The North Indian staff, known as the lakri (लकड़ी or لکڑی, meaning “wood”), is a formidable bamboo stave. Its length typically ranges from 150 to 170 cm, but it is ideally selected to reach the height of the owner’s earlobe.
As the primary weapon in Indian martial arts, the staff has been one of the most common weapons throughout the history of India. Most often, it was simply a piece of bamboo trunk, typically widening towards the base. Additionally, the lower part was either reinforced with metal or fitted with iron rings.
Aside from the main, crowded thoroughfares, traveling along India’s roads without a staff was perilous. A villager rarely left home without one, as it served as an essential tool for self-defense against robbers and predators. The lakri traces its origins to the shepherd’s staff, a tool known to all pastoral tribes of the ancient Eurasian tradition.
According to Vedic texts, the staff was used for both herding cattle and providing protection. An ancient Indian saying states, “the one wielding the staff owns the cow”. This leads to a crucial point that permanently shaped how the staff was used and the techniques developed around it: from whom did shepherds primarily need to protect their cattle and, by extension, themselves?
When analyzing the fundamental techniques of the Indian staff particularly those not adapted for duels one is immediately struck by the constant 180- to 360-degree turns, the circular strikes that flow from one to the next, the targeting of multiple, often opposite, directions, and the complete control of the surrounding space. If we consider the context that gave rise to such a technique, it becomes clear that it was designed to repel an attacking pack of predators.
The threat of wild animals was an ever-present and urgent reality in India. For instance, in 1878, wolves killed 624 people in what is now the state of Uttar Pradesh alone. In 1900, 285 people were killed in the region of modern-day Madhya Pradesh. Even in the 1980s, wolves were responsible for up to 100 human deaths annually in India. As recently as 1996, The New York Times reported on the struggle of residents in Uttar Pradesh against wolves, noting that peasants were armed with bamboo staves and antiquated guns. This was in the 20th century. One can only imagine the situation in the plains and jungles of India 500, 1000, or 2000 years ago.
The Indian wolf, a smaller subspecies of the European grey wolf, is known for its attacks on humans. The dhole, or red wolf (Cuon alpinus), immortalized by Rudyard Kipling, was equally feared. As Kipling wrote in “Red Dog”:
…the dhole, the red hunting-dog of the Dekkan, was moving to kill, and the Pack knew well that even the tiger will surrender a new kill to the dhole. They drive straight through the Jungle, and what they meet they pull down and tear to pieces. Though they are not as big nor half as cunning as the wolf, they are very strong and very numerous.
While red wolves typically attacked tigers, Asiatic black bears, and snow leopards, and very rarely humans, they posed a grave danger to cattle. Their presence was noted as far away as the Russian Far East by the explorer Vladimir Arsenyev in “Dersu Uzala”:
Suddenly, as the river curved, I spotted an animal that looked like a dog but was taller. Its broad head, small, furry, erect ears, blunt muzzle, lean build, and long, bushy tail identified it as a red wolf, or a jackal-like wild dog. Its coat was indeed a reddish color darker on its back and lighter on its belly. The animal was lapping water from the river.
As we stepped out onto the gravel bank, it stopped drinking and bounded away toward the forest in great leaps. Right behind it, two more wolves burst from the coastal bushes. One was the same color as the first, while the other was darker. Several other animals then flashed past us through the undergrowth. I fired and managed to wound one of them.
Just then, Dersu arrived. After I explained what had happened, he headed into the thicket to investigate. A couple of minutes later, I heard him call out and went in his direction. He was standing by a large cedar, waving me over. When I reached him, I saw a large bloodstain on the ground and scattered tufts of deer fur.
Dersu explained that red wolves always roam the taiga in packs and hunt deer cooperatively. In these hunts, some act as beaters, driving the prey, while others lie in ambush. When they attack an animal, they tear it apart on the spot, leaving behind only a bloodstain and scraps of fur just as we had found. Hunters say there have even been cases of them attacking humans.
Vladimir Arsenyev. “Dersu Uzala”.
A key feature distinguishes staff techniques dating back to the ancient “heroic shepherd” from those of later martial arts: the staff is gripped with both hands at one end. This is precisely how traditional pastoralists, such as the Surma people of Ethiopia who have preserved their traditional culture in isolation, hold their poles. Only such a grip allows for safe and effective defense against a charging animal. When the staff is held with two hands placed symmetrically, allowing the use of both ends, it points to a completely different origin and set of practices.
