Short Story of a common commonwealth medal hopeful

A fictitious account

Dreams are larger than what eyes can see. That’s why many don’t see it through…but a few do.

Motherless and blamed for the death of her mother post-delivery, 13 year old Tulsi never wanted to clean toilets. She wanted to run…run away from the clutches of a complaining father, abuses of the elderly stinking household, miseries of a daily struggle to earn a loaf of bread and poverty huge enough to cripple dreams and reality.

For her, the railway track which ran across the farm, 3 miles from the dilapidated hut, was the alarm clock. Her torment began everyday at 3AM when a narrow gauge express train passed by, almost always on time. She had to run…run with two empty buckets to get a chance to get water from an upper class run rationed water well. The day she missed to collect water, she got only grass to eat.

Three years back, it was one of those days when she was unable to collect water. Sobbing and afraid to go back home, she laid near the track watching the same sun rising after a dreamless night. ‘Tulsi, come here,’ came a thick noisy voice out of no where. She was tired of always expecting a commanding voice out of nowhere asking for filthiest of work. ‘Tulsi, mother killer bitch, come here.’ This time she had to notice. Morning has begun. She could see a stout, bearded recognizable man with a suitcase calling from the perch of the train standing by. She ran…ran for the command.
‘Here, you see that shit and garbage…clean it up,’ ordered the village Seth. He had engineered a train halt…to go to the city. Tulsi had to clean-up the entire 5 feet radius where the Seth was supposed to sit. As she descended, the train had blown the whistle. She got down and started walking back. The train inched up on the track and moved screechingly. The two empty buckets resting on the green farm grass made her relive the day in advance. The beating and the hunger are easy to withstand when there is light at the end of the tunnel. Here there was no hope. The train had gathered speed towards the tunnel. Blink…there always comes a moment of intervention from the Almighty. Tulsi ran…ran towards the train a good 20 metres away. She must have run a mile before she boarded the train finally. She had run her first race to life.

She must have travelled two days and a night before she was dumped on the station as a parcel out of no where. There was hunger but so was hope. There was poverty but there was no one to beat her or to command…no… there were few.
It took no time for three teenage rag pickers to identify the new girl in their area of operation. And desperate they were at the most silent hour of the night. They pounced on her. The flickering and lone bulb at the corner of the station bore testimony that the cities are worse than villages. Surprised and still wondering, running seemed the obvious way out for Tulsi. She ran…ran again…this time for dignity.

She did not know the roads and streets she took. She did not know if they were still behind her. She was terrified. She kept running the entire night. Not even for once did she think of stopping or even looking back. Running this time was not easy. Her naked feet were used to village lanes, not the gravel heavy city roads. She stopped only when she collided with Mahabir, 40 something disillusioned yet motivated mentor. ‘How long have you been running?’ asked Mahabir as he saw blood soaked feet and felt her sweat soaked body. ‘It was dark when I started.’ ‘Come, You have found me,’ said Mahabir tersely as he continued his morning jogging session. At least a dozen students followed him back to the coaching centre. The same sun was beginning to shine ever so brightly. ‘Would Tulsi be the lucky thirteen?’ the thought kept running through Mahabir’s mind.

Mahabir, a full time teacher was a tough taskmaster and a running fanatic. He would inculcate benefits of running into everyone he met. His salary went into ensuring balanced diet for his runners. City NGO was helpful every few months. He kept selecting and training hopefuls…with one goal…running for the country. Under Mahabir’s guidance in a little known city, Tulsi’s life flourished in awe of possibilities.
She followed a strict routine, was an excellent pupil and listened and above all ran passionately. She was easily the best of Mahabir’s lot and kept winning accolades wherever she went. She came first in a district level competition, a month later she was among the best in the State and in a year’s time she ran at the National Games in Jharkhand. To everybody’s amazement, she won gold and landed up with a government job. Mahabir’s coaching set up did not receive the same attention as the medal winners. He still worked hard to make ends meet and harder still to train his wards. For Tulsi, the government job did not distract her determination. She trained more not because she was an average performer from international standards but because her coach required money for ‘acute pulmonary edema’ medication. Mahabir had water in his lungs, was becoming frail and running was out of question for him.

