḵẖvandgār;
tum jo mujh kõ piyār karte ho; haũ bhī kartī hū̃ tihārā pyār.
apne koṭhe pai maĩ bichāūṁ palang; ūs ūpar leṭ jīo pāõ pasār;

I am your woman and you are my kind lord;
The way you love me, I love you in the same way.
Let me make up a bed in my room, come and lie down on it stretching your legs.

The same work also describes how a poor husband is received:

terī mā̃ golī terā bāp camār;
jhūṭh tujh thẽ bahut sunā mat bol; sac tirā haũ kahaũ mirā mat mār.
tujh thẽ mujh ko na rotī o pānī; tujh thẽ mujh kõ nahīṁ savād o siṅgār;
ab na rāhūṁ tire ḵẖudā kī saũ; nikalūngī tihāre ghar thẽ bahār.

Your mother was a cowherd, your father a leather-worker;
Don’t say a word, I have heard enough lies from you, if I tell you the truth, don’t beat me.
I don’t get bread or water from you, neither delicious food nor ornament.
I won’t stay with you, I swear, I will leave your house.

Surprisingly, starting from the early 17th century, or maybe before, we have an ever-increasing number of Rekhta poems in the Nagari script. The earliest Rekhta poems written down at some point of time in the Nagari script probably go back  to the religious reformer, Dādū Dayāl (1544-1603, alā, terā jikar phikar karte haiṁ… etc.), and maybe to the Vrindaban devotee of Radha and Krishna, Svāmī Haridās (1512-1607, bande akhtiyār bhalā).

Akbar and Tansen meeting Svami Haridas. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Bhakti poets went on producing Rekhta well until the 19th century. However, the enthusiasm for this idiom went beyond devotional circles. The poet Ālam is credited with Rekhta kavittas and we have Rekhta poems by Prānnāth Śhrotriy from Mirza Raja Ram Singh’s court (1667-1688) and later the Kishangarh crown prince Sāvant Singh ‘Nāgrīdās’ (1694-1764) composed an Iśhk-chaman – just to mention a few authors. Indian archives, however, are full of handwritten books containing unpublished Nagari Rekhta compositions. Their Rekhta is based on what is now called Khaṛī Bolī grammar and uses a large amount of Perso-Arabic words.

Apart from the Persianised “high” Rekhta, we also have compositions in a more demotic register. Such works do not call their literary idiom Rekhta but “Hindustān”. The religious reformer Prānnāth (1618-94), who proclaimed himself to be the Mahdi of the Muslims and Kalki of the Hindus talks about the dilemma of language choice in his book called Sanandh,

सब को प्यारी अपनी जो है कुल की भाष।
अब कहूँ भाषा में किनकी, यामें तो भाषा है लाख।। 13।।
बिना हिसाबे बोलियाँ मिने सकल जहान। 
सबको सुगम जानके कहूँगो हिन्दुस्तान।। 15।।

Everyone prefers the language of his own family. Now in whose language shall I speak? — There are millions of languages here. Idioms in the world are countless, but I will speak Hindustān since I consider it accessible to everyone (sabko sugam jānke kahūgo hindustān).

The argument of accessibility is shared among both Indians and foreigners. The Capuchin missionary François-Marie de Tours in his 1704 grammar (using the Nagari script) described Hindustani as follows,

The use of this Indian, or Moghulian, language, in all its details, may be a most easy and indispensable practicability, supplying a method that may lead the missionaries in their undertakings of missions, help the merchants in their practising of business and always accompany wayfarers when following the roads, traversing and wandering through [different] regions. It seems suitable to leave aside the Brahmanic [i.e. Sanskrit] and the vernacular [languages] and to keep to the Indian or the Moghulian and study and engage in discourse according to its rules and laws.

The word translated as Indian probably refer to the contemporary designation “Hindustān”, or even “Hindi”. Additionally, it is interesting to note that the form “Indostan”, without a final “-i” was also used in the accounts of 17th century British travellers. Moreover, the word “hindusthāna-vāća” already appeared in the 15th century, where Śrīvara’s Jaina Rājataranginī (2.214) describing the Kashmiri King, Sultan Haider Shah (1470-72 recorded that “The king composed poetry and songs in the Persian language (pārisībhāṣhayā) and in the speech of Hindusthāna (hindusthānavāćayā) — is there anyone who do not praise them?” However, it is unknown to which language of India this word referred to.

Furthermore, Hindustani in the Nagari script can also be found in legal documents. I would just like to refer to the multilingual “Certificate of the inhabitants of Benares addressed to the Hon. Company and Governor General Warren Hastings (1772-85) in support of ‘Ali Ibrāhīm Khān, governor of Benares (1781-92)’, now preserved in the India Office Collection of the British Library. I am quoting one of its Hindustani sections to show how the language looked in the early 1780s (with b-v distinction and punctuation added by me).

navāb amīrul mamālik gavarnar janaral bahādur ke ekbāl se vo prajā ke bhāg se navāb ibrāhimalī khā bahādur kāśhī ke hākim hai [.] īśhvar yah hākimī dāim-kāim rahai (? rakhai) [.] jo likhā hai so sab sahī [.] sab brāhmaṇ rājī hai [.] āśirvād dete hai ki kumpanī salāmat rahey jiske rāj mai etā sukh hai [.]

नवाब अमीरुल ममालिक गवरनर जनरल बहादुर के एकबाल से वो प्रजा के भाग से नवाब इबराहिमली षा हबादुर काशी के हाकिम है। ईश्वर यह हाकिमी दाइम-काइम रहै। जो लिखा है सो सब सही। सब ब्राह्मण राजी है। आशिर्वाद देते है। कि कुंपनी सलामत रहै जिसके राज मैं एता सुख है।

By the acknowledgment of the Governor General the lord of the provinces and by the good fortune of the people, Navāb Ibrāhim Alī Khān is the governor of Kashi. May God keep this governorship safe and long. What is written here is all true. All the Brahmins agree. The give their blessings for the wellbeing of the [East India] Company under whose rule there is so much bliss.

This was the language from which the British claimed to have created a new one. The intervention of the British was limited to the purging the vocabulary of Persianate elements. Thus, they created not a new language but a new style of an already existing language. The above statement of the Benares Brahmins shows that the idea behind this new style, namely that Hindus use a Sanskritised language, was incorrect. When needed, Brahmins were able to use a Persianised register and mix it with a Sanskritic, and indeed English, one (āśirvād dete hai ki kumpanī salāmat rahey).

A parallel development of the language, its standardisation, was the result of a collective effort. Hindustani was standardised into its single modern grammar by Urdu intellectuals in the 18th century and by print culture and Hindi intellectuals in the 19th century. Although Fort William College also had its share in it, claiming its entire agency is exaggeration. In many cases standardisation meant purging Hindustani of its Brajbhasha features and thus distancing it from an “effeminate”, “feudal” idiom.

Although the colonial claim that the British created a new language – a language appropriate to the modern needs – has taken deep roots in contemporary thinking, it is only partially justified. Hindustani in the Nagari script existed much before colonial times. Standardisation happened over a long period and varieties of moderately Persianised Khaṛī Bolī, such as the language used by Prānnāth, existed earlier. The British created a highly Sanskritised style of Khaṛī Bolī perceiving it to be a Hindu speech variety. However, with an emerging Hindu nationalism, Hindi intellectuals more and more enthusiastically adopted the new style and became active agents in distancing it from Urdu, its other style, and in building it up into an ausbau language: Hindi.

Imre Bangha teaches Hindi, Urdu and Brajbhasha at Oxford University, and is currently researching the links between Old Gujarati and Old Hindi.