I Played Football
(1) SOME of you have asked to hear about my performance in football. I have already told you something on an earlier occasion. Let us have a little more today. I have dabbled in football almost since my birth or, to be more exact, from the time I barely completed five. My hand was introduced to the pen or chalk and my feet touched the ball practically at one and the same time. Would you believe it, I had my formal initiation into studies, not once but twice, and on both occasions it was performed with due ceremony on a Saraswati Puja day, as has been the custom with us. The first time it took place, I was only four years old and I cannot now tell you why it had to be at that early age. It may be that I had gone into tantrums on seeing somebody else's initiation and a mock ceremony had to be gone through just in order to keep me quiet. But I had to go through the ceremony once again at the age of five, for according to the scriptures one cannot be properly initiated at the age of four, so the earlier one had to be treated as cancelled and a fresh initiation given to make it truly valid. Perhaps this double process has had something to do with the solid base and the maturity of my learning! But if I was to play football, I must at least get hold of a ball. Here you have your footballs by the dozen, as if they were tennis balls. But we had to move heaven and earth in those days in order to procure a single ball. Even the older boys could seldom boast of more than one, or at the most one Page – 445 and a half – one already half-worn and the other a mere half, an old tattered ball with a thousand patches like the shoes of Abu Salim in the story. But young people never lack devices. We discovered a substitute, the Indian grape-fruit or shaddock that looks like a ball. No doubt the touch was hard, but it could be reduced to a convenient softness with our kicks and blows and poundings with the fist. The only trouble was that the thing gave way soon afterwards on receiving such treatment. But this particular fruit was no rarity in our part of the country. There were any number of trees and it grew in profusion; there were several trees in our compound itself. Now to announce my first victorious feat. I was then about seven, or eight at the most. The older boys were playing and I stood as a spectator, perhaps an envious one. They suddenly found themselves short of one player: one of their goalkeepers was missing. Someone called to me, "Hey, you there, would you go and take your stand at that goal? You will have nothing much to do, simply keep on standing." A nominal goal-keeping in fact, since they had to have a goalkeeper in order to playa game. And till the very last moment, the ball did not come to our side of the field at all. It was growing fairly dark when one of the opponents suddenly came in running and aimed the ball at my goal from a little distance. No one had any doubts as to what would happen and they all began to shout, "Goal, goal!" for how could a little kid like me manage to stop the ball? But the miracle happened: I did stop the ball and took hold of it before it could pass into the goal. Our people now cried out, "No, no, no goal!" and what a pandemonium followed! They started dancing about with myself caught up in their arms. "Bravo, bravo, my dear fellow," rang the cry all around. For me it was like the tiger's first taste of blood, to use a hunters' phrase. Years went by and I grew into an expert player while still in school. I played right-out in the forward line and began Page – 446 to get used to that position alone. But this gave me the habit of using only one foot, the right, and I became an adept of the single foot. I could not make much use of the left, except as an occasional stand-by at need, just as Rajen still does with his right. Do you know where I got real good training in the use of my left foot? That was after I came here in Pondicherry. And it took me several years to make it perfect. But I developed a different style for each of the two feet. The right was used for high long shots, such as corner kicks and overhead passes, and the left was reserved for the low powerful drives. It is these left-foot drives that have got me most of my goals. In the Pondicherry team there was no place for me as right-out, for the boy who played in that position could not play in any other position but he played very well as right-out. His name should be recorded here, it was Sinnas, Evariste Sinnas; he was an Indian Christian and the name was like that. So I was given the right-in position. I played on the right wing, and Moni (Suresh Chakravarti) played left-out. The two of us, Moni Chakravarti, or Chakra for short, and myself soon acquired quite a name here thanks to our football. Our styles were very different, though Moni's tactics were simple. Once he got in possession of the ball – the ball had to be passed on to him for he seldom bothered to snatch it for himself – but once he got the ball he was irresistible. What a run he could give! He seemed to fly past the touch line and no one could catch up with him or stop him till he reached near the corner post. From there he would send a high kick which would land the ball right in front