The Zoya Factor (44 page)

And so then all of us got into this discussion about whether all batsmen were compensating for something. And while we were all giggling over this, it happened again. Nikhil suddenly stopped play by walking up to the umpire and saying something to them.

'What's happening out there, Beeru?' Jay said. 'It's not like Nick Khoda to disrupt the game like this.'

'You're right, Jay,' Beeru said. 'You know, I have half a notion it's sledging again.'

The mikes couldn't pick up the conversation at all, but the umpire seemed to be wagging his finger, while the Pakistani wicketkeeper made open-handed shrugging gestures, seemingly protesting his innocence. The crowd-monster hissed and booed. Play resumed and the mood lightened when Nikhil - his jaw set and that familiar Boost-ad-gleam in his eyes - flicked the very next delivery away for an arrogant four. The crowd went berserk. Cries of
India! India!
rent the air.

The next delivery was no better and Khoda and Laakhi ended up making seventeen runs in that particular over. The crowd erupted, cheering ecstatically. The lesser Khans broke into a wild jig. One of them yelled, 'Death to Paki scum,' and had to be gagged and sat upon.

'Well, that seems to have backfired on Pakistan somewhat, don't you think, Beeru?'

'Absolutely, these two are mature players, Jay. Such tactics would only goad them to lift their game...'

The Pakistan captain seemed to think the same. He clapped his hands, gathered his boys around him, and gave them a tongue-lashing. Meanwhile, Laakhi yawned and spat. At the other end, Nikhil Khoda leaned on his bat, panting slightly with a fuck-you grin on his face. They did manage to get Laakhi out, finally, but not before he'd made 64 runs.

Zahid came in to bat then and that's when things got ugly.

The Paki wicketkeeper was definitely up to something. He was a tiny guy, but cocky. Apparently, he had a history of being obnoxious.

'That guy's a class act,' I heard one of the lesser Khans say to his buddies. 'I've studied him over the years, dude. He makes an
art
out of figuring out people's insecurities and baiting them when they come out to play.
Pitega ek din.
'

Well, he'd definitely said something that had enraged Zahid. He was looking positively murderous. I remembered what he'd told me about using the crowd's hostility to fuel his performance and I hoped that was what he'd do now.

During the break the umpires called in both skippers and said that any more sledging would cause them to dock runs from the total of the side that was misbehaving. Everybody nodded in a most civilized way and the game resumed. India was at 263, just 68 runs away from an assured place in the semis. The match rolled on, Nikhil and Zahid piled up runs steadily with ease. The Pakis looked desperate. Their pretty-boy bowlers flicked their stylishly cut hair out of their eyes nervously, spat on the ball and rubbed it against their thighs compulsively, hurling it like a lit bomb upon the pitch again and again - it proved ineffectual.

'Yes, the match definitely seems to be slipping away from Pakistan now. Jay, what d'you say?'

'Well, I have to agree with you there, Beeru. A score of 331 seemed like a mountain of a total this morning, but India have made it look like a molehill.'

'Vul, traditionally India-Pakistan matches are very high-scoring, and this has proved to be no exception. And there's the 300 coming up now, Jay, unless I'm very much mistaken.'

He wasn't. Khoda had eased it away for a four through the slips and India were 302 for three. He got run out a little after that. He'd whacked the ball away and charged down the pitch even as Zahid yelled at him to stay put above the roar of the crowd. Khoda turned around, his bat out, but one of the pretty-boy bowlers got the stumps with a direct hit. There was a terrible crackingsound as the middle stump broke cleanly into two. The Pakis leapt up into the air and the blazing look went out of Nikhil's eyes. He stopped to talk to Zahid on the way back, and seemed to be telling him something intensely. Zahid nodded, looking somewhat sullen, and Khoda slapped him on the back encouragingly and walked back to the pavilion. He got a standing ovation, but I honestly didn't think he noticed. He'd faced 103 deliveries and made 124 runs.

Navneet Singh was the next man in. He looked very unsure, but that was okay. All he had to do was rotate the batting and let Zahid do his thing. It must have been
deja vu
for Zahid because we were quickly approaching the same situation that he'd faced in Auckland.

Beeru and Jay were quick to remind us of this. They both started speculating if Zahid could do it this time.

