Raja, Story of a Racehorse

by Anne Hambleton

  Coming around the final turn toward the homestretch, the race suddenly turned frantic. Everyone was bumping and jostling, trying to get to the lead. Jockeys urged their horses on, suddenly riding harder and going to the whip. Willie took a shorter hold and started to ask me to go, his hands and legs in rhythm with my longer and longer strides. I knew what to do.

  I started to run.

  The roar of the crowd filled my ears. I could hear the announcer’s excited call, “And it’s Shimmer Shimmer by two lengths, Ice Bullet on the outside. Here comes Raja. Raja is making up ground!”

  Willie steered me to a gap that had opened up in the pack and asked me again.

  “Let’s go. Let’s go. It’s time to go,” his hands and body cried. We burst through. I passed the third horse, then the second horse, Ice Bullet. Coming head and head with the leader, Shimmer Shimmer, I looked him in the eye. Then I turned on “the afterburners.”

  Everything except the track ahead of us disappeared.

  “Here comes Raja. Raja moving up on the outside to take the lead. Raja! Raja, followed by Ice Bullet, Shimmer Shimmer, and Natty Boh in fourth. Raja, by one, now two. Raja wins today!”

  We passed under the wire with eight lengths between us and the next horse.

  “Good boy, Raja!”

  Willie stood up in his stirrups to slow me down and gave me a big pat on the neck. The roar of the crowd overwhelmed me as we jogged back to the stands. Princess Ayesha thanked Willie and hugged me again and again. “Raja, I knew you could do it. What a good boy!”

  Victory! What a glorious feeling. I am Raja, destined for glory!

  Winning was the best feeling imaginable. I jigged all the way back to the barn.

  “I knew you could do it,” Max confided in me that night. “Of all of us, you’re the one who will really make a mark. I know that you can beat Annapurna.”

  When the Saratoga meet ended and horses began to leave, the electricity in the air faded, leaving us feeling a little sleepy. The crisp September wind whispered of the coming winter as it rattled the yellow-tinged maple leaves. A group of Canada geese came in for a few days, circling the pond in the center of the track with a loud, a-hink-a-honk, a-hink-a-honk, then claiming it with a dramatic, feet first splash landing.

  “Go south. Hurry, winter’s coming,” they seemed to cry.

  September, Belmont Park, New York

  Grey, that’s Belmont for you. No flower baskets, shade trees, or ladies with colorful dresses walking around the stable yard. Grey skies, grey backstretch, grey people, even the other horses looked a little grey after Saratoga.

  “You and Max are entered in the Champagne Stakes, a Grade 1 Stakes race,” RB told me. “It’s a big step up from a maiden race, but Alex thinks you’re up to it. You know, you’re the favorite. It’s because of your win at Saratoga.”

  Early in the morning the day of the race, I was eating my hay and resting in my stall trying to stay calm, when I smelled it.

  Gardenias and peppermint!

  I quickly popped my head over my stall door, as a deep nicker escaped me.

  “Raja, there you are, my beautiful.” Princess Ayesha walked to my stall, gently kissed my nose and scratched the tickly spot above my eyes, feeding me a peppermint as I stretched toward her. She flicked her long black hair out of her face, her row of colored glass bangles catching the sunlight, bringing a splash of color to Belmont.

  “I fooled the paparazzi so that I could come and see you. They think I’m getting my hair done, but I sent my assistant, dressed as me, and snuck out the Plaza Hotel kitchen. It was a jail break! Bob’s here, too — he drove me out from the city.”

  She smiled triumphantly, a spark of rebellion in her dark smoky eyes. She likes to be independent, too, I thought, but her life is controlled by others, just like mine.

  We’re more alike than I had realized.

  I was so happy to see her. I contentedly munched some hay, all nerves gone.

  Then it was time to go to the paddock.

  Da da da dum diggety dum diggety dum, dum dum daa.

  I danced all the way to the start, relaxed, confident, floating on air.

  BRRING! We’re off!

  RB was right. This race was a big step up. The pace was quick and every horse in the race was talented, competitive, and out to win. No one was going to let others pass them willingly. I broke out of the gate well, but for the first half of the race, I felt boxed in the middle of the pack. Helpless, I bore it, thundering along with the others.

