The phenomenon of Indian military practices cannot be understood or explained through modern perspectives on Oriental martial arts or self-defense. Beyond the practical and applied aspects of these practices, whose value remains unclear from this viewpoint, their internal content, their “source code” or fundamental essence, remains terra incognita.

These traditions lack any training imperative focused on “warrior spirit” or calls to follow a specific path. Moreover, they possess a strong demonstrative component, sometimes dismissively labeled as “dancing” by adherents of modern martial arts. A brief historical and cultural exploration clarifies these previously unexamined elements and reveals that there is far more historicity, heroism, and authenticity in the “dancing” of Indian military practices than in what modern sensibilities consider more “brutal” martial arts. Strange as it may seem, the guiding star in this journey is bells…

Bells

In Mughal court painting of the late sixteenth to early seventeenth century renowned for its realistic approach except when illustrating fairy-tale or mythical themes unusual characters frequently appear in battle scenes. Dressed and equipped in the Indian manner, they stand out from the Mughal army while occupying central positions in the composition and fighting heroically in the front ranks. These warriors are distinctive for their absence of armor, often their lack of upper garments, their armlets (sometimes with brushes) or forearm bracelets, their anklets — but most notably, their belts adorned with bells.

Such accoutrements appear in written sources as well. In the poem “Prithviraj Raso,” Rajputs are described as ascetics possessing all the attributes of asceticism; the text emphasizes the importance and sacredness of battle. The Rajput warriors wear plumes of peacock feathers, blow conch shells, and have anklets fitted with bells. James Tod, writing in the early nineteenth century, described the Bhils, an indigenous people of India believed to descend from the Dravidians, as culturally close to the Rajputs and considered their blood brothers and brothers-in-arms. Tod recorded that their leaders and principal warriors wore belts with bells on the battlefield as a distinguishing mark.

These numerous pieces of evidence make it impossible to dismiss everything as the artistic imagination of miniature painters or as conventional, non-historical representations. The attributes used by these warriors persist in the martial arts world today, particularly in certain Southeast Asian martial arts of Indian origin such as the shoulder bandage “pra jiad” (pratyat), the protection of wrist and forearm through tightly wound cord, and the performance of ritual dance before combat.

But let us follow the bells further…

Demons

When searching for possible analogues to these figures in Mughal painting of the same period, one finds images of demons dressed identically to Indian wrestlers and swordsmen—but in illustrations of fantastic or mythical plots. This creates a certain dissonance: in many cultures, bells are meant to scare away evil spirits and should hardly be their direct attribute.

The first images of similar demons appear in Iranian painting of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Tracing the origin of this remarkably stable image reveals that such creatures adorned with bells are mentioned only in Turkic folklore.

There exists a known description of a demon named Jangolos, hung with bells. The name may derive from the Turkic expression “jangil-jungool,” meaning “with noise.” “Jangolos” also refers to a sheep bell.

The attire of these demons is atypical for Iran or Central Asia, yet characteristic of regions further south. It is plausible that the inhabitants of these southern territories distinguished by their skin color, unfamiliar dances, and rites that seemed demonic to outsiders served as the inspiration for the figure of the “demon”. To the self-styled “enlightened” peoples of Central Asia and the Middle East, these southern cultures would have appeared profoundly intimidating.

Shamans

These are priests or shamans of various South Indian religious faiths who never became characters in Mughal miniatures themselves, but whose cults date back to the pre-Vedic tradition.

The appearance of these cultic ministers may have influenced the imagination of Turkic or Arab-Muslim observers: beyond the unpleasant and intimidating appearance of the shamans, there was the fact that — in the view of observers lacking the knowledge (and prejudices) of modern pragmatic-technical thinking — the spirit possessing the shaman was inevitably identified with the shaman’s visual image and appearance.

The objects of worship in these cults were and remain the militant aspects of the mother goddess Durga or Shiva. An integral part of the ritual involves colorful performances and dances with weapons.

Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnF0d4_v8qQ&app=desktop
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NRngepRn6dY

Specialized literature presents various opinions on the purpose of bells used by priests and shamans, which can be distilled into a somewhat problematic formula: bells were believed to scare away “evil spirits” and attract “good ones”. How this might function will become clearer later; for now, it is more useful to consider another perspective that a number of attributes employed in the dances and sacrifices of Indian shamans are either directly derived from military traditions or closely related to them. In the Brahmanas, for instance, weapon terminology is used to describe implements employed during sacrifices, and the use of anklets in ritual dances is regarded as a direct representation of warriors’ anklets.

In one of the oldest surviving works of Tamil culture (which eventually became part of general Indian culture), the treatise Tolkāppiyam, one finds similarities and even a fusion of ritual and military dances incorporating demonstrations of weapon skill.

One of the documented dances was performed upon the death of a king on the battlefield. In this specific ritual, all other leaders present regardless of their allegiance would gather around the slain commander and perform a dance that featured a ceremonial demonstration of their weaponry.

Kalanilaikkuttu is a dance in honor of young warriors who fought in the front ranks, holding the enemy at bay and thereby ensuring the safe retreat of other troops. When such soldiers returned victorious, they were awarded anklets, and dances were arranged in their honor.

Kalal or virakalal (vira meaning “heroic”) is a military anklet. It was not merely an ornament but a symbol of bravery and military might. The fact that anklets are mentioned alongside bows, swords, and shields as attributes of a warrior indicates their importance. These anklets were awarded for feats of valor. The term “anklet warriors” appears in fixed phrases. They were often sounding bracelets, not merely jewelry: “The hero’s anklets jingle loudly!” (Tamil poem, sixth century AD).

Even in the Rigveda, the Maruts are compared to kings as warriors with bracelets on their shoulders and ankles.

The tradition of wearing military bracelets existed in the fourteenth century AD in Hoysala, the South Indian empire, where ankle bracelets served as distinguishing marks and were made of gold.

The Tolkappiyam also provides information about the relationship between ritual dances and certain prayer states, dating back to an era much older than that already ancient treatise. This connection can be traced in the cults of Murugan, the South Indian god of war, and his mythological mother-goddess Kottravey, later identified with Durga. In these rituals, the priest danced with a spear (vel). One of Murugan’s names is Spearman (Velan).

Thus we see an obvious but still unexplained link between warriors wearing belts with bells and dancing with weapons, whether on or off the battlefield, and priests and shamans of militant cults, similarly equipped and dancing with weapons.

What do warriors and shamans who perform similar dances and use the same attributes have in common?

Place

Indian military practices involving weapons were closely associated with traditional wrestling; until modern times, training in wrestling and weapon skills occurred simultaneously. Even today, one can trace direct analogies between the organization (external and internal) of wrestling akharas and the fewer remaining weapon akharas.

The term “akhara,” as is known, primarily means “school” (in the sense of “gymnasium”) — a branch of teaching with a certain spiritual orientation; or where training occurs in athletic or related physical and sports skills; or “site,” meaning a plot of land where such training takes place. It could also signify a meeting place. Akhara could be identified with the battlefield. Thus, in the aforementioned poem “Prithviraj Raso,” Rajput troops are described as follows: “on the battlefield they are like wrestlers in the arena”, and “their troops rush across the battlefield as through akhara”.

Similarly, in the cult of Murugan, the South Indian god of war, later identified with Skanda, or the goddess of war Kottravey, merged with Durga in Hinduism, the place for rituals where priests danced with swords in their hands, wearing belts with bells and anklets, was called “kalam.” “Kalam” also means a meeting place, a field for sowing and harvesting, a place of sacrifice, and a battlefield. Durga Kottravey is a goddess, the giver of victory in battle, but she is also a goddess of dance “tuṇaṅkai”.

Moreover, South Indian cults tended to identify a god with his place of worship, which became the location of the god. God became the place, and the place became God.

