The stage was set. The akhada held its breath. On shaky feet, Qainaat made her way to the mudpit.
Her heart was racing, her mouth was dry. Every pore in her body was tingling. She’d wanted to participate in a wrestling match, and here was her chance.
Qainaat extended her hand for a customary handshake before the dangal. Birju ignored it. Tanki jeered. The wrestlers squared off, grabbing fistfuls of mud and throwing it on each other.
Qainaat took the sparring stance and locked eyes with Birju. As they began to wrestle, he firmly locked her arm and neck in place. Before she could react, he swivelled and bent on one knee, slamming her to the ground. All in one seamless motion. As cheers echoed around the mud pit, Qainaat’s face burned with embarrassment. She’d gone down in a humiliating defeat. In a matter of seconds. She struggled to her feet, breathing hard.
Tanki was on his feet, eyes flashing. “This is so unfair! Match her up with someone the same size and strength.”
“Like you?” Masterji sneered. “So you could let your friend win?”
“Like Lachchu or Dhunna –”
“The result’s going to be the same,” Masterji cut in, “no matter who she spars with.”
“Then what are you so worried about?” Tanki challenged.
Masterji’s eyes glittered dangerously; his patience was hanging by a thread.
“Dhunna?” he called out.
Dhunna got to his feet and trotted off to the mud pit.
Qainaat fixed her eyes on her opponent. As they circled each other, she sized him up. Think, Qainaat, think. Use your head, before you use your limbs. She’d seen Dhunna during the training sessions. She knew his weaknesses. Blocking out every sound, every sight, she focused hard.
As they grappled, she made a quick decision and tried to execute a double-leg attack. Her hold perfect, back straight, knee between Dhunna’s legs.
There was pin-drop silence in the akhada.
Dhunna struggled to gain his balance and somehow managed to launch a defence. He tried to pin her, she freed herself. He attacked, she counter-attacked. Her moves were instinctive. Everything – all she’d observed, learned, imbibed over the last few weeks – came together.
Masterji felt his arrogance slip away like sand through the fingers. He’d been so confident she wouldn’t last a minute. He’d been certain of an easy victory, but something completely unexpected was unfolding right before his eyes. That chit of a girl seemed to have an upper hand in the match. She was following a strategy, using tactics, and trying out different manoeuvres. Sensing that his authority was at his risk, dreading that he was going to lose face, he let out a grunt of outrage.
Meanwhile, Qainaat took the grappling stance and spun around so they were facing the same side. Before Dhunna could blink, she placed her legs between his, her back to his stomach, and bent down, throwing him over her shoulder in a perfect dhobi pachad!
You could hear a drop of sweat fall on the ground as the dangal came to an end.
Tanki took a moment to realize what had happened.
“Did she…?” One look at Masterji’s stricken expression and Bhaiyaji’s shocked face, and he knew. Qainaat had won.
“Qainaat! Qainaat! Qainaat!” he chanted, jumping up and down.
“You won fair and square! But who’s Masterji sending to participate in the tournament? Dhunna and Lachchu.” Tanki fumed, kicking a pebble in the courtyard.
After Qainaat had pulled off a stunning victory over Dhunna, Masterji had stalked away without a word. After sulking all day, he’d emerged to announce that Lachchu and Dhunna would be participating in the upcoming city tournament.
“It’s wrong wrong wrong,” Tanki fumed. “Not letting you participate in weekly dangals. Not giving you the cash prize for winning a dangal. Not sending you to the city to participate in the tournament. Our sleeping arrangements. Our leaf plates. The special treatment. All of it!”
Qainaat sighed. “You’re right. But what can we do?”
“You sit quietly and whine. I am not going to let them get away with it. I’m going to complain. I’m going to tell everyone what’s going on.”
“Complain to whom? Who’d even believe us?” Qainaat shook her head. “And even if they did, do you really think they’d help us…” She trailed off as something popped into her head. “Madamji did say I could reach out to her if I needed help.”
Tanki’s face lit up. “That’s it! We’ll complain to the district magistrate. We’ll tell her what’s going on here. She’ll force them to change. They’ll have no choice but to treat us fairly.”
Qainaat didn’t look entirely convinced, but it was worth a shot.
“But how? She’s somewhere in the city. And we’re here. At the outskirts.”
“What if we could call her?”
“I don’t have her number,” said Qainaat slowly. “What if we write to her?”
Tanki’s eyes lit up. “Champa Kaki could post it for us!”
The next weekend, Tanki handed the letter to Champa Kaki. “Top secret.”
Qainaat had taken hours to write the letter. In her best handwriting. She’d poured her heart out and made sure she didn’t leave out anything.
“If it gets into enemy hands, that’s it, finished,” shuddered Tanki, running a finger under his neck.
Champa Kaki carefully tucked it in the folds of her saree.
Excerpted with permission from Kushti Kid, Vibha Batra, Scholastic.