  I can’t do anything. I want to go faster but I can’t get around the others.

  One horse on my inside tried to create a gap and bumped into me, breaking my rhythm. I lost momentum and two horses passed me. Now I was mad. I could tell Willie was frustrated too. He steered me to the outside, the long way around.

  Finally, room to move.

  He let me out a notch, not full speed, but my running pace. We began to move up and pass horses, sixth, now fifth. Rounding the final turn, Willie made his move, a little early, but I had plenty left. We began to run. The track was wide open, inviting, as if the race, the win, already existed and I just needed to tap into it, to claim it as my own.

  Faster, FASTER!

  Now we were fourth, now third, now second. I drew next to Max, who was in the lead. Coming into the home stretch, it was Max and me, alone, neck and neck.

  OK, Max, this is it. Who is it going to be?

  I looked him in the eye, just like all of those times back at the farm. This time I didn’t play with him. Every part of me was focused on going forward and going fast.

  “Come on, baby,” Willie smooched as I blew by Max.

  “And it’s Raja! Raja wins by six lengths.”

  The announcer’s voice was drowned out by the deafening roar of the crowd. Then we were under the wire, no one else anywhere near us. Willie stood up in his stirrups to pull me up, giving me a big pat, then, dropped the reins to hug me as we jigged back to the finish line.

  “Good boy, Raja! You’re a machine!”

  A woman on a horse accompanied us to the winner’s circle. “What a race! What power, what grace! You won this Grade One race by a very impressive six lengths.

  What was your strategy? Is Raja the new superhorse?”

  A new round of cheers burst out to greet us as we approached the stands.

  Ah, my people! I turned and nodded to them. I loved them and they loved me. Everything is beautiful! Perfect, the best it ever was, the best it ever could be.

  “Nice job, Raja!”

  “Way to go, number six!”

  Black streaks of tears smudged Princess Ayesha’s face as she smiled jubilantly, oblivious to the throngs of people shouting questions at her and taking our picture. She couldn’t stop petting me and kissing me. This time the photographers followed us back to the barn. I loved the attention and, especially, I loved being the best.

  Winning! There’s nothing better!

  January, Gulfstream Park, Florida

  “I think Raja should run in the Fountain of Youth Stakes in February and then the Florida Derby in March,” Alex spoke to Chris as he wrote in a notebook with a look of intense concentration on his face. After a month’s vacation at the farm in Florida, we were back in training at a racetrack.

  “They’re both here at Gulfstream, so there won’t be the stress of travel. I’d rather not run him and Max against each other, but I may have to in the Florida Derby since that’s an important Kentucky Derby prep race.”

  The Kentucky Derby!

  Here at Gulfstream Park all everyone talked about was the Kentucky Derby, the “Run for the Roses,” the first and biggest race in the Triple Crown on the first Saturday in May. Alex was obsessed with our legs, our eating habits, our training schedule, even our poop. The days sped by in a blur of training, sunshine, sand, sweat, baths and the sweet perfume of flowers and horse shampoo.

  “Raj, I heard Annapurna’s coming,” Max said the day before the race. “You’re both undef
eated. Remember, you’re the better horse.”

  Thanks, buddy, I’m going to beat him so bad he’s going to cry for his mama.

  “That’s my boy. Bring it home, baby,” Max nickered and tossed his head.

  A newspaper page twisted and swooped in front of my stall, held aloft by a strengthening breeze whipping through the shed row.

  “Storm’s coming. Make sure the barn doors are secure and everything is tied down,” Chris told one of the grooms as he pulled some hay bales deeper under the roof of the shed row and wrapped a blue plastic tarp over them. After supper, a steady rain began pecking at the metal roof, soon turning into a loud roar as the barn rocked and rattled, straining against the powerful wind gusts.

  Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it.

  I fretted and stall-walked the whole night, grinding my bedding into a circle. In the morning I was exhausted.

  “You look washed out, like someone ‘got your goat.’” RB was concerned.

  What do you mean?

