The Zoya Factor

by Anuja Chauhan

  In fact, he went so far as to say that if there was going to be any complaining to be done to the ICC, he would be the one doing it. 'The sledging going on right through the match was disgraceful,' he said. 'The ICC, in its wisdom, had chosen to appoint two non-Hindi/Urdu-speaking umpires, which in my opinion was a gross oversight. Our players lodged two complaints, both of which were more or less disregarded.' A high-level ICC enquiry - both into the alleged sledging and the alleged attack - is on the cards. 'The sledging definitely happened, and it was completely for. As far as Zahid's reaction goes, it was unfortunate,' said a tight-lipped Nikhil Khoda, Indian skipper. 'I'm just extremely thankful the incident didn't escalate from there, with a crowd of a hundred thousand inflamed fans watching, there could have been a break-out of large-scale violence. People could've been killed.'

  Speculation was rife last evening here in Melbourne, however, that the alleged sledging had been taunts about Zahid not being a 'true' Muslim, because he's an Indian. But, more persistent were the rumours that the jibes had been about the Indian team's dependency on Zoya Solanki, the so-called Goddess-of-the-Game.

  The Zoya Factor, in fact, is quickly becoming massively controversial here in Australia, with the boards of three Super 8 qualifying countries going so far as to lodge official complaints with the ICC about India's 'unfair' advantage.

  ***

  'Balls,' said Sanks rudely, his eyes glued to the TV on which the Pakistan captain was giving the martyred, my-key-player-has-been-grievously-injured-this-vicious-action-may-cost-my-team-the-World-Cup ones. He'd flown in early that morning to catch the semis and the finals. 'Your team was never gonna win anyway, fucker!' He was sitting in Monita's room, clad in a hideous Hawaiian shirt and Bermudas. Seriously, Sanks in holiday mode was even worse than Sanks in the office. His moustache bristled horridly as he swivelled his bulging eyes my way and barked, 'Must've been something to do with you, I'll bet!'

  I counted to ten under my breath slowly and then said, 'A lot of people are saying he taunted him about not being a real Muslim, Sanks,' and thought, If I do Tauji's ad I will never have to see Sanks again. 'It's got nothing to do with me.'

  He tugged at his moustache in a superior kind of way. 'It's all connected, Zoya,' he said like he was talking to an imbecile. 'That wicketkeeper must have told him, you're not a real Musalmaan, you're a blooming Devi-bhakt, a Goddess-worshipper, shame on you!'

  'Oh, please,' Mon said. 'Maybe he just said you're a flatulent jerk and I'm tired of smelling your stink-making behind the wickets.'

  'Or maybe he's gay and just told Zahid he liked the view,' offered Rinku Chachi brightly from the next room.

  'Whatever,' I sighed. 'We'll never know, shall we?'

  Mon's eyes twinkled naughtily. 'I know who'll know,' she said. 'Someone who's been getting very close to our Pathan lately - Ritu.'

  Immediately, they started making all these giggly plans to invite Ritu to our rooms for a drink and pump her for information. Somehow they all seemed to be blissfully unaware of the fact that I had hit an all-time low. This latest fiasco was going to make Nikhil dislike me further. He was going to blame me for Zahid having lost his temper. I just knewit.

  He was never ever going to speak to me again.

  ***

  The next day didn't start well. First, I opened the newspaper to find this really nasty article about me. A wild-haired Durga type caricature of me glowered out at the world from the sports page. It had eight arms, seven of which clutched the squirming captains of the other Super 8 qualifying countries in a death grip. The eighth tenderly spooned breakfast cereal into a bibbed and bonneted Khoda's cutely dribbling mouth.

  Below the caricature was a two-thousand-word write-up calling me a bloodthirsty Goddess who could only be appeased by violence, citing Rawal's busted arm and the Paki keeper's busted nose as cases in point. It hinted darkly at worse things to come, if India continued to break their pre-match bread with the 'Witch of the Pitch'.

