The Zoya Factor (55 page)

'C'mon, Khoda,' I muttered, looking at him sitting all padded up and ready to go in the players' balcony. 'Win this thing.'

***

The mob came back around three in the afternoon.

It created a commotion by our front gate, listening to the commentary on the radios of parked cars. The squawking of the hysterical, over-descriptive radio commentators and the matching-matching grunts and groans of the crowd infiltrated into the aangan, sending Zoravar hobbling to the window to investigate. The Black Cats leapt smoothly to their feet and took up their positions all along the boundary wall.

The Indians needed to make twenty-two runs in two overs. It was doable, of course, but this was Team India we were talking about. These guys had lost every ODI final they'd played, in the last seven years.

The mob's agenda was clear. If it couldn't burst any firecrackers that evening, it was at least going to smear the greedy Goddess's face with gobar. Then, of course, it would trawl the city, drown its sorrow in bad liquor, deface the hoardings of every product the cricketers endorsed, maybe even torch a cola truck or two. Sensing the mood outside, the Black Cats went into a huddle and started fine-tuning their eviction plans. Meanwhile, on the TV screen Khoda and Thind were on the pitch, looking snarly, scowly and fully fuck-you at the roaring Aussie home crowd.

'It's anybody's match still, isn't it, Beeru?' Jay said as the Aussie speedster hurled a wicked-looking delivery at Thind who eased it away casually for a four.

I couldn't hear what Beeru said because Gajju and Yogu whooped and chest-banged so hard they fell about on the sofa and had to drink a glass of water each. Yet another ad break came on then and we watched bemusedly as Hairy and Shivee extolled the virtues of a particular brand of razor with a triple-blade shaving action. And then back to the action, where Nikhil had the strike. He got a single off the delivery and then Bullabullaroo Butch struck on the very next ball and Thind was out and India was down to its last cookie in the jar. They cut to another quick ad break which, ironically, had Thind and Hairy again, dancing some moronic jig for a brand of multi-flavoured, multicoloured, choco-candy, and then it was back to the match.

I wondered who the last man in was and suppressed a major groan when I saw Vikram Goyal's hairy, chubby little form loping onto the pitch. Khoda ran forward to meet him, spoke to him urgently, slapping him on the back so hard he almost buckled over and then, there he was. His pendulous lower lip between his teeth, Vikram Goyal faced the scariest moment of his life.

Zoravar groaned, 'I can't watch.' He hobbled to his feet and went to confer with the Black Cats about whether we should clear out of the house or barricade ourselves behind the stoutest door. Gajju and Yogu sat one behind the other, muttering: '
C'mon, Vikram, C'mon, Vikram,'
even as Anita Chachi and Rinku Chachi took up the Gayatri mantra in quavering, desperate voices.

'C'mon, Vikram,' I whispered under my breath. 'I hope you win the World Cup, asshole!'

Vikram practically ran forward to meet the ball, a set look on his chubby baby-with-pubic-hair face, hoicked it up into the air and hit out blindly before taking off for a run. And another. And another. The Aussie fielder at cover sprinted after the ball, picked it up and threw it hard at the stumps. The keeper reached for it but it eluded his gloves and before anybody could react, the ball was off and rolling away. Five runs!

Somebody screamed. Me.

I screamed and yelled and whooped with glee. Now all we needed was three runs off the last two balls.

Vikram almost ruined it for everyone, including himself, by nearly getting out on the next ball. Thankfully he managed to scramble to the other end somehow, collapsing with relief at having managed to successfully hand the strike back to Nikhil.

The bowler took the longest run-up I've ever seen anybody take, even as the fielders closed into a tight circle around the pitch. I closed my eyes...tensing and clenching involuntarily...and opened them when everybody groaned.

No ball.

Looking a little shaken, Bullabullaroo Butch started his run-up again. Khoda's eyes were mere slits in his dark, grimy face as the ball pitched really high and came on to the bat. He went for it. I closed my eyes again....

And opened them to find he'd hit it away and was running for the last vital run.

He made it. Almost. As he ran in, bat fully out, the wicketkeeper swung the ball at the stumps and knocked the middle one over.

Deathlike silence.

The manic
dhak-dhakking
of a billion brown hearts.

And the portly umpire indicated for the third umpire. As the entire stadium held its breath, Nikhil Khoda threw down his bat and sprawled onto the grass, panting lightly, looking up at the scoreboard with slit, glinting eyes, his body unnaturally still with a painful tension. I shut my eyes tight.

God, please let him win. He deserves to win. He'd better. Please, God. Think how cost-effective it'll be. I mean, why stop at making a few crummy million souls happy, when you can make a round billion delirious with joy? Please, God. If India loses, the mob outside will probably lynch me and why would you want me to get lynched so young? Please, God. Let Nikhil win because this country needs a hero not a Goddess.

I opened my eyes. The light flashed.

Not red.

Green.

And all of us exploded into a massive, riotous celebration.

Nikhil's face had that blazing exultant look again as he leapt up and raced, screaming hoarsely down the pitch to lift Vikram off his feet. They collapsed onto the grass, laughing crazily. And then the rest of the gang poured out onto the field - Zahid, Hairy, Shivee and the rest of the team, Weston Hardin, and with constipated smiles on their ugly mugs, Jogpal-the-choot and Robin-the-creep....

Jay ran out with his mike to talk to Nikhil.

'How d'you feel?' he yelled above the din.

Nikhil stopped thumping Zahid madly on the back, grinned into the camera, looking heartbreakingly handsome, and said, 'Happy.'

It was at that point that Rinku Chachi burst into tears and ran out of the room. Me, I just sat there, happy for him, suicidal for myself.

Jay was saying laughingly, 'C'mon! That's not enough! Say something more!'

