The District Cup, page 16
‘We will play, sir,’ he repeated, his shoulders straight, his chin up. ‘I know we’re going to play a great game today,’ he turned to his team, ‘because this game is not just about the Cup anymore. Today, we won’t play for a trophy or a title. Today, we play for something bigger than ourselves.’
When you find a higher purpose, the path appears before you as clear as day.
The team gathered around their captain, moved by his emotions, charged by his words.
‘We play for Aaron!’ Prithvi clenched his fist.
‘For Aaron!’ the team echoed his words. ‘FOR AARON!’ they repeated, inspired and energized.
Hands crossed before his chest, Siraj beamed as he watched on. The lion had taken charge of the pride. The lion had found his roar.
63
FINAL BRUSH STROKES
Standing before the team, Siraj drew in a deep breath. This was no time to discuss football tactics, only to get the adrenalin pumping. He nodded at Father Paulose, the priest from St Thomas Church, who stood grimly by his side.
‘I come straight from the hospital bearing grim news,’ the padre informed them. ‘Jadon has suffered a compound fracture of his right fibula’—he pointed to the portion below his knee—‘and has also dislocated his right ankle. I’m told he’s ruled out of football for several months, perhaps for good.’
Ismail set his eyes on Farhan stretching in the field, a voice in his head screaming, ‘Justice for Jadon!’
‘I don’t want to scare you,’ said the priest, ‘but to remind you all to draw strength from one of the most repeated phrases in the Bible: Be not afraid!’
Not one to be moved by anything Father Paulose usually had to say, the words left Ethan bringing his palms together, to join the priest in reciting the sportsman’s prayer.
‘Dear Lord, in the battle that runs through life,
We ask but a field that is fair;
A chance that is equal to all in the strife,
The courage to do and to dare.
If we should win, let it be by the code,
With faith and honour held high;
But if we should lose, let us stand by the road,
And cheer as the winners go by.’
KD glanced at Saksham and Anuj. They were warming up at the far end. Did these words mean anything at all to them?
Chung spoke next as the players changed into their match gear. ‘Did you know that in football,’ he began, pleased to share yesteryear anecdotes, ‘India was once known as the Brazil of Asia?’
‘Really?’ Karzong’s eyes grew wide as he changed his shirt. Brazil was his favourite team!
‘Let me tell you a story I heard from Joydeep Sain’s father about the Asian Games that took place in Indonesia in 1962.’ Chung positioned himself in the centre of the group. ‘The crowds were unwelcoming and held violent demonstrations against India. In fact, our forward Jarnail Singh was humiliated for his turban, and had to travel sitting on the floor of the team bus.’
Diljeet clenched his fists.
‘Despite all the troubles, our team stormed into the finals,’ Chung continued. ‘But on the day of the match, our goalkeeper Peter Thangaraj caught a bad bout of flu, our right-back Trilok Singh limped about with a painful cut toenail, and our forward Jarnail Singh, still hadn’t recovered from a serious head injury.’
‘What happened then?’ asked Neel, fidgeting with his entangled shoelaces.
‘Despite all these challenges and a booing crowd, we played with great courage,’ said Chung, helping Neel with his shoes. ‘In fact, Singh refused to leave the field even when his forehead began bleeding. It inspired the whole team and lifted their game. In the end, India beat South Korea to win gold. We were crowned the champions of Asia.’
The team listened as they got ready, their faces reflecting a cocktail of emotions.
‘My father, he’s over there.’ Joydeep Sain pointed to a cherubic old man leaning on a walking stick in the stands. ‘He’s seen that golden generation play and often weeps about the state of football in India today. Can you show him?’ his voice quivered, the always-practical man suddenly turning sentimental. ‘Can you show my old man some wonderful football today, guys? Can you show him that the future of Indian football is in safe hands?’
‘Yes, sir!’ replied the squad in unison, pumped up by the story, as a gentle hum from the sky filled the air.
‘Do you see those birds?’ asked Siraj, bending to tighten Debashish’s laces before pointing up to a flock of approaching birds. ‘They’re bar-headed geese on their way home. They will fly through high altitudes and hostile weather to get across the Himalayas. And yet, they won’t stop flapping their wings till they get back,’ he said, as he stopped to check Ethan’s gloves. ‘Pause a moment to notice how they fly.’
