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The protagonists are
often cocks, bulls, buffaloes and camels. There are no medals or
podiums for these heroes of the drama. But they are goaded and
cheered on by the collective cry of, in many instances, some 30000
rural audiences. It may appear paradoxical, yet for the slow pacced
life of the Indian peasants lusty sports have always been a way of
life.
Across the length and
breadth of India, these rural sports generate tremendous interest.
There is no big money, no fanfare, no colourful “togging”
up. Only challenges and action in the raw – every true
sportsman’s dream. The fine old sport of bullock racing, for
example, is one of the world’s hottest competitions on wheels.
Combining the more rugged elements of harness racing, the chariot
tourney and the drag strip, the sport is a popular feature at country
fairs in the sun-baked plains of central India.
It takes strong men to
“giddy-up” the two bullocks of the racing team into their
harness, while the driver ensures a secure foothold on his light but
sturdy cart. And then, inspired by blood curdling yells and whacks
on the rump, the bullocks hurtle down the track- a straight line
between two gates. But the charging teams are often erratic, keeping
the tense audience on its toes, ready to scatter before a veering
team. Daring drivers try and gain speed by twisting and biting the
bullocks tails. The best time turned in over a 200 yard course is
12.90 seconds.
More dangerous and
therefore exciting, is the 2000-year-old sport of jellikatu is
tamely reminiscent of Spanish bull fights and wild west rodeos. In
the sport, aptly termed “grappling with bulls” in
Anglo-Tamil literature, an unarmed man tackles an angry bull with his
bare hands in an endeavour to snatch a small cloth bag containing
prize money tied round the horns of the snorting bull.
The jellikatu bulls,
a compact, quick muscled cunning version of the notorious scrub bulls
of Australia in the 1880s, are specially bred and trained for the
sport. Over a 100 bulls assemble in a circular stockade at a
selected village. A narrow exit gate in the stockade opens onto a
long lane, sometimes fenced with palings on either side, but more
often fenced in by a mass of enthusiastic humanity.
A bull is let out of the
stockade and as it careers down the lane, the waiting grappler, naked
but for a skimpy loin cloth, throws himself at the speeding bull. The
bull thunder ahead, carrying the man, who, releasing a hand from his
insecure hold, tries to unite the prize money cloth bag from the
horns. Aspirants – a cross between Spanish toreadors and
American cowboys – are often gored and always thrown badly.
Some years ago, a
heavily built black bull with a white lacing on his face, pale grey
flanks, an ample dewlap and pointed straight horns was the jellikatu
superstar – unconquered in seven years. This incredibly smart
bull from Rapusal, a seasoned campaigner, had a few man kills to his
credit, and the experience and cunning to floor a whole string of
noted experts. At a jellikatu near Dindigul, the Rapusal bull
raced down the lane. With quick turns of the body and fierce tosses
of th head, he kept waiting grapplers at bay. He had reached almost
the end of the rack when a young man darted in from the sidelines.
Seizing the bull by an ear and a horn, the man snatched the cloth bag
and jumped to clear the fence. Quick as a cat, the bull caught him
with a toss of the head and threw him down. And the young man lay
dead.
Equally redolent with
the stench of sweat and blood is buffalo fighting. There are,
strictly speaking, no active sportsmen, but the sport is packed with
thrills. Two mighty, ill-tempered buffaloes are pitted against each
other. Heads locked together life battering rams, they fight to the
finish which comes when the losing buffalo turns tail. This marks a
point of panicky excitement, as the losing buffalo and the pursuing
winner charge pell-mell into the crowd. During the fight, short jabs
with the horns are permitted. A broken horn ends the career of a
fighting buffalo.
When both opponents
refuse to give up, and are almost equally matched, the owners and
their assistants find the going tough in trying to separate the
enraged animals. Buffalo fighting is prevalent chiefly in the hilly
areas of northern India.
A sport unsurpassed for
sheer absurdness is laddi ounth or loading the camel.
It originated at the Pushkar fair in Rajasthan, where it was popular
annual event ill animal welfare societies succeeded in putting a stop
to it. But the spirited peasants of Rajasthan cannot be weaned away
so easily from a sport they have relished for generations. It is no
longer a feature of the Pushkar fair, except on odd occasions.
Basically, it is test of strength for a camel – the gauge being
the number of men it can carry.
The camel is made to
kneel. About 10 boisterous men clamber onto the ship of the desert.
Rising, with its load, the camel begins a specified number of rounds
in the sandy arena. With each round, one more man attempts to add
himself to the precariously balanced human pyramid, until the camel
rebels and gets rid of its load by flinging the human cargo in all
directions. Amidst much laughter at the plight of those thrown off,
the camel which has retained the largest number of men is declared
the winner. The record stands at 14 men to a camel.
