Manja!

“Uncle, you have double chain?”
The walk into the gulleys was full of excitement and anticipation. No cars could really go in there, and that secret location added to the whole promise of finding a manja that would reign supreme over that of other people. Kite flying and crossing your thread with others in combat was what I dreamed of everyday, and the consequence, not surprisingly, was my kite winning.

“No beta, it will be here next week.” The gentle old man made his own kites, and had the best stock of manja in the area. He had said that last week too, in fact I had started wondering about the existence of this mystical thread that we had heard about – the next task was to choose one which had a good feel to the fingers and seemed thin enough for my defensive kite flying. It was known that there were two popular styles of kite combat, if I may call it that – one being a defensive strategy in which you can loosen your kite to move with the wind till you cut the competitors thread; the other more advanced attacking technique was to start pulling your kite back with all the speed you could muster. I knew I wasn’t good enough on speed to carry out the second one and it was a sure shot way to failure. And people who could do that were my true heroes.

“Uncle, where is this manja made?”
“Arrey, it’s from Bareli. They make the best manja!”
I knew he was going to say that. It was the same answer, but one had to hear that before you bought that manja. Everyone knew Bareli made the best, it was one the unchallenged facts of life. With the right amount of glass powder on the string to give it the right cutting powers - too much glass and the thread became brittle, too little was not sharp enough. So the thread was bought and covered up in paper to keep it dry for the most important day coming up – 15th of August. That was the day which would be climax of the whole kite flying season.

Sleep on the night of the 14th was not too good because of the frequent prayers for good wind and absence of rain next morning. Somehow the night passed and we got up in the morning and went up to the terrace to check the wind. Uncannily, it was always a beautiful day! And to top it all, the wind was eastward – which would mean more and more kites around ours to challenge and defeat!
As soon you cross your manja with the other’s, you would most likely know who was going to win. It was a question of vantage positions before the kill, much like real combat. If you let him catch you in a spot that had less wind flow, you were going down for sure. You also had to watch out for knots in your string, because they were the weakest link in your chain – of course you could always blame it on that. There were certain ethics too, like business. Attacking someone’s thread very close to his hand was called a hattha – a huge financial liability for him as he would most likely lose all his special thread. The day had its ups and downs, with wins and failures.

That day on the 15th of August, when my kite was flying free in the blues of the sky, I had felt joys that come by rarely in a lifetime.
It was peaceful war.

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Photo from flickr.com user Birds of Passage.