All eyes turned to the slender, orange-billed birds above.
‘In a V formation,’ replied Kadambini.
‘Right,’ said Siraj. ‘The goose up front takes the lead,’ he explained. ‘As she slices through the air, her flapping wings give a lift to the two birds behind her, making it smoother for them.’ He straightened Karzong’s shoulders, dusted grass off Ismail’s shirt. ‘Those two do the same for the birds behind them. When the leader is tired, another will step up. And so, they fly on, supporting each other until the whole team is home,’ he said, as Ethan gaped at the honking birds above them.
‘Kuch samjhe?’ Jeet ruffled the goalie’s hair. ‘What does that teach you?’
‘Stick to the plan,’ replied Ismail.
‘Stay in formation,’ chirped Karzong.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ said Diljeet.
‘Play to your strengths,’ noted KD.
‘We are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided,’ said Neel, grinning. ‘Courtesy, Albus Dumbledore!’
‘Play like a team!’ Debashish straightened his shoulders.
‘Being selfish doesn’t help,’ whispered Atharva.
‘Never give up.’ Mangya punched his fist in the air.
‘We’re all in this together!’ Prithvi threw his arms around his teammates. ‘We play as a team!’ he called out as the team got together for a huddle.
‘WE WIN AS A TEAM!’ they all repeated after him.
The fragrance of the little white maulsari flowers filled the air as the team walked out into the centre, light on their feet, a spring in their step, with straight backs, and upright shoulders, immersed in a warm oozy glow of confidence.
64
CAGED IN
‘Sir, Zubair sir keeps calling.’ The assistant bent deferentially before Mama ji. ‘He’s asking if you’re coming for the finals. They’re having some problems and the people are—’
‘Fool! Is the tournament a priority at this hour?’ G.S. barked. ‘Tell me, what’s the news from the State Football Association?’
The assistant took a step back, his face losing colour. ‘I just got a call from the president of the State Association,’ he mumbled.
‘And?’ Mama ji belched. ‘What did he say?’
‘Resign!’ The assistant let it out with a hiccup. ‘The president of the State Football Association wants you both to step down.’
‘Who needs enemies with friends like these!’ G.S. romped about the room like a charging bull.
‘In good times, everyone wants a piece of the pie.’ Mama ji let out a laboured sigh. ‘But when the chips are down, they’ll be ready to feed you to the wolves!’
‘Resign, my foot!’ G.S. flung his glass across the room. It crashed into the wall, shattering to pieces. ‘Who does he think he is? I dare him. I dare the world. I dare anybody.’ He growled like a bear as two orderlies cleaned up the mess. ‘Let the man who has the guts to dislodge Mama ji and me from our chairs show me his face!’
‘Not a man, sir,’ the assistant gasped, holding up a letter they’d just received. ‘But a woman.’
‘Woman?’ G.S. spun around, oily streaks of hair falling across his forehead.
‘Sir, this lady lawyer has served us with a notice. They’ve filed a petition in the high court against you and the matter is going to be taken up in court tomorrow.’
‘The stars are all aligned against us!’ cried Mama ji.
‘Any news from the party headquarters?’ G.S. asked his campaign manager who was standing by his side with a dazed face.
‘The party has put out a tweet distancing themselves from all this. And according to some inside sources, Mama ji’s ticket to stand for the upcoming elections is going to be cancelled.’
Mama ji held his head in his hands, his face taking on a ghost-like pallor. G.S. fell back on the sofa. All of a sudden, they were being attacked on all fronts by an invisible force. On land. On sea. And in the air.
65
AN EXTRA PLAYER
A home crowd, it is said, is the twelfth member of a football team. From boosting the morale of their own side to wrecking the nerves of the opposition, spectators play an important role in a game. And so it did on the day of the finals of the District Cup.
‘SAY NO TO AGE-CHEATING!’ read large red banners with white letters pasted all over the stands.
‘STEP DOWN MAMA JI!’ screamed one poster.
‘AGE-CHEATING IS KILLING SPORTS!’ boomed a slogan from a megaphone. ‘MDFS, HAI HAI!’