In an akhara, a temple is typically built over the burial site of a famous ascetic. Ordinary people come here after a working day to recover their strength, or visit in their spare time to receive what they believe to be health benefits. Even water in the akhara, flowing from the same well or water pipe as in the neighborhood, is considered purer or healing.

Clearly, kalam or akhara are not naturally occurring “places of power” or not merely such places. They owe their status largely to the actions that took place there and cannot exist apart from those actions. So what happened there?

Energy

This concerns “energy,” but unfortunately, the arbitrary use of this term in relation not only to martial arts but also to various other practices has created far more difficulties than it has resolved. Therefore, it is better to employ traditional concepts born not “from the mind” but from ancient Indian phenomena: in the Vedic tradition, “tapas”; in the Dravidian, “anangu”.

Anangu is fiery in nature; it is “heat.” This is the same heat that, in ancient Tamil conceptions, was contained in phenomena described in many cultures with appropriate adjectives such as “hot-blooded”, “ardent love,” “ardent hate,” and so forth. Anangu, derived from the root “an” (meaning “to lie within”), was also found in such places and things as the hearth, weapons, musical instruments, dangerous animals like lions, tigers, or snakes, certain trees, the robust hands and legs of warriors, the female breast, and young women generally — in everything possessing power and therefore either dangerous or potentially beneficial. Thus, anangu could be both useful and creative, dangerous and destructive. Anangu was also present in dead bodies and in burials. Blood contains anangu, which is why it is offered to Durga during rites involving the cutting of the chest or forehead with a sword. This practice continues throughout India, though it is now more common to incise the tongue as either a more gentle or, conversely, more frightening procedure. Anangu is present wherever blood is spilled, whether at sacrificial sites or on the battlefield, and with it come the servants of Durga-Kottraway — the “pei” demons who feed on the anangu.

In the akhara, on the battlefield, at the site before the temple, and in the place where the god resides and sacrifices are made, anangu was present. In the akhara, warriors learned to control the anangu contained in weapons, so they could then use it to control the anangu in battle; and at the site before the temple, the priest controlled the anangu contained in the victim, in its “hot” blood, and in doing so established a connection with “controlled” the gods.

Uncontrolled energy and uncontrolled heat are dangerous. They must be localized and “tamed” to become a source of power that can be used safely. The simplest and most direct way to control heat or rather, simply to make it safe — is to cool it. The most accessible methods of cooling were garlands of cool flowers, wreaths of leaves, rubbing the body with saffron, turmeric, or sandalwood paste, decoration with peacock feathers, or, for example, placing a “cold” stone over a grave or in certain locations. In what other ways could anangu be controlled, especially considering the complex forms it could take, the diverse phenomena in which it could be contained, and the various ways it could manifest?

Action and Performer

Human culture in its early stages was not only and not so much a way of describing the external world and its phenomena; it was primarily about imbuing them with meanings for further understanding and interaction. Filling phenomena with meanings, giving them significance, or, in other words, sacralizing life — these are ways of establishing mutual understanding with external and internal powers, of gaining control over them.

A simple analogy will clarify this. The reproductive mechanism, quite clear in itself, was endowed with meanings and ritualized in wedding ceremonies across all human cultures to establish order and eliminate chaos. The tradition of courtship still fully conforms to the principles of “establishing control” over the anangu of a young girl.

Ritual, essentially magical action, lay behind any form of art or creative performance to some degree. That action could be anything, especially in an era when there was no separation of genres and when even speech was perceived as action.

But every action requires a performer. In traditional cultures, performers appeared where there was a need to interact with meanings, where mediators were needed. Even the court performance — entertainment for the ruler in the palace — was originally a serious ritual aimed at controlling the “sacred energy” of the king and the country as a whole, maintaining it in proper condition, and ensuring the welfare and prosperity of the population.

In other words, the performer acted as a mediator, as a priest. Only where the priest in conventional understanding established a connection with gods through sacrifice, the performer sacrificed action just as the Vedic priest might sacrifice speech, a hymn. Dance was one way of sacrificing action, a way of controlling the space or place where the god dwells, and therefore a way of interacting with him.