'In cricket, it's not often that you get a chance to redeem yourself so wholly, and so soon, Beeru,' Jay said. 'Young Pathan has been given that chance today and I, for one, want to see him do it.'

'Yes, vul, his captain has full faith in him,' Beeru said. 'The knee-jerk reaction after the Auckland showing would have been to place him lower down the order. Khoda's moved him up two places instead.'

'Oh, Pathan's shaping up to be quite an all-rounder,' Jay said. 'That's the wonder of the World Cup, isn't it, Beeru? A whole new crop of talent is discovered through it every four yea - ' he broke off abruptly, then said, his manner completely altered - 'Now what in the world was
that
about?'

Zahid had turned upon the weasely wicketkeeper, and was glaring at him.

The wicketkeeper met his gaze calmly smirking slightly, then turned away and spat casually on the grass behind him. But Zahid kept glowering at him, and so he turned around and shrugged innocently. Then, just as the crowd-monster threatened to slip its leash and charge the pitch, Zahid abruptly turned his back on the wicketkeeper again.

'Bit of an altercation there, Beeru, don't you think? Pathan's shaking his head, telling Umpire Patil that nothing's been said after all.'

And then, when India was at 327, there it was. The final ball.

A scene immortalized in a million cheesy ads along the subcontinent. The hoarse, passionate chanting, the clutching of taveezes, the genuflections. The looks towards heaven with teary, supplicating eyes. The collective holding of a billion breaths. And you felt the thrill every single time.

The pretty-boy bowler licked his lips, launched into his final run-up and hurled the ball. And as the crowd-monster bayed for blood screaming '
Zahid
,
Zahid
,
Zahid' -
Zahid Pathan got onto the front foot, his eyes mere slits in his grim young face. He hoisted his bat and thwacked the tiny white ball away with absolutely everything he had. It soared above our heads, above the pavilion roof, and vanished for ever.

The crowd-monster roared. It threw back its massive, million-eyed head and laughed manically. It did an ungainly, over-the-top jig. It lay back on its back, kicked its legs into the air and screamed in delight,
INDIYA! INDIYA!

The relief was indescribable.

We were all hugging each other and looking at the TV, where Zahid was doing a wild dance, swinging his bat about and making strange thrusting movements with his hips.

'Somebody should put that poor boy out of his misery,' one of the starlets whispered and they all started to giggle and make plans about which pub to hit tonight in order to meet Zahid and turn him from a
bud
into a
flower
.

And then, suddenly, it happened.

Zahid's swinging bat made impact with something. Something skinny and brown and surly-looking. Dressed in green. The Pakistani wicketkeeper to be exact. He'd been walking back to the pavilion too, taking off his helmet, and Zahid's exultantly swinging bat had somehow caught him smack in the face, making a grotesque crunching noise. It felled him instantly.

The commentators suddenly became silent as everybody on the field dropped to the ground to see if the wicketkeeper was okay. The first person to grab his pulse, to urge that something be done, to shout for an ambulance, was an extremely concerned-looking Zahid himself.

The Times of India

'ZAHID'S OOOPS', 'INDIA'S HOUR OF SHAME'

by Shanta Kalra in Melbourne

Spectators around the world were treated to a sublime display of cricket today. There were so many high points in this humdinger of a match. The Pakistani captain's incredible knock, the one-handed running backward catch that got Lakhshan Singh Teja out when he looked set for a big total, Nikhil Khoda's sixteenth ton in one-day cricket and, of course, Zahids Pathan's heroic, match-winning six off the last ball. Unfortunately, today's match will be remembered for none of these. If this date
does
go down in cricketing history, it will be remembered as the day a demigod behaved like a dastardly dog.

Right after taking India into the semi-finals of the ICC World Cup 2011 with a display of brilliant, aggressive, temperamentally sound cricket, Zahid Pathan (19) unwrote his own place in history by 'accidentally' injuring Naved Khan, the Pakistani wicketkeeper.

While strutting back to the pavilion, a wildly whooping Zahid's willow somehow managed to find a sweet spot in the face of Pak wicketkeeper, Naved Khan, who was walking behind him, leaving him bleeding and almost definitely out of the reckoning for Pakistan's next One-dayer, against the West Indies.