of the goal, as though it were a corner shot. I would be there to receive it and do the needful. I played a different style. I did not lag far behind Moni in the matter of speed, but I was an extremely calm and steady player. Moni raced like a storm without caring for anything or anybody, as if it was a matter of life and death. This cost him a broken collar-bone more than once and he had serious injuries to his face and nose. I too ran fast Page – 447 enough, and carried the ball past my opponents whenever I could, but my aim was always to pass on the ball and to receive it back. I tried to keep my position, anticipate where the ball was likely to land, in what positions our men would be found. A well-known player from Coochbehar had once remarked on noticing the easy manner and artistic style of my game, "There is a fine individuality about your play; it is calm and steady, neat and clean." Indeed my aim was to playa clean game: none was to touch me in the legs nor was I to touch my opponent's body, whatever contacts came must come through the ball alone. I had nothing to do with what they call a robust game, that was miles apart from my idea of football. That explains why after so many years of football, I have never had a fracture or injury except for a slight twist to one of my toes. I must however confess that I too have done a bit of roughing in my days, but I was forced to it; for in those days, "push him own" was the accepted slogan and it was not treated as a foul. But even the pushing had its do's and don'ts; you could not just push your way through as you liked. Moni and I, and with us our club, the 'Cercle Sportif' of Pondicherry, suddenly came into the limelight after a particular match. We had a visiting team from Vellore. This team was thought to be invincible. They had won all the matches they played on their way to Pondicherry. The first time they met with a reverse was at our hands; we won by a margin of two goals. They felt humiliated and demanded a return match the next day. It was a tense game ending in a draw, so we could keep up our prestige. They never expected to meet such a formidable team as ours in an obscure spot like Pondicherry – Pondicherry was certainly an obscure enough spot from the point of view of football. In our team, four of us were what they called "Swadeshi" players – this was the name given to those who took asylum here after doing patriotic work. All the four were from Bengal. Moni was there and Bejoy – he played centre-half – and Purnachandra Pakre, Page – 448 a student from Chandernagore who pursued his studies here, and myself. This Purnachandra had gone one better than the rest of us at least in one respect. He had mastered the Tamil language to such a degree that I could find him devouring Tamil novels of the "yellow-back" type with complete ease. How many of us here have learned even the Tamil alphabet? Now to come back to Bengal. When we returned to Bengal after a
lapse of four years and they saw us play at Rungpore,
we were given the name, "Madrasi players",
and it was given out that two absolutely formidable "Madrasi
players" had arrived in town. So the Town Club of Rungpore
decided that they must now be able to annex the Dinajpur
Shield, the most coveted trophy in North Bengal. A
couple of players were "hired" from elsewhere to make the team
perfectly invincible. And off we went to Dinajpur.
The performance of our team had already received adequate publicity, for we had
beaten To come back to the point. It was the last match of the Page – 449 tournament, the final: Dinajpur Town Club versus Rungpore Town Club. Everyone felt certain that we would be the winners, ours was such a strong team; the only question was: by how many goals? We too felt the same way. However, soon after the play began, I think it was before halftime in any case, something entirely unexpected came to pass. One of the Dinajpur forwards, I cannot now recall his name but he was a very good player, finding our side of the field almost empty – we were pressing them hard on their side of the field – aimed a shot from beyond the half boundary line, almost near mid-field. Our goalkeeper was caught napping and it was a fine score. Everybody was flabbergasted. During the next half-hour or so, we held them pressed to their goal mouth and went on bombarding them with shots at the goal. But each time we shot, the ball struck the post or the cross-bar or it hit the goalkeeper, it could never be placed inside the goal. It was a regular bombing every minute that we kept up, but nothing could happen; it looked as if somebody had raised a wall against us. I tried six or seven corner kicks, all of them first-class, but to no avail. A Kumartuli player in our team was so impressed by my corner kicks that he extended to me an invitation. "Why don't you come and play in Calcutta? What is the point in wasting yourself here in a provincial town? You should come and play with us in our team." I could not however accept the invitation; I am going to tell you why. Anyhow, we did not manage to equalize that goal and had to accept defeat. I never felt so disappointed. We returned to Rungpore with heads down and not a word spoken. But do you know what had happened? It was