Musharraf Farooqi - Between Clay and Dust

Kabira could not tell how much of what the promoter said was true and how much was an act. Sometimes Kabira felt overwhelmed by Gulab Deen. He knew that if Tamami had an experienced manager, he would have been treated with greater respect. But senior pahalwans kept their distance from Tamami for fear of crossing Ustad Ramzi.

On the morning of the fight, Tamami’s eyes shone brightly despite the dark rings around them. He was unable to hide his joy at the approach of the moment when he would see Ustad Ramzi in attendance at his fight. A smile played on his lips as he sat, head bowed, while the barber cropped his hair. His anxiety grew as the hour of the bout neared, and when he left for the akhara he was on edge.

When they arrived at the akhara, Kabira saw Gulab Deen getting his photographs taken with Sher Ali. Gulab Deen did not ask to have one taken with Tamami.

Tamami looked around and did not see Ustad Ramzi among those seated in the front row. Only three reserved chairs were left to be filled. One was occupied as he watched. Tamami recognized some members of his clan in the crowd, but they avoided eye contact, and he was filled with apprehension. He called Kabira over.

“Do you see Ustad Ramzi?” Tamami asked.

“No. But there is still time.”

“Others are here.”

“I saw them.”

“The fight won’t begin until Ustad comes.”

“He will come. Just wait.”

Another seat was filled. A little before the fight, Tamami withdrew from the akhara and rushed toward the pavilion where the promoter was reviewing last-minute arrangements with a few other men. Kabira followed Tamami.

The trainees exchanged looks. It was against etiquette to withdraw from the akhara once the opponent had arrived.

“I am not going to fight without Ustad here.” Tamami shouted at Gulab Deen as he burst into the pavilion.

Gulab Deen signaled the other men to leave, and looked fixedly at Tamami.

“I won’t fight without Ustad Ramzi,” Tamami repeated. His hands trembled.

“The fight starts in ten minutes,” Gulab Deen said coolly. “It will be held on time.”

“But he is not here.”

“Who is not here?”

“Ustad Ramzi.”

Gulab Deen snapped up some dried fruits from the top of his desk. “Whether he is here or not, the fight will be held. I cannot pamper you like a baby. If you are not in the akhara when the dhol is beaten to open the fight, Sher Ali will be declared the winner.”

“We can wait a little longer for Ustad Ramzi.” Kabira spoke up. “Maybe he will come.”

“A few minutes, not indefinitely,” Gulab Deen replied. “There are people outside who have bought tickets. They are here to watch a fight, and a fight they will see, whether…”

“I could send someone to see if he is coming…” Kabira quickly said.

“Don’t say if and maybe! You told me Ustad Ramzi would come,” Tamami turned on Kabira. Then he faced Gulab Deen again, saying, “You said he was coming. Where is he?”

“Listen to me Tamami!” Gulab Deen said sharply. “Listen to me carefully, now!”

Tamami fell silent. He looked angry, but confused.

“You want Ustad Ramzi to be here so that he sees you fight. But Ustad Ramzi is a proud man. And you know he loves you. Don’t deny it. I know well that you know it. Good! Now I am not saying that this will happen, but it is a possibility. He may say to himself: ‘Tamami did things I did not like. Therefore

I excommunicated him. I want to see what he can do when he is left on his own.’ This is what he tells himself. Now let me tell you what happened next. Tamami went away, and before anybody knew it, he got himself a manager, and also a promoter. Now Kabira is your good friend and I am here to serve you: it’s my job, and no credit to me. But now Ustad Ramzi is surprised and also happy and not a little proud. Tamami is no longer a small boy. A challenge match comes next. Ustad Ramzi is carefully watching to see what Tamami will do. And what does Tamami do? He throws the bout. Why? Because Tamami can easily afford to do it. Why? Because Tamami is far stronger than Sher Ali. But the results create suspense. Ustad Ramzi does not say a word, but I know how he feels in his heart. He says to himself: ‘Maybe Tamami has fallen before Sher Ali’s might.’ I will tell you why he thinks that. Sher Ali is not a nobody. That was why he was matched with Tamami. Ustad Ramzi may say what he likes, but in his heart he knows Sher Ali is no ordinary pahalwan. So he says to himself: ‘What would happen if I went there and Tamami again drew the bout, or, God forbid, lost it? Would I be able to show my face to the world? While the Ustad-e-Zaman looked on, his brother was defeated by a relatively unknown pahalwan. No! No! No! A hundred times no!’ But as you see, Ustad Ramzi does not know that Tamami also has a plan.”

Gulab Deen winked mischievously at Kabira and Tamami before continuing:

“Ustad Ramzi does not know that Tamami is playing a cat-and-mouse game with Sher Ali. Of course, Ustad Ramzi has no way of knowing it. He is confused. Only one thing will help him see things as they really are.” The promoter got up, grasped Tamami and Kabira by their forearms, and walked them to the entrance of the pavilion. “And that thing is to fight and defeat Sher Ali. Tamami will make the contest even by winning this bout, and in the next one Tamami will rout Sher Ali.”

Gulab Deen then looked around and said in a conspiratorial manner: “I should be careful with my words. If one of Sher Ali’s supporters heard me, I would be in big trouble. They would think I was conspiring against their pahalwan with Tamami and his manager. Now we are not doing that, are we? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

“He is not here,” Tamami looked at the only empty seat that was visible from the pavilion. Devoid of anger, his words sounded more like a complaint.

“I told you. Ustad Ramzi will not be here. But he will be waiting. Waiting for the news of Tamami making him proud, to receive the victory procession. Everything will be forgotten then. But to the akhara now — we don’t want to keep Ustad Ramzi waiting.”

Tamami’s voice choked as he spoke. He did not seem to address anyone in particular: “I will go back to the akhara if I win. I will ask his forgiveness. He will forgive me.”

“Yes, Tamami,” Gulab Deen said, casting a sharp glance at Kabira. “But you must hurry. The sooner you finish the fight the sooner you can go before Ustad Ramzi. The sooner you will be reunited.”

“Then I will fight!” Tamami said resolutely, wiping away a tear.

“Yes! Yes! Tamami will fight! Tamami will prove himself to Ustad Ramzi once and for all!” the promoter said, looking at Kabira.

Kabira did not wish to argue with the promoter, with Tamami in such a state of mind. He felt totally helpless against Gulab Deen’s tricks. He cursed him in his heart, but remained quiet.

“Kabira, I want you to be my witness,” Tamami said. “Be my witness that I fulfilled my promise to Ustad Ramzi.”

“Yes Tamami, I will,” Kabira said.

His heart was heavy as he led Tamami to the akhara. He was no longer able to think clearly. He was afraid now. A vague fear took hold of him as the beat of the dhol rose to a crescendo.

There had been a lot of rumors about Tamami’s health and addiction. Some debased sense of excitement in the cruel spectacle had drawn a larger crowd than the earlier bout.

When Tamami removed the coverlet from his body, the audience saw that he was shrunken. His muscles had become slack, and the tendons were clearly visible under the skin, as in an old man’s body. While the drugs had done their damage, they had been unable to completely wreck the mass of muscle and bone. Tamami still towered over the quiet, grim-looking Sher Ali.