Charles G. Chettiar

The Platinum Touch

 

 

The pendant gave a dull red glow. Slung around his neck, it had a small test tube shape. It seemed like stained glass with flecks of red in it.

 

All around me the music blared, congratulating the team for their momentous victory. No one, till now, had come this far and that too in football. My countrymen were seemingly averse to all sports except cricket. But the boy handled the responsibility beautifully, and had managed to bring the team so far in the World cup finals. He had changed the fortune of an entire nation.

Whenever he played, things just worked themselves out. No wonder the commentator was calling Preet Singh, as the man with “the Platinum touch”.

 

My eyes went back to the pendant and I discerned a red flare in the pendant. Glass was cracked. Maybe it was the light of the setting sun. but again it appeared as if Preet Singh had aged a hundred years, with the face sprouting many blemishes and wrinkles. He then moved away from the team with a young woman. The red glow from the pendant seemed to have stopped. And Preet Singh was young again.

 

The young woman smiled for the cameras. To the question how do you feel? She answered.

 

“I always knew Preet was a winner. Right from the school days he won each and every competition he participated in. If it hadn’t been for the death anniversary of his sister, the goal tally would have been higher. His sister whom he deeply loved.”

 

“What is the pendant he wears?” a journalist said.

 

“It’s for remembrance of his sister given by Baba Panoninath,” she said.

 

I had seen him with the pendant in the dressing room. I even had a glimpse of his locker, but couldn’t be sure. There was a glimmer in his locker. A glimmer which could be either of a sword or glass.

 

I felt dizzy with the win. At that time, I thought that it was on account of the win. A faint buzzing was there at my fingertips.

 

We were off with a stupendous start at the World cup finals.

 

I was sort of a senior member of the team on account of my wife. Rest of them had girlfriends, some of them accompanied them to Russia.

 

After our arrival at the hotel Nisha eyed me strangely.

 

“What’s the matter?” I said.

 

“Nothing,” she said.

 

“Then?”

 

“When was the last time you gave me flowers?”

 

I thought. Maybe before marriage.

 

“I don’t know,” I said.

 

“That’s the problem,” she said and turned dolefully and eyed Sabina and Preet at another table. Sabina clutched a bunch of red roses.

 

Wives, I thought.

 

I made a mental note of getting some flowers, but we hardly had the time with the team practice and our personal regimen.

 

Sabina and Preet got up. Before they disappeared from the restaurant I saw that they held hands. Young love. Could hardly expect the same dedication after four years of marriage.

 

The next time I saw him was just before we took over Slovenia. He prostrated himself on the ground. The pendant was slung on his neck. Couldn't help seeing the pendant.

 

We charged up after entering the World cup finals. We were going to make history. I for one jumped into the fray with my full heart and passion. But I just couldn't get the ball. The ease with which the Slovenians took the ball and kept it with them was just incredible.

 

After the tally shot up to 3-0, I saw Preet Singh shooting around me in a frenzy. He seemed like a talisman for us mid-fielders. But his presence also couldn't stop the Slovenians from taking the ball past us.

 

The score stood now at 4-0, and it was half-time.

 

I couldn't hear the coach berating us. His mouth closed and opened but I didn't hear the noise. A sense of ease settled over me. Maybe it was my unconscious getting ready for a defeat.

 

The game re-started and we jumped into the fray but with a little less gusto. I began thinking, with sweat steadily trickling down my head, that even if we were a wall, even then the Slovenians would find a way through us.

 

The ball came towards me. I jumped to intercept but I didn't even realise how the ball passed me. I couldn't hear anything for some seconds and the shrill whistle of the referee. Someone had tackled the Slovenian and lay on the ground in a foetal position. I ran to the spot and realised that the wavy hair was my Captain's.

 

I knelt down and we turned him over. He had a plastic grin on his face and the pendant on his neck was giving a faint red glow.