  “In the old days, if someone was betting against a horse and wanted to make sure he didn’t win, they’d steal his companion goat. The horse would fret all night and lose. Get some rest. You have to beat Annapurna today.”

  Da da da dum diggety dum diggety dum, dum dum daa.

  Even after the “Call to the Post,” I felt as if I was moving in a fog.

  This is an important race and I’m the better horse. I need to focus!

  BRRING! We’re off.

  My body was running but my mind wasn’t with it. I ran in the middle of the pack, feeling OK, but not great. Going around the final turn, I saw a grey horse pushing me to the outside of the track.

  It’s that punk, Sanchez, from Hollywood Bill’s stable. He’s trying to take me wide to take me out of the race so that Annapurna can win!

  Finally, I got mad and snapped out of my stupor. I was on the outside and had a much longer distance to make up, but I was furious and I was on fire. Fifth, now fourth. I passed another horse, moving closer to Annapurna in the lead.

  “And here comes Raja. It’s Raja, Raja moving up on the outside. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a horse race! Ann-a-PURNA in the lead. But here comes Raja, Raja gaining ground and moving up quickly,” the announcer cried excitedly.

  Two strides away, then one, head and head, then under the wire, together.

  Did I win? It’s too close to tell.

  The loudspeaker boomed: “The results from the photo finish are final. The winner is number four, Annapurna, with the number-six horse, Raja, in second, followed by Sanchez. Your official winner for the Fountain of Youth Stakes is number four, Annapurna.”

  Second! Only winning counts, second is losing. I should have won, I’m the better horse.

  “Good morning, Chris — you’re 15 minutes late. We have a busy morning. Please make sure that Shaddy’s mane is pulled and he’s trimmed up and looking good.” Alex looked up disapprovingly as Chris ambled into the barn with a coffee in one hand and a doughnut in the other. He had been at the barn for two hours already doing paperwork in the stable office.

  “Shaddy’s going to Maryland. He’s been sold. The van is coming at noon.”

  “Sold! Why?” Chris responded, clearly surprised.

  “He isn’t racing up to the Sheikh’s level. You know he wants his horses to win.”

  SOLD! Shaddy was sold!

  An icy feeling of dread filled my stomach.

  If Shaddy could be sold, any of us could be sold.

  “Don’t worry, the Sheikh sells a lot of his horses to that trainer. I’ve seen them in Saratoga. They always look well.” RB seemed to read my mind. “He’s a good horseman. He’ll care for him as a horse, not just an investment.”

  I couldn’t understand why Shaddy didn’t care whether he won or not. He was content to run fifth or even sixth, even though he had the talent to beat most horses.

  I’m going to miss my buddy.

  Max, Sanchez, Annapurna and I were finally going to run in the same race — the Florida Derby, a Grade One Stakes, our final prep before the Kentucky Derby.

  I can’t wait.

  Voices from the crowd drifted by us as we followed the outriders onto the track. The vivid pinks, yellows, greens, and blues of jockeys’ silks seemed more intense against the darkening grey sky. Jigging to the start, I felt fitter than ever, ready to win.

  “Go Raja! My money is on you.”

  “Bring it home, number three.”

  I knew that I could beat Annapurna, Sanchez, and every other horse in the race.

  A knot of anticipation formed in my belly as I heard thunder in the distance. Big, burly gate helpers in blue shirts led the number one and two horses into the starting gate. Annapurna, in the fifth position and Max, number seven, would be loaded after me. I entered the gate and heard a click behind me as the door was secured. Willie patted my neck and whispered, “This is it, Raja. Let’s give it our all.”

  I’ll give it more. I want this win, BADLY.

  As Annapurna was loaded into the gate, I heard another rumble of thunder and noticed that the sky was getting darker and the wind was picking up. As the number six horse went in the gate, I felt a raindrop. The gate helpers loaded Max, number seven. I heard another rumble — louder, closer.

  Let’s get on with it. Let’s go!

  Suddenly, a bolt of lightning split the sky! My heart started to pump wildly as a loud, sound filled my ears. I had to escape but I was stuck in the gate — I HAD to escape!