explained to us soon after the match by one of their outstanding players, perhaps he was their captain. He actually half belonged to our team, for his relatives lived in Rungpore and he himself sometimes came and played for the Rungpore team. "This serves you right," he said. "Mother Kali is a living goddess, you see." With this, he took out a half-pice bit from his Page – 450 pocket and went on, "We had been to the Kali temple; we made this offering to the goddess and said to her, 'Mother, here we have come, begging for thy protection; take this half-pice as our modest offering and give us the victory this afternoon.' Now, see how she has got us the victory. How else could we have stood up against a team such as yours?" So, that was how. We had been swelling with pride at our prowess and ability, somewhat in the spirit of Duryodhana haughty in the pride of his troops of the divine gift, whereas they had been modest like the Pandavas reliant on Sri Krishna. This at least was the lesson that came to me. Let me tell you a story here in this connection. It is not a story, but a thing that actually happened. It was the time, at the beginning of the century or even earlier, when the youth of Calcutta took to football seriously and enthusiastically. And among the pioneers was the same team – of which I spoke just now – Kumartuli. This club had at its head as manager and inspirer a gentleman who gave his all – money and time and energy – for his organisation. He had the ambition to see his boys play and play successfully with the European and military teams. It was an ambition. For there was no comparison in those days between a team of British soldiers and a team of weakling Indians. The Indians in football were almost like new recruits in comparison with the seasoned Britons. First of all, the Indians played all bare-footed against eleven pairs of high boots. Secondly, the Britons were strong robust beef-eating bodies while the Indians were almost airy nothings. Thirdly, the British had a long strenuous training behind them: the Indians were newcomers in the field. However, this particular Indian team worked and practised with zeal in view of a match with the Britishers. The result of course was a foregone conclusion. They were lucky to get defeated by only a couple of goals. Now the British team had a generous captain who became interested in the matter and undertook to coach and train Page – 451 the Indians. A big tournament came on at about that time and this Indian team was pitted against a famous Military team, Blackwatch or something. The manager – the guiding spirit of the Indian team - was, as I said, a high-spirited, enthusiastic, ebullient personage - he had only one defect, if defect you call it: he was addicted to drinking. That was a fillip to increase his enthusiasm and buoyancy and daredevilry. He used to invite his players to feastings and revelry – to inspire them and encourage them. Now the day of days approached. And the-gentleman was in jitters, terribly nervous: how were his boys to face these giants? And a change came upon him. On the previous day he refrained from drinking, fasted, observed mauna or silence, went to Kalighat and worshipped Mother Kali. On the next day the hour struck and the players were about to take the field. The team of British soldiers came in carriages (there were horse-carriages in those days), with music, bugle and drum, singing and shouting, sure of their victory. They were giants indeed, each a Hercules, and the Indians were pigmies before them. The play started. Just then our manager noticed that at a distance, away from the field, under a tree was sitting a Sannyasi. Directly he saw the Sannyasi, he ran, ran towards him and sat before him. The Sannyasi asked what was the matter. He answered that there was to be a fight with British soldiers, our Bengali boys had to be protected, they must win. The Sannyasi enquired whether they had guns and cannon and what was the strength of the enemy. He was answered that it was not that kind of battle – it was a football game. The Sannyasi shook his head and sent him away. The gentleman returned and saw that with great effort his boys had managed a drawn game and they pulled through till half time. Now the danger was ahead – half an hour more. He could not restrain himself and again he rushed to the Sannyasi who was still sitting there in the same position, and prayed and entreated him saying they were threatened with Page – 452 defeat at the hands of Mlechchhas, their honour and prestige were at stake. The Sannyasi asked, "How many killed and wounded?" The gentleman explained again it was not like that. It was a football game. The Sannyasi asked, "How many on their side?" They were eleven. The Sannyasi then asked the gentleman to get eleven bits of stone. These were collected and placed before him. The Sannyasi arranged them in a row, and then drew some circles around and sprinkled water and uttered something. And then he told the gentleman to go away. He returned, the game had already started after the recess. But a strange thing he began to notice. He saw one of the soldiers - a giant of a fellow - rushing with the ball and nearing the goal and about to shoot into it, when suddenly