Kill You, Sure (14)

           Kill You, Sure (14)

                                        Nidhu Bhusan Das

 Bithi’s at the stands of M.Chinnaswamy Stadium with Nizam for the Twenty20 World Cup match between India and Bangladesh.Both are cricket enthusiasts for different reasons.Bithi’s all praise for the game for its drama, suspense, poetry and beauty, enhanced by uncertainties. And she loves Bangladesh, the country of her father. For Nizam, he himself played in Abahani Krira Chakra in domestic cricket when he’s a student. The commonality of interest in the game, among other things, brings them face to face from time to time. They scarcely miss an international match in which Bangladesh plays.

                

                                 They sit among a swaying crowd of Bangladeshi fans who yell and wave their national flag at the fall of Indian wickets, and when chasing a target of 147 runs, the Tigers are in their scoring spree to the discomfort and anxiety of Team India.

“No, we’ll win,” Bithi assures Nizam.

“Don’t know, it’s a tricky game,”Nizam’s uncertain.

“We’ve beaten Pakistan and even the Kangaroos,” she recalls, confident.

“Let’s see,” Nizam murmurs and yells as Mushfiqur Rahim hits a six off a delivery from Pandyan who ultimately spells death for the Tigers in the last over.

Now it’s the last over, and Bangladesh needs only 11 off it. Nizam kisses Bithi in excitement oblivious of their being in the crowd. Their first ever kiss goes unnoticed as every eye is on the field.

“Haven’t I told you we’ll win? Now see,”Bithi’s excited.

“Wait, you cannot tell,”Nizam says in bated breath.

Mushfiqur brought the target down to just two runs off the last three balls with two fours and one single.

“Have you still doubt?” Bithi asks her paramour.

“It may go anyway,”Nizam replies to the annoyance of the girl with his focus on the 22 yards between the wickets.

“O-u-t!’ the scream goes ringing. Mahmudullah’s out. Now the last ball will be the decider - Bangladesh needs 2 to win, India 1 to remain in the competition.

“Bithi’s bumped into a hard reality. What to happen!” she whispers to Nizam who doesn’t hear.

“No-o-o! We’ve been foolhardy.Fie on us!” Nizam’s cathartic.

                       Bithi cries and leans on Nizam.Even the first mutual touch takes time for them to stir up as the galleries are getting deserted quickly. Chinnaswamy sees the beauty of a spell of romantic love in the euphoria of victory and the melancholia of being trounced when victory has been 1+1 sprints of 44 yards only. This still picture’s the reality of life. This happens. Cricket reflects the truth that we’ve to run after what’s often elusive. We succeed when failure doesn’t pull us back.

                       Bithi and Nizam come out of the stadium heads down. They cannot come to terms with the reality. Were they flying to reach the horizon, which moves away perpetually, and failed? We cannot keep pace with the movement. We may scale unreachable height, cover unimaginable distance in a flight of imagination but have to bump back to reality. The two foolish children are yet to come out of the stupor. They reach the Oberoi unaware of each other even when their two hands are joined. Back to the room, they sit face to face on the sofa, speechless. The silence breaks when Bithi says, “You’re right Nizam. Now understand we cannot tell what’s ahead.”

“Cricket tells the story of life, of uncertainties.”

“Everything in life resembles a taper, isn’t it?” Bithi says, philosophically.

“Hope’s like that.”

“We shouldn’t hope, I think”

“Then we shouldn’t use taper also,” Nizam reasons.

“Won’t we have lunch, dear?”Bithi responds to her impulse.

                         Nizam slowly and reluctantly rises and proceeds to bathroom. After a cool shower comes back fresh with a sad smile hovering over the soft face.Bithi’s sponged her face and neck. Only soup has been ordered. They know the shock has taken away their appetite. Hunger for victory has been a strong emotional urge which is dashed, and it’s a shock like the one the passengers have when a ferry boat which successfully has negotiated the turbulent river during a storm sinks near the bank.

Having the first sip, Nizam murmurs,” We won’t have remorse. We played and dominated but rocked the boat just before mooring.”

“We couldn’t match their cool planning and maturity,” Bithi’s back to her analytical power.

“We shouldn’t try to exhibit glory before it’s achieved,” Nizam vents anger.

“Means?” Bithi wants to know.

“Why, Mahmudullah went for glory, hit two consecutive deliveries high in the air though playing them on the ground would have been enough. That sealed our fate,” Nizam explodes.

“Okay, the flight is at 4.30 a.m. We should go to bed.”

 They kiss and go to sleep. The two are now in dream spurred by the kiss. Two angels hover over them.

“Will this love endure?” one angel raises the question to Nizam.

“He represents the lack of confidence of your players in crucial moments,” the other angel whispers to her.

“She’s too emotional,” pours the first angel into the ear of Nizam.

“”Too much reason causes indecision,” says the second angel.

                     The dream has goaded them into fear and an embrace. But they cannot kiss any more. The game with its thrill is over. Gone is the stupor. But it has aroused questions in the mind of the lovers as leftovers of their varying shades of emotional responses during the match. Each of them analyses the response of the other. She recalls, Nizam has said,” Cricket reflects the truth that we’ve to run after what’s often elusive.” Bithi cannot forget it. She knows love’s an emotion which doesn’t tally with reason.( Continued on 7th May 2016)