  I shuddered and turned the page to find myself faced with another article called 'Goddess For Sale'. It said that Zoya Singh Solanki, the Indian lucky charm, was the latest thing on the endorsement market and that she would push any product - chewing gum, underwear, colas, air conditioners - if the price was right. It said, her agent, Lokendar Chugh was in talks with at least fifteen corporates all of whom wanted to sign her on if she brought home the World Cup. 'Move aside, Nikhil Khoda,' the article concluded, 'the homecoming prizes are all for the Goddess!'

  I lay back weakly in bed and reached for the phone to dial my so-called agent's number. Fortunately, I had to listen to the latest Himesh Reshammiya number for only about three seconds before he snapped it up. 'Joyaji!' he said enthusiastically, 'how are you?'

  I told him in no uncertain terms how I was. And infuriatingly, instead of cowering down and grovelling, he started yelling back at me! He said he was only being a good dedicated agent, that nothing he'd told the journalist was a lie, that everybody from Coca Cola to Sahara wanted to sign me on, and he didn't see why I was getting in the way of his making a decent living for the both of us.

  I told him I didn't want to take any credit away from the boys.

  'Of course you won't, Joyaji! I am not your agent only! Nikhil, Laakhi, openers are all handled by myself. All will get their due! There are many, many corporate houses in India. Enough for all of us. Let us, zor lagake, just win this World Cup and life will become an eternal five-star buffet for all of us! The only person whose stock will fall is Kapil Dev!'

  'Did you say Coke back then, Lokey?' I asked despite myself.

  'Ya, then what?' he said cockily. 'They have sent script and everything. You don't know, you are sitting in Sydney, but you have become Number One craze in India. Arrey, what Standing you have got in thee Society, Joyaji! Please be practical, don't get emotional. God is being gracious to you. Arrey, thee RJP has even been inquiring your age, if you are really over twenty-one they will give you Lok Sabha ticket from Ayodhya Ram mandir.'

  'Okay, okay,' I told him uneasily. 'I get your point, but Lokey, I'm supposed to be a Goddess, how can I advertise products?'

  'Tchcha. Only rich marketing people thinks like this, Joyaji,' he said. 'Poor common people don't. They are more broad-minded. They understand ki you also have to live. You will only have to give some small portion - very publicly of course - to charity, that's all.'

  'Okay, Lokey, but let's talk about this only after India wins, okay? What's the point of getting all excited if we lose? And please don't speak to the press about it any more.'

  I hung up, feeling cheerful. Coke wanted me. Not that I would ever endorse them, but it was nice to know. I was going to be rich. And good too! I was going to be good like Bill and Melinda Gates. I would make a difference, go to orphanages and stuff, become a good example to young people everywhere. Then my eyes fell on the caricature on the sports page again, and my mood plummeted. I could only imagine what Nikhil must have felt like when he saw it - him being fed on my knee. Must have hit his twin-tower ego like a couple of fully fuelled airliners.

  An evil part of me sat back and cackled.

  It was quite a funny cartoon, actually.

  ***

  The ICC decision came in three days later. Zahid and Naved would both have to forfeit match fees for the India-Pakistan match. In addition, Zahid had to face a one ODI match ban, which effectively meant he wouldn't be playing in the semis. The Indians picked up on the fact that Naved had to face no such ban. They claimed that India was being victimized because the entire cricket-playing world was so jealous of their 'lucky charm'.

  There was an important West Indies versus England match that day, but all the panel discussions on television focused on Zahid, Naved and me. All of us got into Mon's room and started watching the action unfold on a show called 'Australia Decides' where the topic for the day was 'India's Advantage - Fair or Unfair'. The people on the panel consisted of a prissy-looking anchor, a representative of the Australian Orthodox Church, Lingnat
h Baba, a junior ICC official, a senior Aussie ex-cricketer, Jogpal Lohia and a mixed audience of about two hundred people.

  They kicked off the discussion with the usual intro, a mention of my name and my 'unblemished' track record, followed by some some chubby-cheeked pictures of me. Then they talked about the wretched Benito's Pizza incident, and ended by hinting that I had somehow caused the brawl between Naved Khan and Zahid Pathan.

