The Last Gambit

by Om Swami

  ‘You know, Vasu,’ mother said, ‘no one can make us understand anything if we choose not to. I know that you know what Master really meant.’

  I kept quiet. There was some rust on the hinges of her bed.

  It’ll be nice if they had wooden beds in hospitals. Wonder why they don’t.

  ‘Besides you, I have your father, Mira and Varun, but Master only has you,’ she added. ‘Don’t judge him for what he says, see him for what he does.’

  The doctor came on a round. It was time to change her dressing too.

  Trriiiinnng. I stood outside Master’s home.

  Trriiiiiiiiinnnnng. I buzzed again.

  As always, he opened the door a bit, looked out and then opened it fully. I latched the door behind me.

  He opened two bottles of cola. Then he quietly spread the chess mat, made no mention of our phone conversation, didn’t ask about mother, but simply gesticulated that I should set the chess clock. We played and, as usual, I lost. I’d already lost more than two thousand games against him and drawn a few. It had become a way of life. I always began with the assumption that I would lose. I tried to play smart, clever and fancy, but it would amount to nothing.

  ‘Do you know the number of permutations possible in chess?’ he asked at the end of a game.

  ‘I heard it’s more than the drops in the ocean.’

  ‘It’s 2.5 x 1018,’ he said. ‘You can’t examine every single drop, Vasu. You can’t observe all the waves.’

  I kind of knew where he was going with this, but I couldn’t be sure. You just couldn’t tell whether he was deflecting, distracting or directing – all of it intentionally.

  ‘Master the basics,’ he added. ‘Know when to float, versus when to swim or steer.’ He coughed. ‘How will you play in the tournament?’

  Today, he was coughing more than usual. ‘Why don’t we go see a doctor?’ I asked. ‘That’s not the answer to my question.’

  ‘No!’ I protested. ‘I’m not listening to you any more. You must take proper medication.’

  ‘Shut up, Vasu.’ There was a coldness in his voice.

  ‘Why are you always so mad? You think the world owes you something?’

  ‘You can’t change the topic!’

  ‘I am taking proper medicine!’ he said. ‘This is crazy!’

  ‘Vasu!’ he spoke angrily. ‘I’ll tell you when I need what. All right?’

  We both kept quiet for a few seconds. I wasn’t angry with him, just concerned. He got up, took a sip of his cough syrup, straight from the bottle as if it were cola.

  ‘The body is a frail vessel,’ he said. ‘The season is changing. Nothing to worry about. So tell me, how will you play in the tournament?’

  ‘As Spielmann said once, “Play the opening like a book, the middle game like a magician, and the endgame like a machine”,’ I replied calmly.

  ‘Imitation is good, but originality is better,’ he said. ‘Your mojo is in your own style.’

  After mother’s accident, I’d forgotten how much I’d enjoyed Master’s nuggets of wisdom. Like a sculptor chiselling away one blow at a time, his pearls of insight always gave me something more to reflect on and admire.

  ‘Who are you, Master?’ ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I saw how Dr D’Souza stood up in attention when you entered his cabin.’

  In over a year that I’d know him, he had never shared anything about his background. Other than one old black-and-white picture of a lady, there was nothing that spoke of his association with any other human being at all. I didn’t even know if that lady was his mother, wife, daughter, or someone else. I had asked him once out of curiosity, but he had only replied with a stern look.

  The milkman, maid and postman – except for them. I never heard anyone else knock on his door. No one was ever invited; no one dropped by. All this when he lived in the middle of a town bustling with people. Did they even know that a great player lived among them? I had tried to find some evidence of him playing in tournaments in the past. Without success.

  Other than his story of the game against Kartik Mahadevan, he never gave away any hint. There were no mementos or trophies on the shelves. Would an amateur have a huge bookcase full of chess books in the living room, and another one in the bedroom?

  With what had unfolded recently at the hospital, I thought he might give me a glimpse into his life. That he might just share something.

