Of Course, It's Butterfingers Again

by Khyrunnisa A

  ‘Boys and girls,’ he said, his eyes picking out Minu and Reshmi, the only girls in the school, who were students of VIII A, ‘I have some exciting news for you.’

  ‘Yaay! The cricket match!’ The deafening chorus startled Mr Jagmohan into knocking his hand against the mike, which protested with a grating screech. This wasn’t doing his nerves any good. Taking a deep breath, the principal barked, ‘Be quiet and listen! Colonel Nadkarni wanted a cricket match between girls and boys and since he’s no more, the principal of . . . er . . . Torrent School, Mrs Priya—or is it Anita?—wants the match to take place. She believes in humouring the dead. It’ll be on 10 March, no, on 13 March, no . . . er . . . some day in March, around the same time as your exams . . .’

  ‘Yaay!’ The students were delighted.

  ‘It’ll be fifty overs a side because of the handicap. Right, Sunder?’

  ‘What gibberish is Princi spouting?’ Amar whispered to Kiran, who was looking equally baffled.

  ‘He must have had brain fever,’ Kiran whispered back. ‘He’s gone cuckoo.’

  At this point, Mr Sunderlal decided to take matters and the mike into his own hands and, relieved at being saved from this self-inflicted torture, Mr Jagmohan retreated to the rear of the stage. In a matter-of-fact tone, Mr Sunderlal gave the students the background information in brief as well as the decision taken about the match. When he finished, the students had all the facts—it was the last wish of the late Col Nadkarni that an under-15 Twenty20 match with an all-girls team from Target School be held on 15 March. The team and other details, he assured them, would be decided soon.

  This was enough to send the school into raptures. Anything to do with sports, especially if it concerned cricket, won their whole-hearted support. The normally quiet assembly turned into a babel of high-pitched voices. The smaller boys stretched their necks to catch a glimpse of Col Nadkarni’s bust in the grounds. For some time, Mr Jagmohan’s standard admonitions—‘Be quiet!’, ‘Silence!’, ‘No talking!’—were ignored until the furious principal roared into the mike, ‘STOP IT OR I’LL STOP THE MATCH!’

  The ultimatum worked and the school fell into an uneasy silence. Mr Jagmohan slipped in his favourite exit line, ‘Now go to your classes!’ and exited the stage with Mr Sunderlal. As they came down the steps, Rehan, a class IV student and a diehard cricket lover, broke free from his line to run towards them and ask in a breathless voice, ‘Sirs, I am under fifteen. Can I play in the match?’

  The patience of the teachers was sorely tested in the forenoon, with most of the students very distracted, inviting liberal showers of threats and punishments. Amar and his friends collected a record number of warnings and were ultimately thrown out of class, which wasn’t a very bright idea on the part of the teacher, Mr Keshav, for they were only too pleased to continue their conversation outside the classroom.

  The lunch interval finally arrived and after a super quick lunch, the whole class joined in the discussion. The class had a special reason to be totally involved for quite a few in the under-15 cricket team were from VIII A.

  Amar began the proceedings. ‘Isn’t this a bonus, having a special kind of cricket match, and just when we thought it’d be only exams and exams all the way from now on?’

  ‘But why did Colonel Uncle want us to play a girls’ team?’ Thomas, who was famous for asking questions, looked puzzled.

  ‘That’s easily explained,’ said Amar. ‘I figured that one out during the maths period. We had lost a match against Blossoms, who had girls on the team, and maybe he thought we lost because we took it easy, because we thought girls didn’t know much about cricket.’

  ‘You, especially!’ Eric laughed, recalling Amar’s airy assertions that the game would be a cakewalk. ‘If I remember right, you said we’d finish off the game in a jiffy and go fishing!’

  Amar blushed at the memory and, trying not to glance at the two girls who were looking daggers at him, steered the conversation away from that embarrassing recollection. ‘Um . . . hum . . . can’t really remember. But, and here’s the poser, why did he plan the match for 15 March?’

  ‘That’s exactly it!’ added Kiran. ‘I’ve been thinking about that all morning. What’s so special about the date?’

  ‘What date? Who’s going on a date?’ asked Arjun, who lived in his own dreamworld of songs and tunes, only occasionally waking up to the day-to-day realities.

  ‘Nobody, Arjun, unfortunately!’ Eric commented with a chuckle.

  Arjun looked vacuously at him and tuned out.