We put our hands together to heave him up. But I could see the pendant with a crack on it. As we help Preet off the ground, I couldn't help noticing a red trickle falling from the pendant. It hung in the air for an incredibly long time before finding, the green grass below.

 

I blinked because I thought that my eyes were not right. The red glow from the drop suffused around it till we were bathing in it. I can't describe the feeling but all I can say is that I felt loose, like you feel after a concentrated shot of caffeine.

 

Preet was back on his feet without any injury except for the broken pendant.

 

The referee whistled and the game began.

 

I felt light and not just confident. Behind the confidence was a certainty. A certainty that no one could get the ball from me.

 

The red haze immersed me. All I saw was the faint red haze in front of me. All I could see was the ball in front of me. I kept kicking it. My entire body felt like a well-oiled machine. I didn't feel short of breath. Then I had the realisation that I was standing near the goal post after a vicious kick to the ball and the Slovenian goalkeeper tumbling at my feet. But the ball had hit the nets.

 

This was our first goal.

 

The ball had passed from me but I could only see it and I wanted to keep kicking it towards the goal post. I could hear no sound from the crowd and the red haze seemed a little pink now. A hint of an ache was lingering in my leg muscles.

 

I got the ball twice and I scored both the times. Many Slovenians tried to tackle me but they fell around me and I could dodge them and keep going with the ball. Innumerable times I passed the ball to the strikers and they made good of the pass.

 

I blinked as the drone of the crowd reached my ears. The red haze was no longer in front of my eyes. My muscles were killing me. there was a stitch at my side and I couldn't stop hyperventilating. I bent and touched my knees. The bell rang signalling the end of the match. I looked at the scoreboard. The score stood 4-7, with us scoring seven goals.

 

I couldn't stand any longer and I flopped down on the grass. I surveyed the ground and majority of my teammates had done the same. The commentator was saying that this was the most spectacular second half of the game in World cup final's history.

No team which had stood at zero in the first half had nearly doubled its tally in the second half. The team played like devils.

 

Yes, devils.

 

"I dedicate this win for the soul of my sister," said Preet Singh.

 

In the dressing room the coach and the manager gave a rousing talk, concluding that this was just a beginning of a string of wins. Casually I couldn't help searching for Preet. He stood at the locker and looked inside it. When he turned I couldn't help noticing the pendant under his neck—unbroken.

 

It surely was a series of wins, for us. The press called us the most incredible run for a team in World cup history. Here was a team whose government and sponsors spent a measly amount on it and still it was giving a performance not even money could motivate.

 

True to coach's words the string of wins continued for further many games. We became devils on the playground. The press labelled us as 'Indian Devils'. Many teams shied away from us. Then just it had started the incredible run stopped.

 

We had a couple of games before the quarter finals and we were ready. We were on the path to become one of the best teams.

Press back home were hailing us as the next big heroes. There were even talks that we would usurp the top position from cricket. We were going to win and of that I was sure.

 

I felt charged. I was not just good, but better. So, I couldn't believe it when the ball just passed from me and in spite of my efforts I couldn't get the ball. My efforts seemed less than adequate. There was too much disturbance with the roaring crowd. I had a look around and my teammates were trying to get the ball but to no avail.

 

At half-time the score stood 4-0.

 

Maybe it would improve in the second half. But try as I might I couldn't see the red haze. I sought out Preet and could see that he wore no pendant on his neck.

 

We lost with the final score being 9-0.

 

'A mighty defeat' cried many newspapers.

 

'See how the mighty fell,' said many others.

 

After the match the coach berated us. Preet said that we would have to practice harder. But how could you cram a year's worth of practice in a couple of days?

 

The next game was worse than the previous. Try as I might to get into the groove but the red haze didn't materialise. We tried—each and individual member of the team—to fight with all we had got. But we were never able to keep the ball for no more than some seconds. I didn't give up, and was heartened to see my team-mates too following my lead, but the result was like etched in stone.

 

We lost 10-0.

