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.
“Even a dead elephant is worth a lakh-and-a-quarter,” someone from the spectators commented.
Sher Ali did a few leg squats in his corner, then took off his robe and defiantly faced Tamami. A month of preparation had made a difference to his constitution as well. He looked better prepared than he had the last time.
Tamami cast a last look at the last empty chair and went to his corner in the akhara. A few in the crowd hooted at him, but he did not pay attention.
At the referee’s signal, Sher Ali cut a circle around Tamami and locked him in a triceps and triceps tie-up. Then he ducked, and sweeping under Tamami’s arm, he emerged at his back. He led Tamami into a breakdown and reached for an inside crotch hold.
The crowd applauded and cheered him.
“Ride him! Ride him now!” they shouted.
“Soon! Soon!” Tamami shouted back, imagining the crowd cheered for him.
People broke into laughter at his retort.
Kabira felt as if someone had stabbed him through the heart.
“Ride, Sher Ali! Ride him!” someone shouted, and Tamami raised his head. The look of shock in his eyes turned the next moment into a scowl.
Sher Ali tried to climb onto his leg. As Tamami rose, Sher Ali inserted his leg between Tamami’s. He pushed Sher Ali’s knee, making it impossible for him to move back on top to maintain his crossbody ride. Sher Ali slid off Tamami’s shoulder. Tamami quickly tried to rise to his feet, but for a moment everything went dark before his eyes. He reeled. Sher Ali, already on his knees, lurched forward to tackle Tamami’s legs. Tamami threw his weight forward even as he was pushed back. He landed on his hips on the akhara clay, facing the empty chair in the first row.
Tamami weighed more than Sher Ali and, while Sher Ali’s maneuver was foiled, he had already moved too far down across his adversary’s body for Tamami to gain any advantage. Suddenly Sher Ali saw Tamami rise and reach out.
“He’s here. He’s come.” Tamami mumbled.
Without thinking of a possible motive for Tamami’s strange behavior, Sher Ali took advantage of this shift of balance to gain his feet, and immediately threw his weight backwards, pulling Tamami down with him. Tamami, who failed to apply the counter, fell awkwardly. His neck bent under the joint weight of his and Sher Ali’s bodies. To avert the building pressure on his neck he turned using all his strength, and both his shoulders briefly touched the ground.
Sher Ali disengaged and jumped to his feet when the dhol began beating. He bolted to his corner to do a victory dance.
Tamami’s face looked drained. There was no sign of Ustad Ramzi. The chair was empty.
The uproar of the audience drowned out even the beat of the dhol.
❖
The spectators had thinned out. Kabira and Tamami were the only ones left with the promoter in his pavilion. Tamami had been drinking water constantly and still felt thirsty. Kabira angrily pushed away the jug of water.
“Tell him he can challenge Sher Ali,” he addressed Gulab Deen sharply.
“Of course he can challenge him. Everyone knows that.”
“When? Arrange it for this week. We will declare it this very day. I will go and talk to Sher Ali.”
“You are forgetting something.”
“What?”
“Tamami cannot fix the date.”
“Why not?”
“The winner decides that. He decides when the challenge fight will be held.”
Kabira was struck silent. He now understood the reason for the promoter’s defiant tone and his testiness, and he felt a sudden rage.
“You are responsible for all this!”
“Responsible for what?” Gulab Deen started gathering the receipt books on his desk.
“How early can the challenge fight be held?” Kabira asked after a moment.
“In a few months, maybe. Maybe more. It all depends. Sher Ali might wish to postpone it further. You know he wants to fight some exhibition matches—make some money. That’s what I think he will do. But I have to go now. Come see me when you think he is ready.”
Kabira felt a hint of derogation in the way the promoter pointed towards Tamami.
“Come over next week and we will settle our account,” Gulab Deen told him as he stepped out.
❖
Tamami had only half-listened to the conversation between Kabira and Gulab Deen.
“Ustad Ramzi did not come,” he said as Kabira led him back home.
Kabira did not reply.
“He did not come, Kabira,” Tamami’s voice broke. “He will not come now. He will never forgive me.”
Kabira still remained silent.
Tamami was occupied with only one thought: any possibility of a rapprochement with Ustad Ramzi was now forever lost. He began to cry.
After escorting him home Kabira brought him some food. Before leaving the room he asked Tamami to get some rest and sleep for a few hours.
Tamami could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he felt his predicament more acutely. He tried to ward off that oppressive weight. But a swirling darkness surrounded him. He felt more depressed than ever. His hands desperately searched his dirty clothes and discovered a small packet carefully tied with a rubber band.
❖
Kabira had kept a strict watch on Tamami, but it had not crossed Kabira’s mind to search the dirty laundry. When he returned home he found Tamami lying face down on the floor, the viscous fluid from his nose slowly pooling around his head.
He had been dead for several hours from a drug overdose.