  ‘My dear, illiterate companions—you are super dense. Don’t you remember your Shakespeare?’ Kishore, who had remained silent all this while, spoke. He loved the English language and its literature and had enviably advanced reading skills. He now raised his hands and flapped them like a theatrical condor checking its wingspan. Having secured everyone’s attention, he quoted in a hollow voice, ‘“Beware the ides of March!” said the soothsayer in act one scene two of Julius Caesar. And 15 March is the ides of March!’

  Thomas looked puzzled. ‘Sooth sayer? What did the sooth say?’ he asked.

  ‘Not sooth. Soothsayer, my dear Thomo. One who foretells the future. I’ll explain its origin later. And also tell you more about the ides of March.’

  Thomas looked dismayed at this alarming threat and moved away from the language maven, who continued, ‘The soothsayer warned Julius Caesar to beware of the ides of March and, sure enough, Caesar was murdered on that day.’

  ‘So?’ Amar didn’t look convinced. ‘Who’s going to be murdered on the day of the cricket match? Don’t act brain-dead, Kishore. Anyway, do you really think Colonel Uncle knew Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar?’

  ‘Everyone knows Julius Caesar, with some exceptions here, of course,’ Kishore observed.

  ‘Maybe there’s something in this,’ Ajay, the devourer of crime thrillers, speculated. ‘Remember, Colonel Uncle was in London at that time. He must have got wind of an international plot to bump off the head of some country on that day.’

  ‘And how does having a cricket match on that day help? Stop talking rot, you extraterrestrial morons!’ Amar frowned.

  ‘I wish I had known Colonel Uncle,’ Minu commented, looking wistful. The two girls had never met Colonel Nadkarni.

  ‘Yes, same here,’ Reshmi added. ‘I like it that he was fond of girls.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that. He never got married.’ Eric winked.

  ‘Be serious, everyone!’ Amar banged on the desk. ‘Don’t deviate from the topic.’

  ‘The Julius Caesar angle must be explored,’ Kishore was adamant.

  ‘Fine. You do that. And that’s what I think each of us should do—find out why the date is sang . . . sing . . . er . . . sack something, eh, Kishore?’ Amar appealed to his erudite friend.

  ‘Sacrosanct,’ pat came the reply from the human thesaurus. ‘It means sacred and comes from—’

  ‘Never mind its comings and goings,’ Amar brushed the explanation aside with a nonchalant wave of his hand. ‘Thanks, anyway. So what is sacrosanct about the date? If mobile phones weren’t banned in our pre-historic school, we could’ve discovered something right away. Anyway, let this be our homework for today. We’ll do a Google search and any kind of search to find out what events are going to happen on 15 March or have happened on that date, other than Caesar’s murder, of course,’ he added.

  ‘What we seem to forget,’ observed Reshmi, ‘is that Colonel Uncle died suddenly. I bet he never expected it. Had he been alive he’d have told us his plans. I don’t think he wanted to make a mystery of this.’

  ‘Maybe. But listen to my explanation,’ Kishore persisted. ‘Uncle did not want us to be complacent when playing against girls. In Julius Caesar, that is just what happened. No, Caesar wasn’t going to play cricket with girls,’ he explained hastily when he saw Thomas open his mouth. ‘Julius Caesar thought he was invincible . . .’

  ‘Invisible? How did they kill him then?’ Arun interrupted
.

  Kishore threw him an exasperated glance and continued. ‘Caesar thought he was indestructible, almost godlike. Remember his last words?’

  ‘“Et tu, Brute!”’ chorused Jayaram, Kiran and Minu, pleased they knew that one.

  ‘No, no, before that. Okay, I know they aren’t his last words then, but let’s say almost last words. He said “Hence! Wilt thou lift up Olympus?”’

  ‘Wilt thou lift up Kishore? Let’s throw him out! Why a Shakespeare lesson now?’ Amar looked impatient.

  ‘Olympus is the abode of the Greek gods and Caesar believed he was one. Because he was smug, he was killed on the ides of March. We were smug too and Uncle wanted us to find out on the ides of March that girls can defeat us.’

  ‘Ingenious!’ remarked Eric. ‘But as far-fetched as trying to shoot an arrow to reach Mars, my dear Shakespearean scholar. I can’t imagine Colonel Uncle thinking all those complicated things. There must be a simpler explanation.’

  ‘Correct!’ said Amar, grateful there was at least someone sensible in the group.

