A fighting comeback: How Indian martial arts are reclaiming their spotlight

Picture Sundar Pichai — bespectacled, soft-spoken, quintessentially techie. Now, imagine him flipping through the air with a spinning kick. Hard to compute, right? That’s because the West’s default Indian stereotype leans more towards Silicon Valley than the Shaolin Temple. Meanwhile, China has Jackie Chan, Kung fu, and a pop-culture monopoly on martial arts.

 

But what if India had flexed its ancient warrior muscles on the world stage? Indians would’ve been seen not just as brainiacs, but as formidable fighters — a blend of brilliance and brawn. And why not? Shaolin Kung fu, after all, itself owes a debt to India.

 

At long last, Indian martial arts have found their moment in the pop-culture spotlight, thanks to Sooraj Cherukat — aka Hanumankind — the Kerala-born rapper behind Big Dawgs. His latest track, Run It Up, isn’t just a song; it’s a cultural showcase.

 

The music video weaves together at least seven traditional Indian folk performances, four of them battle-hardened: Kalaripayattu from Kerala, Mardani Khel from Maharashtra, Gatka from Punjab, and Thang-ta from Manipur. Add to that the thunderous percussions of Kerala’s Chenda Melam, Tamil Nadu’s Parai and Urumi beats, and the ritualistic spectacle of Theyyam, fresh from its cinematic glow-up in Kantara.

 

In Run It Up, India’s warrior traditions don’t just whisper from the past; they roar into the present. Indian martial arts, or yudda kalas, represent a formidable, yet lamentably overlooked, pillar of the nation’s cultural heritage. These ancient combat systems, forged over centuries, even trace their lineage to the Mahabharata, the Vedas and the Puranas. Consider Dhanurveda, the “science of archery” detailed in Yajurveda: A discipline not merely of weaponry and strategy, but of holistic physical and mental prowess. The meditative techniques articulated in Patanjali’s yoga sutras, around the 3rd century BC, and the intricate mudra finger movements in Yogacara Buddhism, all found their way into the crucible of Indian martial practice.

 

Then there’s Malla Yudha — a traditional wrestling form born in the ancient Tamizh region of South India and forefather of Kushti — which still throws its weight around in global wrestling. A few historical texts credit Buddhist monk Bodhidharma — believed to be the third son of a Pallava king — with laying the foundations of Kung fu. The earliest of these accounts appears in the Yijin Jing (Muscle Change Classic), published in 1624, over a thousand years after his time.

 

Though he wasn’t the first to introduce Buddhism to China, texts claim he was the first to bring martial arts in some form, establishing the Shaolin monastery in the late 5th century. Many believe Chinese martial arts were shaped, at least in part, by Kalaripayattu, the combat art dating back to the Sangam era (3rd century BCE–2nd century CE).

 

Mushti Yudha, the bare-knuckle combat tradition, is the progenitor of various striking arts, including Muay Thai, Lethwei and even boxing.

 

Meanwhile, Gatka pits two or more practitioners against each other using wooden soti, meant to mimic swords. The Sikhs wielded this art to great effect in the 16th and 17th centuries against Mughal forces, and to this day, the Nihangs keep the tradition alive.

 

Equally steeped in history is Mardani Khel, a martial discipline deeply tied to the Marathas. Training in this battlefield art demanded proficiency with swords, lathis, daggers, and the bhala — a lethal spear that made Maratha warriors a force to be reckoned with.

 

Indian martial arts faced a steep decline under British colonial rule, as the rise of firearms and European military tactics reshaped the battlefield. Traditional styles like Kalaripayattu, Silambam, and Thang-ta were outright banned, their practice forced underground — until the early 20th century, when they experienced a revival as part of the anti-colonial movement.

 

Some martial communities, however, found ways to adapt. The British recruited Sikhs into their armed forces, allowing them to practise traditional combat sports like Loh Musti — iron-fist boxing — that kept elements of their warrior heritage alive.

 

Still, Indian martial traditions endured in unexpected ways. They found refuge in dance, their movements woven into artistic expression: Chhau absorbed the sword-and-shield techniques of Bihar’s Pari-khanda, while the influence of Kalaripayattu rippled through Kerala’s Kathakali and Theyyam.

 

Indian martial arts are not mere relics of a bygone era; they are a vibrant component of the nation’s cultural identity. Their integration into contemporary lifestyles could foster discipline, cultivate self-defence capabilities, and shatter a few stereotypes. Maybe then, the next Sundar Pichai won’t just be a master strategist in the boardroom, but a tenacious fighter outside it too.