A Gold Medal in 1500m in Commonwealth Games…an ambition too high, a goal never achieved by an Indian and a dream worth pursuing. The government had announced Rs. 20 Lakhs prize money for every gold medal an Indian won. ‘That would solve all problems,’ she thought as she geared herself up for the dream of her life. She imagined herself wrapped in tricolor and singing National Anthem in rapt attention. She trained harder under Mahabir. She fought her inner demons with the help of a yoga guru. She never bettered the national record ever in trainings.

At her first international event, she was nervous the moment she had qualified for the event a few months back. In the Qualifying Heats, when she saw well built and well trained runners from diverse countries, she expected the worse. She bettered them with faith and landed in the finals. ‘Tomorrow will be my day. India will watch me not cleaning toilets but running…running for national pride,’ she thought the night before the race. She still required a leap of faith.

The floodlights in the stadium make the night into day. Dreams into reality. And it all gets over in a matter of minutes. No body gave her an outside chance. The interspersed spectators were glad to see an Indian in the finals. The commentators heaped praises on her past running exploits and how she is below par for this competition. But she ran…ran hard… ran with lungs full of air to remove water from the lungs of her coach.
She must have got spring in her feet. She started and ran away like a bullet. She second runner was a distant 5m after first 100 metres of the race. The other pushed hard but she pushed harder. At half-way she led a good 20m. She was a running a dream but so were others. The track doesn’t make a distinction. With 200m to the finishing line, she was still leading by a good distance. And then it all started. The runners behind her gathered steam. Their steps were far larger and they ate into the gap with enormous ease. Tulsi fought back with matching steps but still she was slow. Winning runner passed by…Silver still in sight, the second runner passed…just 50m to go and at least bronze will be mine – thought Tulsi. If God listens to everybody’s prayers, he will be confused. That’s why hard work is the barometer for success and if success becomes unexplainable, luck comes as a reason. Tulsi came a close fourth. She just saw darkness as she reached the finishing line. She did not know that she has bettered her record…she had in fact bettered the games record by an Indian.

She cried an ocean, wept a river and sobbed a lake in Mahabir’s arms. With so many Indians winning medals, the attention was on winners. No one cared except Mahabir and a few others. She stared beyond the floodlights into the dark night. They must have sat for hours in the forlorn stadium before deciding to go back to the Games Village. ‘I am sorry, Biru Chacha,’ she said before going to sleep at dawn.

It was first in many many years when she did not run in the morning…in fact she slept all through amid the celebrations of growing medals tally.
Mahabir alias Biru Chacha ran after a long time. He even jumped couple of times on his way to Tulsi’s room. He did not wait for the elevator but climbed up three flights of stairs in a jiffy. ‘Tulsi, Tulsi, get up Tulsi…,’ he anxiously knocked the door. One of the team mates opened the door. The beaming coach, unable to breathe declared loudly ‘Tulsi, the silver medalist failed the dope test, you got a bronze.’ He plunged on to the bed, gasping for breath. In his excitement to tell the news, Mahabir had put himself in great danger. Tulsi was stunned and so were others. Only the heavy breaths of Mahabir chimed the room. And then she jumped, shouted, jumped hard and embraced panting Mahabir…in plain ecstasy. ‘Chacha…you will get well soon, Chacha. We will get 5 lakhs from the government. All your problems will get solved,’ Tulsi was animated. It seemed Mahabir took an instant decision. It seemed he stopped himself from breathing. It seemed he deliberately closed his eyes. He had an angelic smile on his face before he said his last words –‘Keep running and Keep the centre running if ever you get the money.’