I was sitting on my tree thinking alternately of sports and other matters combative, when King Vikram pulled me down.
-Foul devil! he said. Today, I will kill you, and complete the incomplete assignment of my ancestors.
I had heard this threat before, and was not unduly worried.
- O’ King, I said in an even voice, even as King Vikram carried me away to kill me. Let me tell you a story, at the end of which I’ll ask you a question. If you speak the answer, I’ll fly away. If you know the answer and keep silent, your head will burst into a thousand pieces, in which case you will find it difficult to smile nicely for a family photo.
-Humph! said King Vikram, not in the mood to show off his extensive vocabulary.
-Tell me king. Of the Pakistani cricketers, Indians don’t mind Imran Khan. In fact many of them like him. But they hate Javed Miandad. Can you tell me why? If you know the answer, speak now, or your head will…
-Shut up you of the undead! That’s not even a story. It’s a question. And a pretty obvious one at that.
For the Indian cricket fan, anyone who comes in the way of victory belongs to the nether world. But Imran Khan was like an asura. He was an opponent, but a noble one. Like an asura, he fulfilled an important role of an opponent, which is necessary to preserve the order in the universe.
But Miandad never played by the rules. It seemed that he was never guided by morals. He was a rakshasa…why just like you. And how could one ever respect him?
-Well spoken, O’ King, I said. But now that you have spoken, I will fly away.
-Wait, said King Vikram. You may go. But I thought it bears mentioning that the real rakshasas are in our mind. For even though we don’t play sport, we treat it as a matter of life and death.
He was a wise man. But this was no time for appreciation. It was a time for survival.
I flew away faster than a six from Miandad’s bat. And as I flew these videos played in my mind.