  Then they started taking calls. The first caller was Stuart from Yarrawonga. He wanted to know how the Laws of Cricket were regarding this issue.

  The ICC guy cleared his throat and said that the laws of cricket had nothing to say on this issue. The situation was a complete first in the history of cricket.

  Then this very passionate old Sri Lankan gentleman called in to say that the whole thing was a classic example of racial discrimination. He said that in all probability India was going to be the only non-white team to make it to the semis and that the other three teams - Australia, England and South Africa - were ganging up against India. He said, 'Again and again we are faced with incidents that clearly lay bare the Black-White rift that exists in the cricketing world. I am sure that a white lucky charm would have been greeted as a bit of a good joke by the very same gentlemen who are muttering about voodoo, hocus-pocus and unfair advantages in hushed tones right now.' He banged the phone down without waiting for a reply from the panel.

  The anchor looked a little rattled. He turned towards Jogpal and said, 'Sir! As the IBCC chief, are your views the same as that of Mr Krishnawardhane who just called from Julong?'

  Jogpal stroked his beard meditatively and said, 'I salute Mr Krishnawardhane for his passion and thank him for his support, but no, I don't necessarily agree with his point of view. I'm sure that the cricketing world is a united one, and all the teams have enough faith in their talent not to worry about a harmless little girl from New Delhi.'

  The senior Aussie ex-cricketer leaned in and said, 'Mr Lohia, your harmless little girl almost caused an international incident! A war could have broken out on the Indo-Pak border yesterday!'

  'No, no,' said Jogpal soothingly. 'The Indo-Pak match incident was because of high spirits only. Zoya is nothing, nothing at all, the real thing is that Wes - your own countryman - has done wonders with the team!'

  The ICC official jumped in to say, 'Then surely you wouldn't mind if we request that Zoya not be there for the last two matches?'

  Jogpal thrust his beard forward belligerently. 'Whyji? Of course I mind! Do I get into your kitchen and tell you how to slice your potatoes?' he demanded. 'Do I tell your good wife where to place the TV and the two-seater sofa? Then how can you tell Nikhil Khoda what to do in his own house, eh?'

  Ragged cheering broke out from the Indians in the audience. 'Yaah, you tell him, Jogpal' and 'Zoya Mata ki Jai!' Jogpal sat back in his seat, looking gratified.

  The anchor said hurriedly, 'We have a lady caller from Richmond. Please speak up.'

  The caller said that she had read the papers today and learned that the Indian Goddess was for sale and was ready to endorse products for money if the price was right. She wanted to know what Lingnath Baba had to say to this.

  Everybody turned to Lingnath who said meditatively, 'These are all gossip reports. We have looked into the eyes of Zoya Devi and seen that her heart is pure. Even if she is accepting money, we are sure it will be donated to a good cause.'

  There was a murmur of appreciation from the audience at this but the Aussie ex-cricketer leaned forward and said, 'Even if she donates all the money to the lepers of Calcutta, she will still be doing more harm than good to the game!' He paused, organized his thoughts a little, then said: 'Look, either she's got some hocus-pocus going on, in which case she's no better than a performance-enhancing steroid and should be banned, or it's all coincidence in which case you' - he pointed at Jogpal - 'should have no objection to her missing the last two team breakfasts.'

  Ragged cheering broke out again, this time from the Aussies in the crowd. Jogpal glared as he waited for them to shut up. 'Fine, so even if she does have some special...um... powers, there's nothing in the Laws of Cricket that disallows it. She's a national resource, that's all! The Saudis have oil, the Africans have rhythm, the English have ...um, interesting teeth, and we have Zoya! Legally, you people don't have a leg to stand on.'

  The prissy-looking anchor said hurriedly, 'We have another caller.'

  The next caller turned out to be some old Brit fossil who droned on about how fair play should prevail above all else. He said he'd heard what Jogpal had said and felt that while the Laws of Cricket had left a loophole for the likes of Zoya Devi - the spirit of the game was vehemently against her.