Zahid was all concern and his contrition seemed sincere enough, but anybody who'd witnessed the sledging that had gone on the field today would agree that the whole incident smelled strongly of Mickey Mouse.

Definitely the Pakistani skipper and management seemed to think so.

'
Arrey
, who does he think he's fooling?' said a visibly upset team manager Shahmeya Dilbar. 'He did it on purpose.... He waited till our keeper took off his helmet so he could do the maximum damage. We are going to lodge an official complaint and get him a lifelong ban from cricket!'

IBCC chief Jogpal Lohia vehemently denied the allegation that Zahid's 'attack' was premeditated. 'What happened with Naved was unfortunate, but it was an unfortunate
accident.
See the footage. He did not mean to do it!'

In fact, he went so far as to say that if there was going to be any complaining to be done to the ICC, he would be the one doing it. 'The sledging going on right through the match was disgraceful,' he said. 'The ICC, in its wisdom, had chosen to appoint two non-Hindi/Urdu-speaking umpires, which in my opinion was a gross oversight. Our players lodged
two
complaints, both of which were more or less disregarded.' A high-level ICC enquiry - both into the alleged sledging and the alleged attack - is on the cards. 'The sledging definitely happened, and it was completely for. As far as Zahid's reaction goes, it was unfortunate,' said a tight-lipped Nikhil Khoda, Indian skipper. 'I'm just extremely thankful the incident didn't escalate from there, with a crowd of a hundred thousand inflamed fans watching, there could have been a break-out of large-scale violence. People could've been killed.'

Speculation was rife last evening here in Melbourne, however, that the alleged sledging had been taunts about Zahid not being a 'true' Muslim, because he's an Indian. But, more persistent were the rumours that the jibes had been about the Indian team's dependency on Zoya Solanki, the so-called Goddess-of-the-Game.

The Zoya Factor, in fact, is quickly becoming massively controversial here in Australia, with the boards of three Super 8 qualifying countries going so far as to lodge official complaints with the ICC about India's 'unfair' advantage.

***

'Balls,' said Sanks rudely, his eyes glued to the TV on which the Pakistan captain was giving the martyred, my-key-player-has-been-grievously-injured-this-vicious-action-may-cost-my-team-the-World-Cup ones. He'd flown in early that morning to catch the semis and the finals. 'Your team was never gonna win anyway, fucker!' He was sitting in Monita's room, clad in a hideous Hawaiian shirt and Bermudas. Seriously, Sanks in holiday mode was even worse than Sanks in the office. His moustache bristled horridly as he swivelled his bulging eyes my way and barked, 'Must've been something to do with you, I'll bet!'

I counted to ten under my breath slowly and then said, 'A lot of people are saying he taunted him about not being a real Muslim, Sanks,' and thought,
If I do Tauji's ad I will never have to see Sanks again.
'It's got nothing to do with me.'

He tugged at his moustache in a superior kind of way. 'It's all connected, Zoya,' he said like he was talking to an imbecile. 'That wicketkeeper must have told him, you're not a real Musalmaan, you're a blooming Devi-bhakt, a Goddess-worshipper, shame on you!'

'Oh, please,' Mon said. 'Maybe he just said you're a flatulent jerk and I'm tired of smelling your stink-making behind the wickets.'

'Or maybe he's gay and just told Zahid he liked the view,' offered Rinku Chachi brightly from the next room.

'Whatever,' I sighed. 'We'll never know, shall we?'

Mon's eyes twinkled naughtily. 'I know who'll know,' she said. 'Someone who's been getting very close to our Pathan lately - Ritu.'

Immediately, they started making all these giggly plans to invite Ritu to our rooms for a drink and pump her for information. Somehow they all seemed to be blissfully unaware of the fact that I had hit an all-time low. This latest fiasco was going to make Nikhil dislike me further. He was going to blame me for Zahid having lost his temper. I just knewit.

He was never ever going to speak to me again.

***

The next day didn't start well. First, I opened the newspaper to find this really nasty article about me. A wild-haired Durga type caricature of me glowered out at the world from the sports page. It had eight arms, seven of which clutched the squirming captains of the other Super 8 qualifying countries in a death grip. The eighth tenderly spooned breakfast cereal into a bibbed and bonneted Khoda's cutely dribbling mouth.