  ‘It’s not important, Vasu. Let’s focus on what you are here for.’

  ‘But I want to know. Please.’

  ‘You will. When the right time comes.’ That was the end of the conversation.

  The rest of the week went in reflecting on how grandmasters handled their pawns. Master’s cough continued to bother me. It didn’t subside at all. But that did not deter him. He would just not take rest though I insisted a few times. He remained eager and alert as ever. Much like a vulture flying several hundred feet up in the air spots even the most well-camouflaged mouse, Master was very good at spotting mating attacks.

  In the midst of a heated game when attack seemed the best choice, a grandmaster would often move a harmless pawn. It rarely made sense to me, but it always sat well with the master.

  He would go to great lengths to explain the rationale behind such moves and their implications. I would resolve to play like one of the grandmasters, but no matter what I decided, I would still lose the next game to him. The fights were getting better and I was drawing against him more often; yet, victory remained elusive.

  It was a Sunday evening like any other. A boisterous group of children were playing cricket on the street. The neighbour’s loud TV declared that the weekly movie was being televised. We were focusing on an intense game of chess that was well into its third hour. Twice we had had extension of time. Master wanted to play not rapid or blitz, but a full tournament-style game.

  ‘Checkmate!’

  With his head down, he continued to stare at the board for a few minutes and then raised his eyes to look at me. It wasn’t the master who had said ‘checkmate’. So many times I had imagined that moment. I thought I would jump up in exhilaration, do a little twist and jiggle my hips. But I think his dullness was rubbing off on me because all I did was announce it softly, though with a triumphant feeling.

  Master sat there, smiling. He was looking at me fixedly, with a sense of fierce pride.

  ‘Vasu,’ he beamed, ‘you are ready!’

  I picked up my cola in Master’s style today, indifferent and assured. I had a quiet sip and put it down. Of course, this was only to camouflage my real feelings. I was overwhelmed.

  I offered to play one more game but he needed to rest, he said. I had an inkling that he wasn’t telling me the complete story. It wasn’t just cough; it couldn’t be. Every now and then, I would notice the syrups having been changed or strips of different tablets and capsules, but that was about it. Or maybe I was just being paranoid.

  Mum was to be discharged the next day but I had to go to school. I still had to give the written apology to my drawing teacher, apply for leave so I could go to the tournament and, above all, see Rea. She would be waiting, I thought. I certainly was. How my heart raced at the thought of her. Rea was sitting where she had promised she would! It felt strange sitting next to a girl who had mocked me and then got me suspended. Only momentarily, though. Most girls in the class had their hair in plaits, but she was dazzling in a shoulder-length cut, her hair straightened. She had a wide forehead, large eyes, a pixie nose and pink lips.

  ‘So? Did you miss me?’ ‘Did you?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course, I missed you every day,’ she said excitedly. ‘I wrote you a letter every day.’ And she handed me a bunch of letters. Plus two chocolates.

  But it wasn’t the chocolate or letter that gave me the sizzles. It was the accidental touch of her hand when I took those from her. O
r maybe it wasn’t accidental. She had smiled. Her hands were soft, like freshly churned cream; that’s all I could feel during that graze. I was too nervous to hold them.

  I was self-conscious the whole time. Am I looking all right? Immediately after lunch, I felt that something was stuck in my teeth. I hope it’s not coriander. I smiled without parting my lips until I had the opportunity to check in the mirror.

  ‘My mother was in hospital the whole week,’ I told her during the last period. ‘She fell down and had a brain injury.’

  ‘Oh my God!’ She drew closer and clasped my hands.

  Now that’s a jackpot! You should have told her about mum in the morning, Vasu. How nice she smells. Like lavender.

  I told her that mum was okay now and about how stressful the week had been. Her hands held mine the whole while.

  It was Friday already, and she’d been getting me a little chocolate every day. She wrote beautiful letters to me, drawing hearts, kisses, flowers and butterflies. I too gave her a pocket chess set and wrote a long letter. I told her about my family

  and my master. She’d laughed so much when I told her about how Varun made me touch Muffin and had said that there were plenty of fish in the sea.