Siraj turned his eyes up to the stands where Finsy and her contingent were pulling off quite a spectacle, putting a fine touch to the final part of his operation—crossing out the Strikers’ advantage of age and size with the twin weapons of intimidation and hostility. Finsy was in her element, leading a large group of aggrieved players, parents and coaches in making a lot of noise.
‘NETA HATAO, KHEL BADHAO!
FRAUD HATAO, KHEL BACHAO!’
‘MDFS, DOWN DOWN!
MAMA-BHANJA, DOWN DOWN!’
‘AGE-CHEATING IS KILLING TALENT!
WE CAN NO LONGER REMAIN SILENT!’
Drums and trumpets, vuvuzelas and whistles, plates and spoons—noise-making instruments of all kinds had been employed.
People had turned out in large numbers. Siblings, relatives, parents, grandparents, friends, neighbours, reporters. Even those with no interest or understanding of football had shown up out of curiosity after the video went viral.
Finals of various age groups would be played that day. But all eyes were pinned on the U-13 finals. Even players and coaches from other teams—the Braganza Boys, San Amaro, Jayraj F.C., Chitale Cheetahs, Sacred Hearts—had all turned up to cheer for the Maulsari Eagles.
‘Sixty-five thousand views and counting.’ Mendez nudged Sain, holding up a selfie stick that was recording all the action—on and off the field. ‘Thank you to all our supporters in India and overseas, who have decided to watch the action live with me today,’ he announced excitedly into his microphone.
The two captains met in the centre of the pitch for the toss, as Zubair’s hawkish eyes continued to nervously scan the VIP enclosure. His saviours were nowhere to be seen.
Prithvi glared at Saksham as they stood facing each other on either side of the referee for the toss. Fidgety, flustered by the slogans echoing behind him, Saksham avoided Prithvi’s intense gaze.
While Prithvi had chosen to shame his counterpart with his eyes alone, not everyone on his team would choose to be as subtle, employing mind games of their own to ruffle and rattle the opposition’s feathers.
‘Scared to play your own age, huh?’ Atharva winked as he shook hands with the Strikers’ forward. ‘Is that why you losers play twelve-year-olds instead?’
‘And he has the cheek to himself Cristiano!’ roared Diljeet.
Defeating the opposition was not going to be enough today. They were going to ensure the guys went home disgraced.
‘What’s this, bro?’ Ethan guffawed, pressing Farhan’s hand. ‘Did you all turn five as soon as you were born?
‘Chal chal!’ Farhan scowled.
Dismissing taunts from the players would be relatively easy. Ignoring chants echoing on the field though would prove nearly impossible. For Finsy’s platoon had drowned the ground out in pandemonium.
‘We welcome you all to a rare, one-of-a-kind game,’ a voice blasted from the west stand. ‘Today, the U-13 Eagles will take on U-15 from the Strikers.’
Meanwhile, another chant blared from the east.
‘For India! For Football!
We have to take a stand.
For Football! For India!
Get up and raise your hand!
No more! No more!
No more fraud and lies.
Act now! Act now!
Time to open your eyes.’
Even as they finished, melodious voices began singing from the west.
‘You are fifteen, going on sixteen . . .’ They parodied a popular song from the movie, The Sound of Music, as megaphones carried their voices to every corner of the field. ‘We’re not fourteen, barely thirteen . . .’
‘Wow! These guys are creating quite a commotion!’ Sain covered his ears, as the Strikers contingent cringed and squirmed.
‘Thanks partly to you, dost.’ Siraj pointed to Zubair’s reddening face. ‘After all, it was your advice to think beyond the game!’
Out in the centre, Referee Prabhakaran tossed the coin in the air. ‘Heads!’ Prithvi made a call. Heads it was. Prithvi decided he’d take the start. Saksham was left to pick the side.
Toss done, Prithvi ran over to the stands to fetch an extra water bottle from his mother.