  ‘But the most important thing is the match,’ announced Ajay. He had just remembered he was the captain of the under-15 team and had certain responsibilities. With a twinge of regret, he put aside his love for murder mysteries and declared, ‘We must begin practising without wasting any time. There aren’t even two full weeks to go for the 15th. Unfortunately, we don’t have a PT period this afternoon. So we’ll have to wait till tomorrow to discuss the details with Sunderlal Sir.’

  ‘Aye aye, captain, well spoken!’ Amar patted him on the back. ‘And today we should also find out whatever we can about Target School’s cricketers—their names, strengths and weaknesses. Surf the Internet, do a deep search, scour Facebook, ask your sisters, your cousins hundred times removed, discover from their friends, relatives, from whoever, whatever, wherever. So, tomorrow then!’ said Amar with a cheerful wave of his hand, knocking his water bottle off the desk.

  That evening, at dinner in Amar’s house, Mr Kishen, Amar’s father, asked irritably, ‘Why are you sitting on the edge of your chair, Amar? Preparing to run a race? And eat slowly, without making those savage noises. Why is it impossible for you to have your meals like a civilized human?’

  Amar grinned, as if his father had paid him a compliment. ‘Dad, Ma, I’m in a hurry; have a lot of stuff to do on my computer. Some cyberspace-shaking searches have to be conducted.’ He told his parents about the cricket match. ‘We’re having a boys versus girls cricket match on 15 March. Colonel Uncle arranged it.’

  ‘Colonel Uncle? You mean Colonel Nadkarni?’ Amar’s mother was justifiably astonished. ‘But isn’t he dead?’

  ‘Is he speaking from the grave?’ Mr Kishen gave a sardonic smile.

  ‘More or less that,’ said Amar and gave them the details.

  ‘And your crazy principal has given in to this ghostly request in the middle of exams?’ Mr Kishen raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘It’s high time he was removed from his post.’

  ‘No, no, Dad, he’s actually quite a good sort. Anyway, playing a cricket match is like writing an exam—a far, far better exam than this world dreams of. Actually, poor Princi couldn’t help agreeing to the request from the Target School principal. She’s Colonel Uncle’s relative.’

  ‘All are mad!’ Mr Kishen pronounced. ‘But, come to think of it, I remember something about a battle-of-the-sexes tennis match, between Bobby Riggs and Billie Jean King. Amar, do you . . .?’ But Amar had left the room.

  ‘So, what have you discovered?’ asked Amar during the lunch break the next day, pulling out some papers from his bag. Immediately, his friends also delved into their bags and brought out sheets of paper to share their ‘research’.

  ‘Quite a bit,’ said Jayaram, consulting his papers. ‘Why, every path-breaking event in history seems to have happened on 15 March. For one, Christopher Columbus returned to Spain on 15 March 1493 after discovering America.’

  Now voices began to ring out in quick succession.

  ‘The first-ever cricket test match began on 15 March,’ announced Eric. ‘In 1877, between England and Australia.’

  ‘Bismarck was dismissed on that day in 1890!’ said Abdul. ‘Given his marching orders. Left! Right! Go!’

  ‘On 15 March 1907, Finland became the first European country to give women the right to vote,’ announced Reshmi, looking pleased, as if she’d had a hand in that momentous decision.

  ‘Why?’ asked Thomas and got a dirty look from Reshmi.

  ‘Lenin suffered his third stroke!’ Kiran banged on the desk thrice.

  ‘Actress Theresa . . . er . . . Sal . . . Saladana was stabbed repeatedly by an obsessed fan,’ Minu stumbled over the information.

  ‘And guys, listen! Jimi Hendrix, the one and only Jimi Hendrix, was declared the “most spectacular guitarist in the world” by Life magazine on 15 March,’ Arjun sang, swaying and strumming on the tiny scrap of paper as if it were a guitar. He had actually remembered and begun a search but stopped the moment he came across this piece of information.

  ‘Funeral service held for Olof Palme, murdered prime minister of Sweden. Bang! Bang!’ Ajay added his macabre contribution.

  ‘Hu Jintao was . . .’ began Arun.

  ‘Who cares?’ Amar shouted. ‘Stop, all of you! Looks like we all accessed the same source. But what would an actress getting stabbed or Bismarck being dismissed have anything to do with why Colonel Uncle chose 15 March? Talk sense.’

