Each week sports reporter ROBERT CARRY tries out martial arts from around the world. This week it’s the Sikhs’ sacred art of Gakta
There tend to be a few cultural trappings attached to the various martial arts. Muay Thai fighters blare unfathomable Thai music during bouts; karate practitioners bow on their way in and out of their dojos; and kickboxers burst into a round of applause at the end of each session. The retention of these relatively minor cultural anomalies can give an insight into the people from whom a given martial art is derived – but gakta, the martial art of the Sikhs, is so thoroughly embedded into the lives of its disciples that it is completely inseparable from broader Sikh history and culture.
I paid a visit to the Sikhs’ Gurdwara – a cross between a community centre and a place of worship – to find out more about this centuries-old, battle-tested fighting art that helped slot the Sikhs in beside the ever-game Scottish and Irish at the top of every British Army recruiter’s wish-list during the bad old days of empire.
My visit to the Gurdwara coincided with the arrival of 22 youngsters from disadvantaged backgrounds in Belfast and Dublin, who were there to get the run-down on Sikh culture as part a youth-leader training course. A friendly gentleman waiting at the entrance helped me avoid putting my foot in it by instructing me to take off my footwear and cover my hair, which he helped me do by popping a rather fetching royal blue bandanna on my head. I crept into the main hall and took a seat on the floor at the back of the group of soon-to-be youth leaders, who were engrossed in a PowerPoint presentation on Sikh history and culture being given by Satwinder Singh.
Satwinder took us through various Sikh customs, one of which raised a few eyebrows among the assembled group – apparently, among the various symbols Sikhs wear as a badge of faith is a Kirpan, or ‘strapped sword’. Satwinder explained that the Kirpan is a last resort – about equipping Sikhs to help prevent violence rather than standing idly by while violence is carried out. Despite this fact, the Kirpan has been a constant source of tension for Sikhs living in the West. Satwinder told the story of a Sikh working in a warehouse hardware retailer who was told that he couldn’t bring his Kirpan into work; he responded by pointing out that he had just been placing electrical saws on the shelf without maiming anybody.
After the talk a brief religious ceremony was held, led by a Guru sitting at the head of the room. While the sermon was in full swing, I noticed a man walking around the crowd with a large silver bucket. He repeatedly reached inside and removed a mysterious brown ball, which seemed to be dripping with a translucent fluid, which he then plopped into the waiting hands of the person seated at his feet. To my horror, I noticed that the receivers were chomping away on the formless item gifted from above.
When it came to my turn, the bloke (probably thinking he was doing me a favour) dug deep and flopped a warm, golf-ball-sized lump of sticky brown gunge into my trembling hands. When he turned his back I looked around frantically for a means of disposing of it, but there was none. My options were to push the gelatinous mulch into my pocket (not really an option at all) or bite the bullet and eat the stuff. I decided on the latter. I gingerly pulled a lump free and put it in my mouth. And guess what? It was lovely! It tasted kind of like sugary Weetabix, but with a smooth texture. I scoffed the rest of it in a few seconds, wondering if I would be taking liberties by asking for more. (I discovered later that this was Kara Parshad, made from sweet flour and oil.)
Next we moved into a second, larger hall where the gakta weapons were laid out on a mat beside the doorway. The fact that I was here for a performance of gakta rather than to take part in it myself meant I wouldn’t be using these. The swords, sticks, shields and spikes told me I had picked the right martial arts form to wuss out of. After we were treated to a gorgeous vegetarian meal of fresh flatbread, rice and chickpea curry, we lined up against the wall for the start of the show.
One of the more senior-looking Sikhs began playing a large drum while two youngsters ran towards the weapons at full sprint, stopping leaping into the air and landing inches in front of where the equipment was laid out. They each picked up a wooden sword and small shield, and basically started thrashing at each other with them. This aspect of gakta is performance-orientated so a lot of the moves are predetermined. Just as well, because the guys – who looked about 10 – next moved onto sword fighting. They flew at each other with a sword and shield each, with absolutely no evident fear of injuring themselves or each other, and I was seriously impressed. I even pulled out my mobile and started filming it.
While I was eating, I had half-noticed that the room was ringed with pictures depicting various old-looking scenes. When I looked closer I realised that they all depicted graphic tortures meted out to Sikhs, just for being Sikhs.
It occurred to me that you would have a hard job finding a better way of motivating a martial artist, who was practicing a form based on his religion, which would surpass such images. Noticing those pictures made me appreciate all the more the flamboyant, flowing moves the gakta performers demonstrated with a deathly focus.
The Sikh Council of Ireland was established in response to the brutish, misguided reaction of many to the September 11 attacks in the US, when Sikhs were being mistaken for Muslims and attacked on sight all over the world. The behaviour of the perpetrators was underpinned by the cultural ignorance (of both Muslims and Sikhs) typical of those who carry out such attacks.
But my time with Satwinder Singh and the other friendly, accommodating Sikhs has left me sure about one thing – if the attackers in question had been aware of the martial history of the Sikhs, knew how they attend gakta instruction from the age of eight, or were aware of the fact that they carry a Kirpan, they would likely have decided to keep walking.