 

The tears came unbidden to my eyes in the changing room. I sought out Preet as he stood in front of his locker.

 

"I'll find a way," said Preet.

 

The door of the locker opened an inch further. There was a picture of a young girl in it. The light fell inside and the locker sparkled. I squinted and as my eyes adjusted, I discerned many lockets inside the locker. There was no amber glow inside the lockets. Preet swung his hand and pushed the door close. Faintly, I thought, I could see another image, but I couldn't believe it.

 

Sabina's.

 

"Tomorrow will be a better day," said Preet. "I will call Baba Panoninath tonight."

 

I couldn't blink. I just stood and stared ahead.

 

"Are you there?" said Nisha.

 

I stared outside the window. It was snowing.

 

"Why are you not eating?" said Nisha.

 

I picked at the soup and then placed the spoon back on the table.

 

"Why, not hungry? Big lose?"

 

"Uh, huh," I said.

 

"Just eat something. Tomorrow is the quarter finals," said Nisha. "How will you perform tomorrow."

 

"I'll be back," I said and got up. I fished cigarettes from my pocket and stood outside the lobby. I had left the habit long time back but after today's defeat had made me reach out for them from a pharmacy.

 

I could say that my hands shivered and not just because of the cold. I could have well believed that it was a tragedy if I hadn't witnessed it.

 

A faint ululating sound. I first thought that it was going somewhere else. But it slowly increased in intensity. When it screeched to a halt in front of me did I believe.

 

Paramedics got out of the ambulance and entered the lobby. Some medical case. I crushed the cigarette and went inside. Only when I saw the coach did I realise that it related to us.

 

The team with their WAGs surrounded the coach.

 

When I sought out Nisha she looked at me with a dazed expression.

 

"She's dead," she said.

 

"Who?" I said.

 

"His girlfriend. Preet's."

 

"How?"

 

From the corner of my eyes I saw two uniformed men enter the lobby. The coach went to them. The coach raised his hands to the team in a stop gesture and went out with the men.

 

"Go upstairs and rest," the manager said. "The match is not cancelled yet."

 

The night passed like a no man's land. I had expected not to see Preet but in the middle of the first half I saw the red haze. My body experienced elation. Energy coursed through me. I was not like anything I had felt before. It hit me like a coffee high and stayed with me. I didn't concentrate on anything but the ball and didn't look here and there. It was the most concentrated game of my career. I don't know how I managed but my legs worked in unison and I was able to keep directing myself towards the goal post.

 

A voice at the back of my head whispered about additional tests. Let them be damned. They wouldn't find anything. Nothing at all. We didn't dope. All I knew was the ball and my goal.

 

No wonder I clocked my career best of 12 goals. The spectators were dumbfounded, no doubt. Whether the noise from them had stopped or whether I was concentrating too much I couldn't say. What I knew for certain was I was back in the groove. Not just me but the entire team. It was a historic win. We were not the mighty who had fallen but the ones who were ascending.

The run earlier one had ended and even a better one had begun. We were better than our previous version and the Cup would be ours.

 

But it isn't right.

 

A man who has lost the love of his life was playing and he was playing like a devil.

 

If what I suspected was right, then the thing which was awry was staring right at me. Before the next match, I came early to the stadium. I made Nisha tell the coach some lie. I had to see it. I had to know.

 

The locker gave way after I thrust the screwdriver in the door. I breathed deeply and pulled open the door.

 

The picture of the young girl had been replaced. Now the picture was Sabina's, Preet's deceased girlfriend. The locker was filled with glass amulets, the ones Preet wore around his neck. There were just too many of them. They glimmered. The red drop inside glowed.

 

"We have a lot of incredible victories waiting, in there," said a voice behind me.

 

I turned to find Preet with a doleful smile on his face.

 

 

 

Charles G. Chettiar is an Engineer by circumstance and writer by choice. He works in Engineering in Mumbai. He started writing short stories in college and has completed his first novel. http://www.charlesgchettiar.in/