(Handia is no ordinary rice beer. It represents the soul and spirit, temper and tradition, custom and culture of a people whose simple, uncomplicated lives in deep dense forests of northern and north-eastern India offer a study in harmony and heritage. It is indeed a Blessed Brew, a brew of faith and fun.)
In tribal lands where culture thrives, A tale of Handia, emerges in sighs. In earthen pots, its essence brews, An emblem of tradition that nature matures. As civilizations grew and became strong, Indus, Vedic, Egyptian, rose to a song. Rice and herbs danced in abandoned glee, Handia, the elixir, was born wild and free. From the Chalcolithic whispers of yore, To the present where cultures adore. Vedas hum, the gods applaud, As Handia flows, a tribute to the flawed. And it found Bihar and Jharkhand's embrace, Odisha's soul, North East’s grace. Madhya Pradesh echoes its name, Handia, the brew, in the culture game. 'Bakhar' tablets, a forest's gift, In the hands of artisans, spirits lift. Roots and leaves, a healing prayer, In the hands of time, a legacy to bear. Fermented in the earthen pots. A legacy slowly, gently plots. In the hands of tribes, traditions mend, The magic of an enduring herbal blend. Marriage feasts and daily chores, Handia's dance on tribal floors. Women selling by roadsides fair, Weekly haats and the market's lair. Handia’s touch, a healing feat, Be it Malaria or a heart with unsteady beat. Guarding health, this drink divine, Handia's legacy, in every sip, we find. Deep in the forests, as adivasis thrive, Handia's rhythm remains alive. Rice and herbs, a timeless bond, In Handia's embrace, a culture is donned. With stars above and earth below, Handia's journey, a rhythmic flow. In every sip, a story spun, Handia, the brew, forever be sung. So let this elixir weave its lore, Let Handia's symphony, forever soar. A toast to tradition, to culture grand, A bewitching embrace, in God’s land.
scribo ad LX 