he tumbled down and rolled over and the ball went off somewhere. In fact all the mighty heroes were behaving in a curious manner. They were running but with difficulty as if with legs tied up. They fumbled, tottered, fell down – moved with great difficulty. Something was restraining and impeding them, pulling them back. So the result was a victory for the Indians by two goals. You can imagine what they did after this miraculous victory. The gentleman manager rushed towards the tree to thank the Sannyasi. But where was he? Nothing was there, barring the row of stones. (2) I did not go to play in Calcutta. One of the reasons of course was that I belonged permanently to Pondicherry and my trips to Bengal were more in the nature of holiday excursions and I did not want to enter into binding commitments. For another thing, the atmosphere of Calcutta football was one that I was not likely to cherish; we belonged to different worlds as it were. Let me now tell you about another match, this time in Jalpaiguri. As far as I remember, it was a Jalpaiguri Shield Page – 453 Final, Nilphamari versus Purnea. Young Samad, the great Mohun Bagan hero, was then playing for the Purnea team and his game was already something worth seeing. Nilphamari enjoyed a peculiar kind of reputation – whether it was good or bad is for you to judge - they always played a good game but they seldom managed to win. The same thing happened this time. You will be surprised, four of us brothers were playing on the same side on this occasion. I believe one was at the goal, another was back, the other two in the front line. Out of these, my third brother played centre forward. He read for his Degree in Calcutta and was a member of the junior Mohun Bagan team. I alternated between the out and the in positions at the wing, but he always played centre. One of the tricks I performed on this occasion brought tremendous applause and much excitement among our spectators. I held the ball and was planning to make a run, when one of my opponents came and stood within less than a couple of paces in front of me. Both of us stood perfectly still for a moment, both manoeuvring for position. Can you guess what I did next? I drove the ball past his side, got around him and caught it up again. The poor fellow was "left behind and completely non-plussed. What a shout of joy rose from the crowds and what applause! I was right-out and as I passed along the touch line, stray comments reached my ears: "Blackbeard plays very well indeed, doesn't he?" "Carry the ball yourself, blackbeard, do not pass it on" – this because my team seldom made good use of my passes. I wore a beard in those days, you know; it was something like a French cut. Already, some of my friends had launched a campaign against my beard. "That is now wholly out of date in Bengal," they would say. "Shave it off, throw it away." One of them even went to the extent of making me a present of a shaving set. Finally, there was no other go for me but to follow the maxim, "Eat to please yourself, but you must please others in what you wear." But Sri Aurobindo did not much appreciate my Page – 454 beardless face; he seemed to prefer us to wear a moustache and beard, at least in those days. I shall end this story of football with an account of my last performance in this line. By then I had practically given up and was on the "retired list". I began as an ordinary player, then I was captain for a year, an Inspector of Games (in our club) for another year, and finally a retired man. I never played in matches any longer. The juniors now took our places. I would however pay an occasional visit and play just a little. They once held a six-a-side competition. The final was between our team, 'Cercle Sportif' of Pondicherry, and the Missionaries' team, 'Société Ie Nid'. For a long time, the two teams had been keen rivals. The Missionaries never liked us, as you know, and their supporters naturally took their side. The boys of the 'Cercle Sportif' were the enlightened, nationalist element in the local population. Now, the play began. One of the conditions of the match, laid down in advance, was that if any of the players on either side were to get disabled in the course of the game, he could be replaced by another. The Sportif boys had arranged among themselves that in case the game did not go well and they found themselves giving way, they would get someone "disabled" and take me in, as a substitute. That is what happened in fact. Our team lost a goal and immediately afterwards one of our boys – h e was later the Hon'ble Mr. Justice Antoine Tamby, now in retirement – sat down with a thump. He said he had got hurt and could not play any more. So they shouted for me. "Roy, where is Roy?" I was "Roy" and ready at hand. I entered the field, with my red and white uniform, the Mohun Bagan colours. I changed immediately the whole tactics of the game. What our boys had been doing was to cluster close around the ball for purposes of short passing – all the three or four out of the six were doing that. There was to be a centre kick following the goal. I stood with the ball at the centre and told the two boys on my right and on my left to keep as far away as possible Page – 455 from the