These ancient features of the Indian staff found their way onto the battlefield, particularly when military tactics did not involve compact formations or volley fire. In such chaotic melees, danger could come from any direction, much like an attack by a wolf pack. Abu’l-Fazl ibn Mubarak, the author of the Akbarnama, described units of “lakrayits”, warriors who used staves, among the troops of the Mughal emperor Akbar (it is important to distinguish theme from the “chobdars” frequently depicted in Indian painting, who were ceremonial mace-bearers in processions; their richly decorated staffs were purely symbolic).
Staffs were also the standard equipment for police, night watchmen, and guards. In general, until the second half of the 20th century, almost any man in Northern India possessed basic training in the use of a staff, skills he would have learned as a boy. Even in modern, peacetime India, this knowledge was not merely theoretical. In one Rajput village of 600 inhabitants, for example, three deaths from staff fights were recorded over a thirty-year period.
The classic image of the “martial Rajput,” which only faded in the 20th century, featured long whiskers, a high turban, and a heavy staff bound with iron rings.
Staves were the principal weapon of village militias. In every rural settlement across North India, male agriculturalists were armed with metal-bound staves (alongside spears, bows, lances, and, in the Mughal period, muskets). These were peasant warriors, skilled and experienced in the use of their arms. They were not professional soldiers, but they were militant—ready and willing to use their weapons and, if necessary, to die using them. Village militias frequently engaged in violent disputes with neighboring communities over boundaries, cattle theft, or other provocations. They readily defended their villages from bandits, armed raiders, and even foraging soldiers, forming the main fighting force of any rebellion.
Considerable evidence suggests that lakrayits were hired as tax collectors and bodyguards. However, it is most likely that they were warrior-ascetics, as these occupations, along with the constant carrying of a staff, were traditionally their prerogatives. For ascetics, the staff was more than just a weapon and a practical aid for wandering; it held profound symbolic meaning. Their training with the staff, and its actual use, was once a form of tapas (ascetic practice). This practice was later largely replaced by the religious worship of Hanuman, following a general erosion of spiritual traditions. So, what was the deeper meaning of the staff for these ascetics?
To answer this, one must consider the image of the vajra. While the term commonly refers to ritual objects in Tibetan Buddhism, in a mythological sense, the vajra was the divine weapon of Indra, akin to the lightning bolt of the Greek Zeus. It is crucial to understand that the Vedas are intimately connected to the nomadic, pastoral life of the Aryans. Their use of abstract concepts was far less developed than later interpreters and researchers might assume. The language of the Vedas is fundamentally metaphorical, relying on comparisons, assimilations, and personifications.
Within this ritual framework, the vajra as a divine weapon converges with the image of the pillar or cosmic axis. This is the pillar by which Indra separated Heaven and Earth, an idea closely related to the concept of the Tree of Life or rather, two trees growing in opposite directions: one celestial with branches reaching down, and one earthly with branches reaching up. Some researchers suggest that this image is the artistic embodiment of the vajra’s core idea. Its function was twofold: on one hand, to establish boundaries and distinctions between things, and on the other, to assert the correct relationship and connection between those separated parts. These two opposing efforts merge into a single process of creating and maintaining cosmic order. It is clear that preserving this hard-won harmony requires an armed struggle against the forces of chaos trying to break the established Law (Dharma), and the vajra is the weapon in this struggle. Indra’s cudgel, with which he defeated the serpent Vritra, is this same vajra. In this light, it seems plausible that the prototype of the vajra, and the foundation for all its associated connotations, was likely the very first weapon of ancient pastoralists: a simple cudgel made from a tree trunk, complete with its thick butt end and part of the roots.
The lakri—whose very name means “a wood” is made from a whole piece of timber. From ancient times, it served to protect cattle, the very basis of life. It defended its wielder from the dangers of travel. And in the eyes of the initiated, it also personified the pillar that holds apart the Heavens and the Earth, the magical weapon of Indra that removes obstacles and conquers enemies. For the ascetic, the staff was not just for stopping aggression; it was an instrument for restoring the primordial equilibrium of the world.
Protect me, staff
You who are my strength and my friend.
You are the bolt of Indra, slaying obstructions
Be my refuge and banish all that is evil
Upanishads