Musharraf Farooqi - Between Clay and Dust

There seemed to be some confusion as the elder walked up to the judges and Imama’s son tried to hold him back. Ustad Ramzi felt a sudden movement under him and realized Imama was exerting himself to break loose. Ustad Ramzi felt a cramp developing in his arm. He knew that, once free, Imama could easily press his back to the clay since his energies were already spent. Ustad Ramzi marshaled all his remaining strength and tightened his hold, knowing well that his strength was failing him.

At that moment Ustad Ramzi clearly saw the end of his reign and the loss of his title. He felt too mentally exhausted to think further and resigned himself to his circumstances.

Imama broke free the moment the drumming of the dhol signaled the end of the bout. It had been declared a tie. The two were to fight again within three months. In the meanwhile, the title remained with Ustad Ramzi.

The flow of blood in Ustad Ramzi’s arm was obstructed from the tightness of his hold. It had gone numb. As Ustad Ramzi stood silently in a corner of the akhara rubbing his arm, he finally understood what might have been happening towards the end of the bout. Imama could not have seen the first gesture of his clan elder as perspiration streamed into his eyes. He only noticed the gesture when asked if he wished to continue a second time. Imama was unable to articulate the words properly as the pressure of Ustad Ramzi’s hold had constricted his neck. The elder had misjudged the situation, thinking that the pressure was causing Imama’s vision to black out. He asked the judges to stop the fight, thinking that Imama would ultimately benefit, as it would be declared a tie. He disregarded the request by Imama’s son to wait a little longer.

Although Imama never spoke a word then or afterwards about what had happened, Ustad Ramzi understood why Imama had been furious. A simple misunderstanding had snatched victory from him.

Ustad Ramzi’s gaze now travelled down his leg. He noticed the torn skin around his left kneecap. Smeared in clay, clots of blood and fat hung from the wound. He disregarded it. His thoughts returned to the last moments of the bout when he had seen defeat and accepted it. It was the weakest moment of his life.

Just then he felt someone’s hand on his shoulder, and turned to find Tamami standing by his side. Tamami had tears in his eyes as he quietly embraced Ustad Ramzi. His presence there annoyed Ustad Ramzi. “Get rid of your tears!” he snapped, breaking away from him.

Tamami withdrew without a word.

Imama and his clan seemed to have been marked for adversity. A week after drawing the fight with Ustad Ramzi, his son lost one of his legs in a road accident that ended his career. Imama held himself together as best he could, but was seen less and less often at the akhara until he stopped coming altogether.

Friends and foes alike said Ustad Ramzi could now rest assured his title was secure. Ustad Ramzi made no comment, but he did not believe it was the end of the matter. He put himself in Imama’s place and wondered if he would rest for long, even taking into account the personal tragedy, upon discovering that his adversary was weak.

He realized that for the first time his clan had come close to losing its title. He was the first and only line of defense; at his age he was no longer infallible. Were it not for Tamami’s weakness, he could have chosen the strategy Imama planned to use against him, and move Tamami into the first line of defense.

❖

Not long afterwards Ustad Ramzi yielded to Tamami the charge of instructing the trainees as well. Tamami readily took it on but he did not have the necessary patience and perseverance needed in a trainer. After explaining a procedure once or twice he left the trainees by themselves. He lost his temper if he saw them repeat their mistakes.

When Ustad Ramzi heard the news that one of the trainees had stopped coming after an altercation with Tamami, he ordered Tamami go to the trainee’s house and bring him back. Tamami acquiesced with bad grace.

❖

Autumn gave way to winter and a faint mist began draping the neighborhood in the mornings. Ustad Ramzi slept lightly. He was up a few hours before dawn broke. From the akhara he retired to the cemetery where he tended the roses before going to his quarters to rest. He came out after Tamami had finished his first set of exercises. Ustad Ramzi would sit on the seat by the akhara to get the daily report from Kabira. By that time Tamami would begin his second set of exercises.

Tamami often witnessed Ustad Ramzi giving instructions or demonstrating maneuvers as he exercised. Once Tamami had been grappling with two trainees for half an hour. He was covered with clay, which coursed down his body along with streams of sweat. As he wheeled around and shook off one of the trainees from his back, he lost his balance and his hips touched the floor. Tamami recovered quickly, but at that moment Ustad Ramzi entered the akhara to demonstrate the move.

Tamami had felt himself in control when sparring with the trainees. That feeling disappeared when Ustad Ramzi stepped into the akhara. Tamami relinquished his hold on the trainee and they rose.

Ustad Ramzi balanced himself on his arms and knees and the trainees took their places to recreate the hold, which Tamami could not resolve perfectly. Ustad Ramzi identified the correct technique and, without losing his balance, threw down both trainees using the same maneuvers Tamami had applied. Tamami watched Ustad Ramzi’s maneuver carefully and nodded. The trainees praised Ustad Ramzi’s skill. Tamami’s friends and a few of the other pahalwans also made comments.

“How simple Ustad Ramzi made it look.”

“It is not without reason that he is the Ustad-e-Zaman.”

“Just wait until Tamami becomes Ustad-e-Zaman,” one of Tamami’s friends casually remarked.

Everyone in the akhara became silent when the words were uttered. Tamami’s friend realized his indiscretion and became quiet.

Ustad Ramzi looked at Tamami, who was trying to catch his breath after the long sparring session and had only vaguely heard what was said. He looked back blankly when he met Ustad Ramzi’s searching glance.

A smile appeared on Ustad Ramzi’s lips. He patted his brother’s shoulder and vigorously embraced him.

“Ustad Ramzi and Tamami are going to grapple.” A voice spoke from the crowd.

“The brothers are going to have a match!” someone else said.

Tamami realized they had mistaken Ustad Ramzi’s embrace for a grappling lock. Ustad Ramzi also regarded the trainees with a surprised look.

“Come see Ustad Ramzi and Tamami fight!” The excited babble continued.

Ustad Ramzi looked at Tamami and said, “Be prepared.”

Tamami nodded a little awkwardly. He felt too great an anxiety at that moment to think with clarity. The brothers had not fought recently. Tamami feared Ustad Ramzi would overpower him and everyone would be a witness to his weakness. He felt his energy draining away.

Ustad Ramzi slapped his shoulder with his hands and took up a fighting stance. Tamami’s hands also flew to Ustad Ramzi’s shoulders.

The two of them leaned forward, their temples pressed together. The backs of their heads were level with each other and their eyes riveted to the floor. The trainees closed in around the akhara to watch.

As Tamami pushed with his body to secure the hold for an overhead drag he felt Ustad Ramzi resist. Then Tamami felt he was losing balance as his powerful thrust suddenly broke Ustad Ramzi’s stance. Tamami recovered quickly.

The crowd silently witnessed the struggle without fully comprehending the situation. In that silence Tamami heard his heartbeat and Ustad Ramzi’s breathing, which maintained a broken rhythm.