Below the caricature was a two-thousand-word write-up calling me a bloodthirsty Goddess who could only be appeased by violence, citing Rawal's busted arm and the Paki keeper's busted nose as cases in point. It hinted darkly at worse things to come, if India continued to break their pre-match bread with the 'Witch of the Pitch'.

I shuddered and turned the page to find myself faced with another article called 'Goddess For Sale'. It said that Zoya Singh Solanki, the Indian lucky charm, was the latest thing on the endorsement market and that she would push any product - chewing gum, underwear, colas, air conditioners - if the price was right. It said, her agent, Lokendar Chugh was in talks with at least fifteen corporates all of whom wanted to sign her on if she brought home the World Cup. 'Move aside, Nikhil Khoda,' the article concluded, 'the homecoming prizes are all for the Goddess!'

I lay back weakly in bed and reached for the phone to dial my so-called agent's number. Fortunately, I had to listen to the latest Himesh Reshammiya number for only about three seconds before he snapped it up. 'Joyaji!' he said enthusiastically, 'how are you?'

I told him in no uncertain terms how I was. And infuriatingly, instead of cowering down and grovelling, he started yelling back at me! He said he was only being a good dedicated agent, that nothing he'd told the journalist was a lie, that everybody from Coca Cola to Sahara wanted to sign me on, and he didn't see why I was getting in the way of his making a decent living for the both of us.

I told him I didn't want to take any credit away from the boys.

'Of course you won't, Joyaji! I am not your agent only! Nikhil, Laakhi, openers are all handled by myself. All will get their due! There are many, many corporate houses in India. Enough for all of us. Let us,
zor lagake
, just win this World Cup and life will become an eternal five-star buffet for all of us! The only person whose stock will fall is Kapil Dev!'

'Did you say
Coke
back then, Lokey?' I asked despite myself.

'Ya, then what?' he said cockily. 'They have sent script and everything. You don't know, you are sitting in Sydney, but you have become Number One craze in India.
Arrey
, what Standing you have got in thee Society, Joyaji! Please be practical, don't get emotional. God is being gracious to you.
Arrey
, thee RJP has even been inquiring your age, if you are really over twenty-one they will give you Lok Sabha ticket from Ayodhya Ram mandir.'

'Okay, okay,' I told him uneasily. 'I get your point, but Lokey, I'm supposed to be a Goddess, how can I advertise products?'

'
Tchcha
. Only rich marketing people thinks like this, Joyaji,' he said. 'Poor common people don't. They are more broad-minded. They understand
ki
you also have to live. You will only have to give some small portion - very publicly of course - to charity, that's all.'

'Okay, Lokey, but let's talk about this only after India wins, okay? What's the point of getting all excited if we lose? And please don't speak to the press about it any more.'

I hung up, feeling cheerful. Coke wanted me. Not that I would ever endorse them, but it was nice to know. I was going to be rich. And good too! I was going to be good like Bill and Melinda Gates. I would make a difference, go to orphanages and stuff, become a good example to young people everywhere. Then my eyes fell on the caricature on the sports page again, and my mood plummeted. I could only imagine what Nikhil must have felt like when he saw it - him being fed on my knee. Must have hit his twin-tower ego like a couple of fully fuelled airliners.

An evil part of me sat back and cackled.

It was quite a funny cartoon, actually.

***

The ICC decision came in three days later. Zahid and Naved would both have to forfeit match fees for the India-Pakistan match. In addition, Zahid had to face a one ODI match ban, which effectively meant he wouldn't be playing in the semis. The Indians picked up on the fact that Naved had to face no such ban. They claimed that India was being victimized because the entire cricket-playing world was so jealous of their 'lucky charm'.

There was an important West Indies versus England match that day, but all the panel discussions on television focused on Zahid, Naved and me. All of us got into Mon's room and started watching the action unfold on a show called 'Australia Decides' where the topic for the day was 'India's Advantage - Fair or Unfair'. The people on the panel consisted of a prissy-looking anchor, a representative of the Australian Orthodox Church, Lingnath Baba, a junior ICC official, a senior Aussie ex-cricketer, Jogpal Lohia and a mixed audience of about two hundred people.