Nikhil, with Zahid and Hairy hanging off each arm, thought a little, then said, 'Uh...I'm very, very happy,' he grinned. 'I think I already
said
that. So okay, hang on, let me think....' He paused for a moment, while Jay, the entire team, and one billion Indians glued to their TVs looked on at him indulgently. Then he looked up at the sky and shouted, 'Thank you!' He took a deep breath and said into the mike, 'The boys have performed brilliantly. It was truly a team effort. Vikram was superb, Laakhi, Zahid, Harry...all of them! The Australians have been brilliant hosts.' (The stadium cheered.) He waved out to the stadium, then looked into the camera and said, 'And I'm glad the viewers got to see a match that was exciting all the way to the last ball.'

Jay nodded. 'That last ball, Nikhil, what was going through your mind at that time?'

Nikhil thought a little, then shrugged again and said, 'Well, it wasn't much of an ask, really. One run off one ball. I've done it hundreds of times before. I just' - he made a graphic gesture with his hand
- 'removed
the hype from the situation in my head and then it was easy.' He grabbed Vikram, who was lurching past them and said, 'Why don't you ask
him
something
?
He's the guy who hit the big one!'

Jay pounced on Vikram then. 'Vikram! That was a magnificent six!'

Vikram looked down, all modest, and said, 'Thank you, sir.'

'You'd had a major setback in the semi, do you feel vindicated?'

Vikram said, looking a little haunted, 'I am glad I managed not to let my country and captain down, that's all.'

'So you've beaten the hex that was put on you, huh?'

Vikram looked uncomfortable and didn't say anything, so Jay turned the mike on Khoda again. 'Nikhil, you have to tell us, what do you say about the Zoya Factor
now?'

There was a little silence, all the boys piped down for a bit and looked uneasy. But Nikhil said dryly, 'That's a question you should put to the Australian skipper, Jason.'

Jay said, 'Oh, I most definitely will. But we all want to know what
you
have to say.'

Nikhil said steadily, 'What I've
always
said. That maybe it exists. Maybe it doesn't. But Team India doesn't need her. We can win on our own strengths, if we play with dedication and with belief in ourselves, any time we want.'

I grabbed the remote from Zoravar's hand and zapped off the TV.

An unnatural little silence followed.

Okay, this was it, time to face the family. I didn't know whether my dad and Zoravar had guessed about my feelings for Nikhil, but I did know that Rinku Chachi had the biggest mouth in Karol Bagh. This was so not going to be the best moment of my life. I squared my shoulders and smiled brightly around the room.

But nobody looked at me. The Chachas were busy breaking open some alcohol, Dad was fiddling with some glasses, Rinku and Anita Chachi had vanished, and Zoravar and Eppa were rummaging through a huge cardboard box.

Wow, my large and loud family was being sensitive and all.

I said, in a slightly shaky voice, pushing my hair off my face, 'Eppa, what are you
doing
with that box?'

She looked up, her snappy little eyes bright with tender concern and said, with a break in her usually strident voice, 'Crackers, Zoya Moya! Zoravar and I got for you to light, so you could be a happy.'

I turned to look at my horrible brother, at a total loss for words. He grinned and said, 'Let's light up a blast, Gaalu.'

Zoravar had really gone the whole hog. There were Cock Brand Big Bang Bumper Flowerpots, Chinese Fire Dragons, 8000 Ladi Bombs of Chinatown Celebrations and a whole box of Pyromania She-Demons.

We staggered out into the garden with the big box between us and Zoravar sat down on the boundary wall, his plastered leg dangling before him and watched as I set up a long line of Big Bang Bumper Flowerpots.

'You gonna light them all together?' he asked, a little uneasily.

'Why not?' I answered with reckless gaiety as I struck a match and lit a candle, wincing a little at the brightness of the flare. A throbbing headache had taken possession of me.

As I held a phuljhadi over the flame, all I could hear in an unrelenting, constant loop were the words:
Team India doesn't need her.
All I could see before my eyes was a cold, shuttered face, surrounded by a triumphant band of boys who didn't like me any more. All I could feel was a sick hollowness at the thought that somewhere tonight, the Men in Blue were whooping and cheering and cracking lame jokes, getting mindlessly drunk and dancing very badly - without me.

You know what your problem is? You've turned into a male attention junkie. Unless a knot of world-famous cricketers is flocking around you, you feel you don't exist.

But I want to be with him - with all of them! Hey, maybe I could call him, maybe I could give a press interview explaining it wasn't about the money, explaining why I wouldn't go back?

Yeah, but to whom? Look over the boundary wall, baby. The journos, the cameras and the mad mobs...they're all gone! You're yesterday's news. Didn't you hear the man? Team India doesn't need the Zoya Factor to win!

The phuljhadi lit up and white hot sparks flew out in every direction, spluttering wildly. I tossed my hair back and ran with it to the line of bumper flowerpots, bent low, and one by one, torched the lot. Magnificent fountains of flames bloomed around me and a fiery rain fell lightly on my skin as I whooped and capered around, but somehow, the pyrotechnics and the smell of barood did nothing for me this once. I felt as cold and as dead as I would've if I'd stayed downstairs and shut myself into the refrigerator.

You had me the
moment I smelled the gun smoke in your hair
....

Determined to feel something, I ran back to Zoravar and picked up a two litre
Zing!
bottle and shoved a couple of the Chinese Fire Dragons into it. I placed the bottle on the floor and lit another phuljhadi.

Zoravar shouted over the spluttering of sparks as I lit up the Fire Dragons, 'Gaalu, you idiot, be careful!'

'Don't worry,' I shouted as I stepped back nimbly and watched the Fire Dragons zoom up into the sky and explode into a million sparkly bits of ruby red and then go out with a
chimmer
.