  Nothing else mattered. Up I went, rearing, catching my leg. My head slammed against a metal pole. Everything went black.

  April, Florida Equine Hospital,

  South Florida

  “He has a high temperature. Keep him well hydrated and ice his feet to keep down the risk of laminitis.”

  “Will do. He’s on IV fluids and his vitals are stable, Doctor.”

  “Good. I’ll check in at the end of the day when I make final rounds. Thank you.”

  Voices drifted in and out of the fog. People moved around me, touching me, but mainly, I slept. I woke up, groggy, in a strange white stall with padded, rubber covered walls. Bandages covered my hind legs, and rubber tubes, suspended from the ceiling, went into my neck as a big strap under my belly supported me.

  Where am I? Where are the other horses?

  All I could see was an expanse of white. I heard more voices. Was that Chris?

  “Hello, I’m Chris. I work for Alex MacLaren. How is Raja doing?”

  “I’m Liza, the vet tech. We had to stitch him up for three hours. He was badly cut around his hind legs and he has a fever. He’ll need a long recovery, but he’ll be OK.”

  “Raja, you have a visitor,” called Liza, waking me, after another long sleep.

  I almost didn’t recognize her. Hair tucked under a baseball cap, with torn jeans and an old t-shirt. Only the sweet scent of gardenias and peppermint gave her away.

  “Be sure to give us warning when the Sheikh or the Princess come,” Liza told Princess Ayesha. “We’ll need to beef up security and alert the media.”

  “Sure. Thanks for letting me come so early in the morning. I have to visit Raja before my job mucking out.” Princess Ayesha winked, mouthing the words, “jail break.” She came first thing every morning for a week. She sang to me and brushed me and even cleaned my stall.

  “The paparazzi would have a field day with a picture of me shoveling manure,” she laughed. “Raja, you’re going to get better, I know it.”

  She hummed the tune to her favorite song and sang to me as I rubbed my head on her shoulde.,

  “Don’t worry, about a thing, cause every little thing is gonna be alright.”

  But after a week, she had to leave to go to college.

  “See how many fans you have, Raja?” Chris waded through the pile of flowers, carrots and cards from strangers outside my stall. “Everyone wants you to heal so you can come back and race Annapurna.”

  Yes, I thought bitterly, I should
have won. I could have been a Kentucky Derby contender.

  I realized with a heavy, final feeling, that there would be no Kentucky Derby. I was washed up and I was only three.

  A crowd of photographers crowded into the aisle, snapping pictures and holding microphones toward a tall, familiar looking man wearing a suit and a yellow tie.

  The Sheikh!

  Another tall man shook his hand as they posed for a picture in front of my stall with the crowd of photographers snapping away. As the people began to leave, the Sheikh leaned close to Alex, speaking quietly.

  “Take him to the farm and give him time to heal. It’s unfortunate that he had to be gelded and can’t go to stud. That was a nasty injury, but I hope that we can bring him back to race again. No decisions until we see how he is after some time off.”

  May, Ocala, Florida

  Bob, Michelle and Chris seemed excited as they chatted outside my stall. It was late in the afternoon on the first Saturday in May.

  Kentucky Derby day!

  Michelle spoke excitedly, “I wish I were there. What are the odds on Max? I can’t believe he’s one of the favorites. We all have to watch. Bob, bring out the TV. Out here in the aisle — where there is more room so we can all see. I’ll make a hay-bale sofa for us all.”

  “Anything for you, Michelle.” Bob rolled his eyes good naturedly.

  “Where’s that extension cord? I just saw it the other day. Ah, yes, in the wash stall — the vet used it to ultrasound Raja yesterday. I hope this piece of junk will actually work if we move it.”

  Bob brought the old television set out from the farm office into the aisle outside my stall where I was recovering. Pedro and some of the grooms gathered around and sat on the bales Michelle had set up while she perched on a stepladder, holding Piewacket and Muttley in her lap, absently caressing their ears.

  “Oh my goodness, just LOOK at those hats. That’s almost the best part. Sh! Shh! They’re playing “My Old Kentucky Home.” This moment always gives me goose bumps. Who’s got a mint julep for me?”