  ‘And I hope all you sensible people noticed the first event on that list,’ Kishore sounded complacent. ‘The murder of Caesar. I tell you, the ides of March is the key.’

  ‘How?’ Amar sounded sceptical. He checked his papers. ‘I think the first test match beginning on 15 March could be a reason.’

  ‘I think so too,’ said Eric, pleased he had chosen the same incident. ‘Colonel Uncle must have thought it an excellent date for the first-ever cricket match between boys and girls.’

  ‘Don’t forget that women got the right to vote in Finland on that day. It’s only right that girls get the right to play against boys on 15 March too,’ Reshmi contended.

  ‘Doesn’t sound plausible,’ Ajay shot down the suggestion, to Reshmi’s annoyance. ‘Anyway, let’s go to our next concern, the girls playing cricket at Target School. I checked their school website and, though it mentions their matches won against other girls’ teams, it doesn’t give any details. No scores or names except the name of the captain, Nayanika. There’s nothing on the Internet either about any of their matches. Which paper covers girls’ cricket matches anyway?’

  ‘Excuse me!’ Reshmi was peeved. ‘Now I know exactly why Colonel Uncle wanted this match. You boys think you are the cat’s whiskers.’

  ‘It’s a phrase that means you are better than anyone else,’ explained Kishore for the benefit of those who looked baffled.

  ‘Sorry!’ said Ajay, not sounding in the least apologetic. ‘Has anybody asked around and found out anything more?’

  ‘Not yet, but tomorrow the facts will be at your disposal, O captain!’ said Jayaram. ‘My sister goes for maths tuition to a place where there are a couple of girls from Target School. She’s got tuitions this evening and I’ve asked her to find out as much as she can from them about the cricketers there.’

  ‘But will she do that?’ asked Ajay, looking a little doubtful. Jayaram’s sister Nila was a high-spirited girl who loved playing the fool. ‘I bet she’ll forget. Or she’ll tell them why.’

  ‘No to both. I’ve promised to give her my new bicycle if she helps me,’ said Jayaram.

  ‘Oh, Jay!’ Minu gushed. ‘How generous of you!’ The others looked at him with renewed respect.

  ‘Not really,’ Jayaram grinned. ‘The cycle has a problem with the seat; it pinches.’

  ‘Oh, Jay!’ Minu sounded indignant now while the rest guffawed.

  That afternoon, during PT period, Mr Sunderlal clapped his hands to draw the attention of the whole class and asked them to form a sem
icircle around him.

  ‘It’s cricket time again!’ he began. ‘As you all know, we have an important match on our hands, a special and historic match. Special because it is our beloved Colonel Nadkarni’s last wish and historic because this is the first time a boys vs girls match . . .’

  ‘Girls vs boys, sir,’ Reshmi interrupted. ‘Ladies first.’

  The boys groaned, and Amar protested, ‘I thought this match is all about equality. There should be no extra privileges or chivalrous behaviour.’

  Mr Sunderlal replied, ‘True, but let’s accept Reshmi’s suggestion. It’s a historic match because this is the first time a girls vs boys cricket match is being played here.’

  ‘And sir . . .’ Reshmi interrupted again, ‘I also found out that the first ever official Twenty20 cricket match was between two women’s teams!’

  ‘Okay, Reshmi!’ Amar was annoyed. ‘Agreed that women are the cat’s whispers or whatever you said yesterday. Stop interrupting and let sir continue.’

  Mr Sunderlal looked grateful and went on. ‘The match is very important because Green Park’s reputation as a superb cricket team is at stake. This is a challenge, a challenge by a girls’ school to prove that its cricket team is as good, if not better, than a boys’ team. And if Colonel Nadkarni identified Target School as the best school to play against us, it’s because he knew its strengths and was sure the girls would put up a good fight. Most importantly, I think he wanted you to have a healthy respect for women cricketers, to learn never to underestimate anyone, never to be overconfident.’

  ‘Hear! Hear!’ Reshmi clapped her hands and Minu joined in.

  ‘But sir, we do respect India’s women cricketers,’ Ajay protested. ‘They are doing so well. Mithali Raj and Jhulan Goswami are my favourites.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ Mr Sunderlal looked approvingly. ‘We must field the best under-15 team possible that excludes class IX boys. Mr Jagmohan and the teachers don’t want them to play; they say it’s too close to their exams.’

  ‘What a shame!’ exclaimed Ajay. ‘Won’t they be mad?’