What does control and interaction with power mean? It means connecting with it. If a dance or performance on stage can establish a connection between performer and audience and convey an appeal to the latter’s feelings, emotions, and consciousness, why cannot the same be done in relation to gods and powers? If the artist receives emotional support and gratitude from the audience, why should powers and gods be less grateful or responsive?

Obviously, the performer must be specially prepared and at least not closed in on himself: he must perform his art not for self-admiration, self-improvement, or the endless filling of himself, but rather for giving himself, “putting” himself into the spectator, sacrificing himself.

In other words, the performer placed himself in a ritual (magical) space, in a situation filled with certain meanings, a ritual situation. The ritual situation is that which is removed from time, which exists as a single moment regardless of duration, possessing the attributes of the real and present, having meaning and significance. Thus, through sacrifice (self-sacrifice), the performer was included in the system of cyclical exchange and renewal of vitality — in eternity.

Later, in the Axial Age, this ancient value system was replaced by the paradigm of transcendent “release” and a reversal of the vector: previously directed from the individual to the general, it now turned inward, toward the individual. The performer no longer invested himself in the cyclical system of exchange and eternity but began to strive to invest that system and eternity into himself.

Battle and Dance

Thus, akhara and kalam are sacred spaces where energy or power operates. They are places of ritual activity aimed at filling with sacred energy. But this activity occurred not only in special ritual places and not only during dance or sacrifice. As mentioned above, the concepts of akhara and kalam could be associated with the battlefield. And just as dance was a special form of sacrifice, so battle was a special form of ritual activity.

Battle appeared as chaos resulting from disrupted harmony and order, requiring correction and restoration. On the battlefield, such order was restored through the same mechanism of interacting with ritual space and establishing control over it.

All Indian culture is characterized by a close association of battle with sacrifice. This is expressed even in a special concept: “sacrifice of battle”. The hero sacrifices his body or his vital breath on the fire of battle (the “heat” of battle). The opponent is assimilated to a sacrificial animal. Thus, the subject is removed from what is happening; he neither acts nor is responsible. He is victim, priest, and recipient of sacrifices all at once. He is “sacrifice sacrificing itself in sacrifice” like the Creator, Prajapati, who sacrificed himself and became the world. In general, any sacrifice is a symbolic reproduction of this original action as, in fact, any significant action taking place in the ritual space of sacred life bears the imprint of this creative act.

Returning to the foundations of this historical and cultural essay — to the images of warriors with bracelets, anklets, and belts with bells in scenes of darbars, court performances, and battles — it seems reasonable to conclude that these were wrestlers and swordsmen, champions known for their skill. At court, they demonstrated exercises and dances with weapons, participated in exhibition fights, and fought in the front ranks in battles, not separating, as might be expected, such different activities as dancing with weapons, competitive fights, and real battles. Durga herself made no such distinction, remaining simultaneously the goddess of war, granting victory, and the goddess of dance. They did not separate them because these different actions shared one fundamental basis: they were ritual acts performed in a ritual space filled with meanings.

Even in court duels involving swordsmen and wrestlers, where a competitive aspect existed, there was originally a reference to the oldest form of ritual actions, ritual competitions that reenacted original mythological conflicts, through which world balance was restored. Such competitions, held not only as martial arts but also as chariot races or even dice games, were an integral part of “new year” festivals, designed to restore and renew the world through ritual reproduction of fundamental myths.

Bells Again

By the historical period depicted in Mughal painting, the belt with bells — like armlets and anklets — was rather a reference to archetypal images, irrational and unreal. It is no coincidence that in all the images, warriors who wore these belts were also often armed with old Indian straight swords, as opposed to the surrounding warriors with more modern and comfortable sabers — new weapons that bore no stamp of antiquity and therefore lacked essential authenticity.