centre and to go on making long passes. I sent the ball from the centre straight to the right wing. Our outside man was ready. He took the ball and passed it back to me at the centre. I was already far ahead, almost beyond the half-back. As soon as the goalkeeper saw me rushing with the ball towards the goal, he lost his nerve: "Oh, Roy coming!" It was an easy score. What an excitement among our boys, what uproarious hurrahs! We won by two goals in the end and the cup was ours. After the game was over, how they danced with me on their shoulders! Moni led the boys. He too, like me, had given up playing, and was on the retired list, acting only as a spectator. Moni was so pleased with this performance of mine that he took me straightway to a nearby hotel or bar. There was no Ganpatram in those days, alas! Let me conclude this narrative with a few incidental remarks, some reflections concerning "style" in games. In my native town in Bengal I had a friend who played tennis. Once I made this comment on seeing him play, "There is no grammar about his play." My dictum became a classic among our sporting circles. He used to play in what may be described as a "hit and miss" style. Not that he broke any of the rules of the game, but there was about his manner something loose' and slovenly; he had no style or system. But often enough he hacked his way to victory by sheer force of vital energy. Bejoy and our Benjamin with his leech like grip – they were the two half-backs in our team followed exactly the same method. In fact, there are two essentials to a good game: grammar and style, or grammar and rhythm, to use the terms of ancient rhetoric. In our time, grammar was no doubt important in school, but we were never to be bothered by any such bugbear in the field of sports, at least as far as our country was concerned. In those days, men became champions through sheer genius, that is, by virtue of an innate skill. Without any systematic training or practice on scientific lines, they developed a skill Page – 456 in the game through an inner urge or influence. Perhaps all men of genius are creatures of this type. They say this about Napoleon too. He went on winning his victories without end and no one could stop his onward march. The old experienced generals of the enemy Powers, the Austrians for example, practically gave up trying. On being criticised for their failure, they said, "But what on earth can we do? The fellow does not observe any of the principles of warfare. How can one fight under such conditions? He breaks every rule of battle." But today we are in an age where not untrained skill but close mastery of detail and unfailing practice are the things that count. Here in the Ashram, through your games and physical exercises, you are being trained to make every posture and movement of all the parts of your body orderly, precise and disciplined. You practise day after day, month after month, for years on end. We in our days had no knowledge of any such thing, we were utterly ignorant and. illiterate in this regard. The time has now come when man has to make his advance by conscious method, not drag his feet along somehow in a blind ignorant way, nor rest satisfied with what comes automatically. In our country, in ancient times at least, grammar was considered important in two fields: in the study of language and in the art of Yoga. The rules were extremely strict and there was no end of manuals and glosses. But in our ordinary life, in the art of day-to-day living, there grew up an enormous amount of slackness and indiscipline, at least during the more recent times. I have just now spoken of two things, grammar and rhythm; style is mainly a matter of rhythm but it presumes grammar, for you cannot have a good style without taking note of grammar. Grammar is like the! skeleton and bony structure in a man's body; without that support and foundation, the body becomes limp like a mass of flesh. By grammar I mean the right arrangement of the different limbs. Whether it be tennis or cricket or any other game, or even ordinary Page – 457 jumping and running, one must know in minute detail and apply in practice the knowledge as to how the arms and the chest and the back and abdomen are to be held, in what position the legs should be, down to the smallest fingers and toes. And it is not enough that you control the separate movements of the different parts of the body, you have to combine all these movements into a single harmonious whole and give them a fine well-formed and one-pointed rhythm. This last quality is what characterises rhythm or style. It' is said that the style is the man. It is really something that belongs to the inner man; in a game, it is a quality of the inner body-consciousness. It needs a harmony between the consciousness of the body and the inner vital being, it implies a natural sense of measure and rhythm. - In our days, we did not know anything of all this. We did have the gift of imagination and feeling, but now is the day of science. You have the great good fortune that you can now acquire both these gifts, effect between the two a supreme synthesis and harmony and arrive at a higher fulfilment. Page – 458
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