In the lands of East Bengal, Mohunbagan & Marx...

The clouds rumbled and lightning flashed through the moist nimbus clouds. A gust of wind headed northwards picking up straws and dust on its way, leaving a trail of dirt behind. The thunders continued, and the lightning flashed again through the dark clouds. People on the roads scurried for cover. A dog resting on a heap of sand by the roadside raised its head, listened to the thunder, looked around, and leaped across a little broken wall to take shelter in the precinct of a closed factory.

There was an anxiety on everyone’s face and whispers went around and everybody seemed to be talking of the same thing- ‘It will rain. Hope they don’t cancel the match’. A few impatient voices grumbled, “At least they could have let us enter, then we won’t have to get drenched in the rain.”
Others nodded in agreement.
“God knows what they are up to!” cried out an angry voice from the crowd.
“The children will catch a cold if they get wet now. I told you not to buy the tickets in the beginning itself,” complained a female voice.
“Arre, how do I know that it will rain today? I bought the tickets because the kids wanted to see the match!.....and moreover if this stupid police officers had allowed us to enter the stadium, then we won’t need to face the rain!!” explained her irritated husband.
“Why don’t you let us enter?” questioned another man to a policeman who was standing nearby.
“I don’t know. ACP sahib ka hukum,” said the constable coldly and shrugged his shoulder to redirect all the allegations towards his senior officers. He seemed to be rather contented to have proved that he is a slave to the commands of his senior officials, for that way he never needed to take any responsibility for his actions; he just had to pass it off to the officers higher in the rank. After all, that’s the way collective responsibility works in our country!

The whole police force was having a tough time in controlling the impatient soccer buffs from entering the stadium gates. Some of them wielded their baton to prevent the fans from jumping over the barricade, while the others tried hard to tame the unruly fans by drawing ropes to shape the mob into different queues. Needless to say, all their efforts were going in vain. The fans simply won’t listen, they had the tickets, and it was already time for the match to start, and so their inherent rebelling instincts demanded them to break the cordon. There had been a stampede at the entrance in the previous match and so the police officers had strict orders to let the crowd enter the stadium only if discipline was maintained. But they knew that they were too weak to carry out that order and so all that they could do was to delay the entry and that added further to the chaos.

It was already 3 o’clock in the afternoon and only fifteen minutes were left for the final match to begin. The arch-rivals, East Bengal and Mohunbagan, were fighting for the year’s ‘Foundation Cup’. The police officers were still unsure of how to tackle the growing crowd and also ensure a safe entry of the fans into the stadium. As more and more fans started arriving in overcrowded Lorries from the city outskirts, the problem seemed to be going out of control.

The fans had come well-prepared for the historical match. While the supporters of the last time winner East Bengal Club proudly waved their Red-yellow flag, the Mohunbagan supporters seemed to very sure of their victory this time and carried ‘Mohunbagan jitega’ placards and loads of fireworks.

The downpour started. Only a few lucky ones had got umbrellas with them. Others stood helplessly getting drenched in the rain, for there was no shade nearby. The women drew their children close to them, and the kids clung to their mother, seeking shelter under their saree’s aanchal. The people waited helplessly, getting drenched in the rain. A few of them decided to return back without watching the match.

A car arrived. Its glowing red light and the annoying siren drew everybody’s attention. It was the Sports Minister. The police jumped into action and pushed away the crowd from the entrance. The stadium gates were opened to make entry for his car. But the car stopped near the entrance. The Assistant Commissioner of Police hurriedly walked up to the car along with his deputy, who carried an umbrella over the ACP’s head.
Dressed in a spotless white safari suit and a white hat, the minister alighted from his car. He was a stout, middle-aged man. He had read Marx, and he had worshipped Lenin. He had talked about equality for all, socialism and had proclaimed on innumerable occasions that he was just another common man, and that his Government worked for the masses! And there he stood among a sea of humanity- a crowd of ordinary folks. He stood there still and looked around at the crowd.
Another umbrella opened for him. The police formed a human chain around the minister’s car, and everybody peeped over their shoulders to catch a glimpse of the minister.

Men, women and small children were standing drenched in the rain, waiting for an entry into the stadium! There was apprehension in some eyes, while anger in others. Yes, they all had bought tickets and had come a long way to watch the match! They all had come well in advance to get a seat that gave a good view of the match! Yes, they all had come with a hope- A hope to see an exciting match with their family!..........but then, who cares for a common man's hope?

The ACP gave a short explanation about the reason for the delay in entry to the befuddled minister. He nodded his head as the ACP explained, ‘Just another ten minutes more….We will get more policemen to control the crowd and then we will let them enter.’ The Minister shook hands with him, and got back into his car. The police drew back the crowd as the cars crossed the gates and went inside the stadium. The downpour had reduced to a drizzle by then. The crowd stood watching the departing cars.

“Ma, why was that man allowed to go in before us?.......He came after us!” enquired a cherubic voice, a bit of resentment ringed in his tone.
“He is the Minister, we have elected him, and so he can always go in first. But we are ordinary people, so we need to wait,” his mother explained, brushing his wet hair with the end of her aanchal. A wisp of smile flickered her wet lips.
The little boy sneezed twice, and then looked up at his mother. A deep question seemed to loom over his dark wondering eyes.