Bells function as a signifier of otherness, indicating either the possession of supernatural powers, as in the case of a shaman, or exceptional physical prowess, as with wrestlers. Furthermore, they denote a state of ecstatic madness and the irrepressible fury associated with dancers, shamans, demons, and deities in their wrathful manifestations. They are, in essence, an emblem of martial frenzy.

It was the image of Hanuman, the great warrior who personified both shakti and bhakti, that became connected to the cult of physical strength, which from a certain point took a central place in Indian martial arts. This cult of force was originally associated with one of Hanuman’s manifestations as shakti: the deep forces of nature brought under the subject’s control for the achievement of personal typically physical force and military skill.

But this was not always the case. The cult of Hanuman is relatively late. The hero of the Ramayana appeared in religious texts only in later Puranic literature, between the ninth and fifteenth centuries AD. The religious cult itself fully formed only in the late medieval period. The first to embrace this cult were the Nath yogis. The following parallels are of considerable interest: the spread of the cult of Hanuman coincides with the invasion of India by the Turko-Afghans and, consequently, resistance to them. According to researchers, Hanuman represented the “ideal expression of valor, military skills, and insight in the representations of medieval South Indian warriors.” In the same period, impressive armed groups of ascetic warriors opposing the invaders were also noted. The Nath yogis were among the first ascetics to take up arms.

At that time, the cult of Hanuman was much more complex and had not yet degenerated into simple worship of physical strength. For the ascetic, Hanuman’s more important attributes were his occult powers, superhuman abilities, physical immortality, connection with herbs and healing, and his attributed celibacy.

The possibility of such changes is explained by the fact that Hinduism was not a static religion; throughout its existence, it changed, absorbed popular beliefs, and consequently simplified. Relatively late in the Hindu timeline, the worship of Hanuman no longer required elaborate cults, priestly mediation, or other attributes of temple service. Instead of including oneself in a cyclical system, it was enough to “place” Hanuman within oneself: Hanuman’s followers believed that he could inhabit them and transmit his qualities — strength, rage, and mastery of weapons. Moreover, for wrestlers and athletes, service to Hanuman was incorporated into their daily practices and training.

But the ancient Tamils’ bells still contained anangu, that “ethically neutral force.” That is why they could both attract and repel “evil spirits” just as weapons can frighten or fascinate, take away or protect life. It all depended on how the performer used that power.

Objects contained anangu not because it was physically present in them, but because it appeared and was released through them as a musical instrument “releases” rhythm and music. It was this appearing and released force that established connection with the spectator, the space, or the enemy on the battlefield.

The object (a thing, a weapon, a musical instrument) manifested itself through action. The performer manifested himself through the object. That is, the same connection (control) must first arise between performer and object, and then between the object (or rather its manifestation) and surrounding reality. In other words, the performer must first learn to control the anangu contained in the object. In this case, the “dance-with-weapon” becomes “The Dance With the Weapon” — an action occurring between performer and object, an action filled with anangu. The performer performs a ritual action in relation to the weapon. This ritual act is the root of the special treatment of certain objects in traditional societies. In a world devoid of meaning and fullness, this is called “practice”.

The performer who has ritually established a connection with an object (with his body, his speech or voice, a musical instrument, a weapon) merges with that object, becomes it. Or rather, he is identified with the action of that object: with a hymn, music, dance. And if he can “release” this action, to act “without acting”, to let it go, then perhaps it will find its purpose and in turn establish a connection and control with the “audience”, the ritual space, or the battlefield and thus be identified with them. And when “Tat Tvam Asi” (Thou Art That) is realized, then it is not someone appearing on the battlefield believing that Hanuman has possessed him, but rather the goddess of war Kottravey herself performing the dance and bestowing victory.

This article is based on a report titled “Elements of Shamanic Practices in Indian Warrior Traditions”, delivered at the 14th Zograf Readings at the MAE RAS in St. Petersburg.

The author would like to express his sincere gratitude to Ya. V. Vasilkov and A. M. Dubyansky, whose research laid the groundwork for this study.