The thrill of my life
The term ‘thrill’ includes a mixture of adventure, fear and joy. My experience was of such a nature and in a way unique of its kind.
Our school football team was a notable one. It won many trophies and much reputation. There was only one trophy which it could not lift. It always made up to the final. But the fixture of the tournament used to be prepared in such a fashion that the local team made it to the final. Whatever the team on the opposite side, the local team retained the trophy by hook or by crook.
This time, too, we were in the finals to face the usual opponent. We decided to lift the trophy this time, by fair means or foul. It was a very thrilling experience.
It may be comically termed ‘operation trophy’. We scored a goal in the first half and another in the second half. No less than two other goals were wrongfully given ‘offside’. It became evident that it was a case of committed refereeing. Two penalties were awarded to the opposite side. But our sturdy goalkeeper stood both the penalty kicks. Then the other side ran berserk and injured one of our players.
Hardly fifteen minutes were left when the attention of the crowd in one corner of the field was diverted to a noisy quarrel. It happened to be the side where the trophy and cups were displayed. Unexpectedly our left winger sent the ball out of play on the far side of the field. The noise continued and a short spell was spent to recover the ball. Suddenly the left-winger Mithilesh charged and lifted the main trophy. He was a terrible fast runner. Some others gave him cover. The authorities were at a loss to get a hang of the things for some minutes. Ours, however, was a planned move. The jeep was parked under cover of a big hedge at the most obscure corner of the locality. The trophy, Mithilesh and a couple of players that could be managed were despatched on the jeep that was idling. The escape route was the thinner side of the crowd. The rest of us hid ourselves in an abandoned old and dilapidated/ruined temple. We were six who could be recognized for their jerseys. But it being winter the light had thickened. From the noise outside it became clear that the chase, too, was given up.
We decided to leave by the evening train. But we knew that even that would be searched. Our term manager, Sarvanida, was also a party to our plan. He was a master trickster. He brought out six kits of yellow vests and yellow shorts. We changed into them, smeared on our face yellow dust posing to be pilgrims for Baba-dham (Baidyanath Dham). Sarvanida trained us to chant’ BOL-BOM’ and gave us the ‘danda’ (staff) and the small pitchers.
We spread over the whole train as it was not advisable to move in a group. Our talk or careless remark might raise suspicion. We saw some of the known persons searching us. It was an impossible feat.
We reached home at night. Next morning the adventure was celebrated. Our Headmaster stood by us when the tournament authorities came to complain. He denied that any such trophy was brought to the school.
We recounted for long in future the thrill and risk of the deed. But nothing succeeds like success.
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