  Yet, this only left me wanting more. All this talk had taken place in bits and pieces in class, stealing moments when teachers were busy. I wanted to sit down with her in a quiet corner and just talk without worrying about, let’s say, getting suspended again.

  For the next week and a half I would be away at the tournament. So I had to speak to her.

  ‘Can you see me in the canteen after school?’

  ‘Sorry, Vasu, I can’t. My school bus leaves just a few minutes after the final bell.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘But the last period is free today,’ she said. ‘We can meet in the library or the school ground, near the water cooler.’

  ‘Not the library,’ I whispered. ‘The cooler, then.’

  For the rest of the day, I doodled hearts and various chess pieces in her notebook. Most notably, I drew the king and the queen and wrote her name under the queen. She beamed at me. The last period came after a long wait.

  We sat under the shade. She began talking about her family.

  ‘There’s nothing glamorous about my family,’ she said. ‘I’m telling you upfront, Vasu.’ ‘How does that even matter?’

  ‘My father owns a provision store,’ she said.

  Aha! That’s where all the chocolates have been coming from!

  ‘And at the back, my mother runs a small salon,’ she continued. ‘My mother was once offered a job at the university, but with a business set-up at home, she’s able to care for my brother better.’

  Rea’s younger brother was autistic. Things were always stressful at home, since her parents had a lot of expectations from her. Specially because she would be the sole guardian of her brother in their absence.

  I looked at my watch. It was nearly the end of the period.

  Forty-five minutes had passed in a blink.

  ‘The bell may go off any time,’ I said. ‘Give me your phone number.’

  ‘We don’t have a phone at home. Just one at the shop.’ ‘Can I have the shop phone number, then?’

  ‘My parents are really conservative, Vasu. They’ll kill me if they find out I’m talking to a guy.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t call.’

  She wrote down her phone number and I gave her mine.

  ‘I’m going for a tournament next week,’ I said. ‘I wish I could talk to you over the phone from there.’

  ‘How long will you be gone?’ ‘About twelve days.’

  ‘Twelve days!’

  She went quiet, as if upset.

  Oh, how I wanted to hug her. Yet, all I managed to do was squeeze my left hand with my right palm. I sat there like an anxious player wanting to make a move, except that he must wait because it was the opponent’s turn.

  ‘There’s something I want to tell you, Vasu,’ she said gravely. ‘But I’m not sure if or when to tell you.’

  ‘Say it.’

  ‘I’m a little scared.’

  ‘You are not fooling around with me, Rea,’ I chuckled, ‘are you?’

  ‘No, Vasu.’ Her face turned grave. ‘It’s a serious matter.’

  ‘Okay then, shoot. I can take it.’

  ‘I don’t know how to put this, Vasu,’ she said hesitatingly. ‘But I was—’

  And the bell rang – long and loud – as if it were the end of time.

  ‘You were what?’

  ‘Not this time,’ she said as she got up. ‘I’ll tell you some other day.’

  ‘But I’m going away!’

  ‘Yes, I’ll tell you later.’

  ‘Tell me now, Rea!’ I cried. ‘It’s not fair!’

  ‘My bus will leave any time.’ She got up hurriedly and left. I sat there, intrigued. She swiftly took a few steps back, bent down, gave me a peck on my cheek and ran away.

  ‘Win me the trophy, Vasu,’ she hollered.

  I walked slowly to the parking stand, making a million guesses, churning my thoughts regarding what Rea wanted to tell me, but that’s all they were – guesses. Yet, somehow, I felt I had found my charm, my mojo in her.

  MY BEST MOVE

  ‘PLAY LIKE YOU’VE nothing to lose, Vasu,’ Master said.

  ‘Besides, it’s true as well,’ he laughed, ‘you’ve got nothing to lose.’