  Jogpal snorted and pawed the ground militantly right through the caller's speech. 'Begging your pardon, Uncle,' he said so forcefully that tiny spit bubbles formed in the corners of his mouth, 'but I think it's about time we exorcized this wretched spirit of the game. It's too bloody pompous and too bloody British a spirit for a game that's played at its best in the dusty streets of Jamaica, Ranchi and Lahore. I vote we call in a capable ghostbuster and finish it off for good!'

  The ICC official cut in contemptuously, 'Well, I wouldn't go so far as that, Mr Lohia. The spirit of cricket is what makes the game unique. But yes, of course, as you said, these are modern times, and that is why your team's dependence on something as archaic as a lucky charm is so oddly repugnant.'

  Jogpal's eyes bulged dangerously but before he could speak, the anchor coughed politely and started to wrap up the show.

  'Well, that was a very passionate and interesting debate,' he said brightly. 'The votes are in, by the way, and 83 per cent of Australians have voted to disallow Zoya Solanki from the Indian team breakfasts. Not a surprising verdict at all when we consider the fact that most pundits are predicting that the World Cup final, in all probability, will be played between these two nations.'

  Jogpal interjected rudely to say, 'Well, 100 per cent Indians vote that Zoya stays! And there are many many more Indians than Australians. So there you have it.'

  The anchor thanked all those on the panel with the air of a man who'd earned his salary for the day. He looked right into the camera and said, 'Goodnight,' with huge relief.

  The moment the debate on the TV ended, it restarted all over again in the hotel suite.

  Sanks kicked it off in his best pontificating manner by observing: 'Basically, Zoya, you are caught between two Indias. The let's-put-a-man-on-Mars one and the don't-go-into-the-kitchen-if-you-have-your-period one.'

  And they all took it from there. Mon, Armaan, Ritu and Sanks were in the 'don't go into the kitchen' camp, telling me I should stay. I was definitely lucky for India; it had been proved beyond doubt, repeatedly. They said I should make large sums of money from endorsements and give a little slice of it to charity.

  Anand (Mon's hubby, who had also joined us in Australia), Vishaal and Rinku Chachi were in the 'Mars' camp. They wanted me to give a press conference, announce that I was throwing in the towel and let India win or lose according to her own fate. They said there were more things in life than just money.

  Everybody had his own hidden agenda. Mon didn't want me to stop now that I'd come so far; Ritu wanted her Zahid to have every support in winning the World Cup; Sanks because the money was good; Anand because he was a fair-play Nikhil Khoda fan; Vishaal because he wanted his Nike ad to run and Rinku Chachi because I'd told her what Eppa had said about being lucky in cricket, unlucky in life.

  I heard them all out and said, as sweetly as I could, 'Thank you. I am going to bed now.'

  'But are you going for the breakfast tomorrow?' they asked eagerly.

  'I don't know,' I said. 'I have some phone calls to make.'

  I walked back into my room, feeling completely fed up, pulled out my phone, scrolled down to N. Khoda and sent him a message before I could lose my nerve. Should I come for breakfast tomorrow or not?

  The answer took a long time coming. Rinku Chachi got
into bed, I wandered around the room, showered, changed my clothes and turned off the lights, my heart beating madly. I had just clambered into bed after drying my hair when I finally heard the phone beep. I lunged for it. Why are you asking me?

  He sounded so distant and cold. I put the phone on silent and glared furiously down at the screen, wondering what I should say. Just tell me yes or no, I punched finally, in a businesslike way, my fingers flying over the buttons in almost complete darkness. I won't come if you don't want me to.

  There was another long pause. I braced myself. I was pretty sure how he was going to respond. But the answer, when it finally came, was out of syllabus. I miss you, it said irrelevantly, glowing gently in the dark and lighting up my world.

  I blinked back stupid tears and answered before I could stop myself, I miss you too.

  Another long pause and then my phone glowed again. Do you still think I'm pretending to like you because you're lucky? he asked.