‘All the best, Prithvi!’ The stands echoed with his name. Ajoba. Baba. Mamma. Prerna. Aaji. Lubna. Rahmat. Jason. Ganesh Kaka. Aaron. Abhiti. Varun. Varadarajan. Sain’s father. Titli, her parents. Chitra. Anand. Coach Shekhar. Coach Fernandez. Mavani. Apte Kaka. He spotted so many familiar faces in the crowd, stopped to shake so many outstretched hands. This fight is not about you, but for something greater than you. He turned back to the field, with warmth in his heart and a fire in his belly.
Walking back to his team, Prithvi’s eyes caught sight of a plaque over the gate of the maidan. He’d seen it before but stopped to notice it only now. It contained the very same words pinned upon the wooden board in his shop—Ajoba’s favourite verse from the Upanishads. He paused to read, and suddenly saw it in a whole new light.
‘ARISE. AWAKE. AND STOP NOT TILL THE GOAL IS REACHED!’
66
THE FINAL: MAULSARI EAGLES VS STRIKERS F.C.
The match finally kicked off, the air thick with tension, the Eagles bothered by size, the Strikers intimidated by slogans.
Four minutes into the game, Ethan launched a goal kick high up in the air. Anticipating a landing near the mid-field, Saksham and Prithvi positioned themselves under the ball, setting up for an aerial duel. Being taller, Saksham jumped higher, beating Prithvi to the ball. But lacking in skill, he lost the advantage. The ball bounced off his head and landed near Prithvi’s feet. Bringing the ball instantly under control, Prithvi made a swift, graceful turn, getting past the first defender with a shoulder feint, then beating the other with a stunning dribble.
‘Aaaaa!’ The crowd held their breath.
Atharva was well covered, Karzong was too far wide on the right. Prithvi’s peripheral vision had soaked up that information. Smack in the centre, with only the goalie to beat, he then, had the best shot. Cutting-in sharply towards his left to throw Anuj, the goalie, off-guard, Prithvi fired a shot in with his left foot.
‘Incredible!’ Anand, KD’s father, exclaimed up on the stands. ‘Isn’t Prithvi right-footed?’
‘He can play with both his feet.’ Ajoba beamed. ‘It is a rare skill.’
On the field, the Strikers’ goalie made a leopard-like leap, throwing his oversized body to his right. Getting the very tips of his outstretched fingers to the ball, Anuj managed to deflect it away from goal.
‘Oooooo!’ the spectators groaned, their hands on their heads in excitement.
But, the Maulsari Eagles had another chance. The deflected ball had gone straight to Atharva at the edge of the penalty box. A quick tap-in would put them in the lead. But Farhan’s towering frame loomed large over him. Atharva jostled to get ahead, Farhan blocked him with an extended arm. Atharva tried getting around, Farhan pushed him with his shoulder. In the end, the goalie had enough time to run up and cradle the ball in his hands.
‘Well done!’ Zubair clapped.
‘Well tried, Eagles!’ Siraj appreciated the effort. ‘Keep going, keep going!’
The Eagles most certainly did keep going. Ethan to Ismail. Ismail to Mangya. Mangya to KD. KD to Prithvi. Prithvi to Ismail. Ismail to Ethan.
They kept up the rapid passes, drawing the opponents into their own half, leaving Cristiano and Saksham exasperated as they ran continuously between them, trying to intercept the passes.
Prithvi. KD. Mangya. Ismail. Prithvi. KD. Mangya. Ethan. KD. Prithvi. The pattern continued until the time was right to break it.
Defenders drawn deep, Prithvi lobbed the ball over Saksham’s head with a stylish sombrero, then beat yet another defender with a shoulder drop and lofted an aerial pass to Karzong.
Taking the ball on his chest, Karzong dropped it to his foot.
BANG!
A powerful shot beyond the reach of a diving Anuj. But the ball skimmed wide of the goalpost.
‘Ooooooo!’ the crowds gasped once more.
Two close chances. The Eagles had missed both.
As the referee signalled half-time, and the players walked back to their benches after a goal-less first half, the game plan was apparent for all to see. One side was hobbling on with size, the other was holding out with skill. One side was muscle and might, the other was lustre and light. One side was scuffle, the other was song.
67
HALF-TIME
They flopped on the grass and grabbed their water bottles.
‘Notice, they don’t have much of a game.’ Siraj knelt by their side. ‘Zero dribbling and passing, except their No. 9.’
