The melancholic strains of a tambura echo through the valley, a lament as ancient as the Tisza River itself. Nestled between Serbia and Hungary, the village of Szentkút (Holy Well) exists in a time warp, its rhythms dictated by the river’s ebb and flow, its language a unique tapestry woven from archaic Turkish, Hungarian, and Serbian—a linguistic relic of Ottoman-era migrations. This ‘Language of Forgotten Rivers’ draws Yasmin Qureshi, a Pakistani-British linguist haunted ...
The melancholic strains of a tambura echo through the valley, a lament as ancient as the Tisza River itself. Nestled between Serbia and Hungary, the village of Szentkút (Holy Well) exists in a time warp, its rhythms dictated by the river’s ebb and flow, its language a unique tapestry woven from archaic Turkish, Hungarian, and Serbian—a linguistic relic of Ottoman-era migrations. This ‘Language of Forgotten Rivers’ draws Yasmin Qureshi, a Pakistani-British linguist haunted by the fading echoes of her own ancestral Urdu, to this secluded haven seeking solace and academic purpose.
Armed with notebooks and a yearning to document a dying tongue, Yasmin’s cool professionalism melts away as she immerses herself in Szentkút’s vibrant culture. She meets Marika Balog, the village elder whose laughter rings with resilience, and Zoltán Kovács, a stoic fisherman whose unease reflects the changing currents threatening their delicate balance. But it’s Lajos Tóth, a young musician with eyes the color of the river at twilight, who truly captivates Yasmin. Lajos believes music holds the key to their language’s survival, pouring its nuances into soulful melodies. He speaks of the river’s secret vocabulary, whispered to the medicinal herbs that grow along its banks, herbs used for generations to heal both body and spirit. His passion rekindles Yasmin’s own connection to her heritage, and their bond deepens, transcending their researcher-subject dynamic.
This idyllic serenity is shattered by the looming threat of a dam, a symbol of relentless progress that promises regional development but threatens to drown Szentkút’s history and unique language beneath a cold reservoir. The river, a source of ancient healing traditions and whispers of something sacred, is to be sacrificed. As tensions escalate, Yasmin witnesses the village fracture, caught between tradition and the allure of modernity. Lajos, armed with his tambura, composes a soundtrack for Szentkút’s struggle, his music a bridge between the generations.
Yasmin’s academic detachment crumbles. She sees the dam not just as an environmental disaster, but as a symbolic erasure of cultural memory, mirroring her own struggle with cultural duality. Her research transforms into a desperate race against time, documenting not just the language but also the stories, the traditions, the very essence of Szentkút.