A sport that is no
longer regional is kabbadi. It is said to be the brainchild
of Lord Krishna. A sport devised to keep his army fit. Known by
different names in some states – to-to in Uttar Pradesh,
hu-du-du in West Bengal and Bihar. Chundu-guddu in
Tamil Nadu and Karnataka, kabbadi is an unusual sport of
action-packed suspense played in village squares, or dusty lanes, or
in fields.
A lone barefoot player
from a team mutters kabbadi, kabbadi, kabbadi, thumps his
thighs, kicks his heels, claps his hands, then rubs them menacingly,
and raids the territory of his enemies, usually five to 10 in number.
The solitary raider can attempt to touch or bring down and thus
“kill” one or more of his enemies while staying out of
their reach as long as he has the breath to keep repeating kabbadi,
kabbadi, kabbadi.
If he runs out of breath
in enemy territory, he is declared “dead”. There is more
than one way of “dying”. “Death” results if the
opposing team succeeds in grabbing him and holding on till he can no
longer utter kabbadi, kabbadi. Some raids, in which the
raider, retreating to the safety of his own territory is chased by a
member of the opposing group. The positions of raiders and defenders
are now reversed.
The players, alert and
watchful, resort to intimidating postures, quick lunges and feinting
manouevres. The sport calls for gumption, agility, lightning
reflexes and of course, the capability to keep up the war cry,
kabbadi, kabbadi, kabbadi, kabbadi. A great favourite with
villagers, kabbadi with seven players to a team and formal
rules and regulations, is now also played at the national level. Once
played only by boys and men, the sport has attracted girls too in
recent years.
The beginnings of
kho-kho are traced to ancient wars when shrewd charitoteers steered
their colourful chariots in zig –zag manner as a tactical
measure to ensure greater safety from the enemy. Played between two
teams, kho-kho, which has an exceptionally large following in the
state of Maharashthra, is based on the dodge and chase pattern.
An individual from one
team stays on his feet, while his team mates squat on the ground in a
straight line. One player sits facing north, the next facing south,
then north, then south, or east, west, east, west and so on it
alternates down the line. Thee members of team B, who remain
standing, must, when they are chasing by a team A players squatting
on the ground.
The sport, now
formalized like kabbadi into a national level game, with nine players
to each team, hots up when a chasing A team player suddenly says kho
and taps a strategically seated team-mate into continuing the chase.
The team-mate can leap up and take off directly only in the direction
in which he is seated. After two rounds, there is plenty of screaming
and shouting as the kho taps come in quick succession.
The sport of
cock-fighting, frowned upon by animal lovers, has staunch supporters
in the countryside of northern India. The town of Phagwara in Punjab
is as well known for its fierce cock-fights as it is for its range of
textiles. Cock-fights enthusiasts aver, rightly or wrongly, that
there is nothing cruel about the game. It would have been cruel if
cocks did not normally fight. The only difference in this case, they
maintain, is that the fight, instead of being unobserved, has a
sizeable audience; that many of them have laid hefty bets is another
matter.
The gorgeously plumed
cocks are especially picked and trained for fighting. In the terrible
scrimmage, the cocks, cackling vengefully, go for each other with
beaks and murderous claws. Flying feathers and spatters of blood
mingle in the dust of the small arena formed by an applauding
blood-thirsty audience. Many cocks are seasoned fighters, while the
lives of some debutantes are cut tragically short.
My long nurtured desire
to witness a cock-fight was fulfilled some time ago in Bhatinda, a
steamy hot town in Punjab. However, I must confess that after
watching for 10 minutes or so, I had no stomach for the rest of the
fight, nor for chicken dishes for a long time afterwards. I was, in
short, chicken-livered.
But I did gain some
insight and understanding of why cock-fights appeal to so many
people. The colour, atmosphere and the drama aparat, there is
something primitive about a cock-fight. A play on life and death, it
seems to paralyse the crowd’s thinking before arousing their
aggressive instincts. Fascinated, they are drawn to the cock-fight
inspite of themselves. In the background, perhaps, is a sneaking
pride over man’s domination on all living things. It has also
been said that like bull fighting, cock-fighting is akin to drinking
wine, the degree of enjoyment being in direct proportion to the
knowledge on the subject. For some, it is this ingredient of
controversy which makes cock-fight that much more interesting as a
sport.
The rough and tumble
of traditional sports yield many evenings of fun for villagers. Down
the years, the sports have developed a fanatic following and a
fearless legion of practitioners – contestants who seek no
exercise of reward other than the exercise of their lusty skills.
The roars of an appreciative, frenzied crowd provide a fitting
climax.
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