  ‘There’s a small problem, Master,’ I said. ‘Dad may not get another week’s leave since he just took time off due to mum’s accident.’ (Yes, an accident. I was too ashamed to give Master the details of the accident or admit the extent of my dad’s involvement in the affair.)

  ‘I was wondering if you could accompany me.’

  ‘Vasu,’ he said, ‘I’ll never accompany you to any tournament.’ ‘But Bangalore is a two-day train ride,’ I pleaded.

  ‘Dad won’t allow me to travel alone.’

  ‘Skip the tournament, then,’ he said without even glancing at me.

  ‘Skip it?’ My ears burned. A surge of anger rushed through my body. Oh, how I controlled myself from kicking the table and slamming the bottle of cola on the floor. Skip it? ‘Only last week you got mad at me for missing my practice, saying I had to play in this tournament.’

  ‘I cannot accompany you,’ he said again, calmly.

  ‘But why?’ My voice was getting louder.

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ he said in his annoying monotone.

  If I could, I would have smashed the bulb and hurled the chess clock at his vintage book case, shattering its glass, and for once see him lose his composure and see him act like a human being.

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’

  ‘Stop yelling or get out of here.’ He said it so easily, as if announcing a checkmate.

  ‘Fine!’ I picked my bag and stormed out of his home, banging the door shut as hard as I could.

  This was certainly not how I had imagined going to my first rated tournament. The fee was already paid, the tickets and accommodation already booked. All I wanted was for my heartless teacher to join me. I didn’t think it was too much to ask for. Dad was still at work, waiting for my call. I informed him that Master had refused.

  ‘Don’t worry, son,’ he said. ‘I’ll speak to my boss.’

  I would have skipped the tournament but the fee, travel and accommodation bookings were roughly equivalent to a whole month’s salary for my dad. We had already incurred the expense. Even though he had shown no sign of worry, I knew I wasn’t born to Dhirubhai Ambani. It wouldn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that dad only had a handful of shirts and trousers he had been wearing for years. Once a year, on Diwali, mother would go out and buy clothes for him. And the first prize in the tournament was eight thousand rupees.

  Mas
ter or no master, I’m not going to waste my parents’ money.

  I’ll play.

  Forty-eight long and tiresome hours in the train felt even longer because of a family sitting next to us with two kids. I was no stranger to noise; Varun was the noisy one at home. The real challenge was posed by peanuts. The family kept eating and throwing the shells right where we sat. It was hard to even go to the lavatory without stepping on the litter. Dad paid the sweeper twice to get it cleaned.

  Every time I looked at them in an attempt to shame them into civility, they would tell me to teach their kids chess. Four times the kids spilled tea and, once, a whole bottle of water. They would hang from the upper berth, dangling their arms and legs right in our faces, jumping from one berth to the other like baby monkeys. Whenever they fought and cried and raised hell, which was roughly once every five minutes, the parents would give them something to eat.

  They should be in a zoo!

  If Varun and I ever dared fight like that in front of dad, he would probably have hung us upside down from the ceiling fan. And then turned it on. The hospitable mother of the two baby monkeys offered us peanuts for the umpteenth time and we eventually gave in. I was forced to choose between eating peanuts and teaching chess to the monkey brigade. I went with the peanuts.

  Finally, we got off at Bangalore and reached the venue. It was a huge college campus turned into a chess venue. Sprawling lush green lawns, neatly trimmed hedges and a variety of flowers covered the periphery of the campus. There were not twenty, forty or fifty but all of two hundred participants who had flocked from all over the country. Some were sitting alone and practising, many were playing against each other.

  I saw the registration list. It was unnerving, to say the least. I could imagine finishing the tournament exactly where I started – at the bottom of the list. There were twenty FIDE masters, ten international masters and three grandmasters. Some of the Indian heavyweights I used to read about in chess magazines roamed the lawns majestically. I took autographs from all three grandmasters. It was all very exciting. Except about ten participants, including myself, everyone was rated. Some were even older than my dad.