Mark and Marksman

Then I see the trees and the long row of national flags stretched down a dirt driveway and turn into the Melbourne Gun Club. Lt-Col Rajyavardhan Rathore, winner of the silver medal at the Athens Olympics, is shooting. He is seemingly oblivious to all else, intent solely on what is second nature to him. Load. Lift. Track. Fire.

Several hits. Occasionally, an aberration, a miss. His lean, chiselled face betrays no emotion. It is a mask of neutrality. You have no way of knowing what is going through his mind. As he discards the spent cartridge cases, he flicks his hand across his face to rid himself of the Australian summer scourge 8212; flies.

Less than a hundred metres away, there are no flies on Russell Mark, who is also shooting in an adjacent area. Mark, gold medallist at 1996 Atlanta Olympics and silver medallist after a shoot-off for first place at the 2000 Sydney Olympics, is the complete antithesis of Rathore. Two men with a common interest and similar talent could not possibly be more different.

Rathore is the classic introvert. Mark is the ebullient, knockabout Aussie with a down-to-earth attitude. Like Felix Unger and Oscar Madison, the fictional 8216;Odd Couple8217;, Rathore and Mark are a complementary byplay in quest of excellence. Rathore8217;s only concession to the heat is a curious white cap embossed with miniature black designs. The flap at the back of the cap is tied behind his head, bandanna-style. It partially covers his neck in the style of the distinctive kepi worn by the French Foreign Legion.

I tell him he has perfected the Aussie salute. He8217;s puzzled. Then he laughs as I explain the salute is the traditional flick of a hand to keep the flies at bay. It8217;s just one of many things he8217;s perfected. His quest for perfection, he tells me in a wide-ranging conversation, is an over-riding factor. Yet, the first Indian to win an individual Olympic silver medal is not overawed by symbols of success.

Surely, I suggest, he still has his Olympic laurel wreath. Er, that would be a no. No laurel wreath. And what of the bouquet that was presented at the medal ceremony? He doesn8217;t have that either. Frankly, he volunteers the information that his mother was not happy about his generosity.

And the lucky recipient was? One of the many Olympic volunteers, he admits. Does it irk him to think he relinquished historic symbols of success? Not in the least, he says in a strong voice. It is a valuable clue to the Rathore psyche. 8216;8216;That person must have great value for what I gave them. They probably have preserved the wreath and flowers, telling people that they once belonged to an Olympian medal-winner.8217;8217;

What of the medal? 8216;8216;You won8217;t believe it, 8217;8217; he says. 8216;8216;I have resisted the temptation of displaying it at home. What I really want to do is find the right way to give other Indians access to it, because it truly belongs to the country.8217;8217;

He8217;s carrying a shoulder injury, but the casual observer wouldn8217;t know. Having watched him for almost half an hour, I ask if he is satisfied with his form. He shakes his head as we walk though the car park to the shade of the eucalyptus and gum trees, where not a leaf rustles in the still, warm morning. 8216;8216;No, I8217;m not happy,8217;8217; he says, brutally frank. He8217;s not grandstanding. He8217;s not making excuses. He8217;s shot better than everyone else but his lips are still in a thin, grim line.

As I get my cameras out, he shoulders the gun he used at Athens. 8216;8216;A coach of mine,8217;8217; he says, 8216;8216;used to tell me that shooting is like playing a finely-tuned violin. If just one aspect of the violin is not entirely right, the overall effect is ruined. I8217;m constantly fine-tuning.8217;8217;

I suggest that the constant self-assessment is akin to golf. 8216;8216;Absolutely right,8217;8217; he says. 8216;8216;You play against yourself. You constantly measure your own performance.8217;8217;

We walk up to a bench and he sits, watching Mark complete his round. The Dandenongs ranges are a blue-grey anchor to a perfect morning scene. It is almost as if the shooters are competing against a picture-postcard backdrop that has been painted for some school play.

I ask Mark if he has taken Rathore on a pub crawl yet. He laughs loudly. 8216;8216;Naaah, but he actually said 8216;G8217;day, mate8217; to me the other day.8217;8217;

Like a married couple visiting a psychiatrist, they say things to a third party that they perhaps do not voice to one another.

Rathore8217;s respect for Mark8217;s achievements date back to his earliest days. He reveals how he could not bring himself to simply walk up and talk to the famous Australian. 8216;8216;As I slowly climbed the ladder, I thought it would be appropriate to pay my respects to him. And as he recognised my efforts, he used to tell people, 8216;If you want to watch the perfect style, go and watch Raj8217;.

8216;8216;When he did not make the squad for the 2004 Olympics, I inquired if he would work with me. Not only is he experienced, he is highly communicative. He is undoubtedly the best coach in the world. But he also gave me an extra ingredient, showing me how to deal with the media.8217;8217;

I wait for Rathore to head off before I repeat these comments, observing that the Indian has closely followed the gospel according to Mark.

8216;8216;At first he was very wary of journalists,8217;8217; agrees the Australian. 8216;8216;I suppose I8217;ve been able to teach him that it8217;s not hard to handle the media.8217;8217; He listens, amazed, as I repeat Rathore8217;s comment about being reticent, early on, to even speak to the highly accomplished Mark.

8216;8216;The first time he really came to my attention,8217;8217; says Mark, 8216;8216;was when he shot a perfect score, followed by a 42. I thought he was just another erratic Indian shooter. Then of course came the Commonwealth Games. He just has an amazing work ethic. He is technically superb and his technique is constant, no chopping and changing. He is by far the best shooter here, but it would do him good to compete against me sometimes and 8212; perhaps 8212; even to lose to me on the odd occasion.8217;8217;

Is Rathore8217;s army background vital to his success? 8216;8216;Without a doubt,8217;8217; answers Mark. 8216;8216;He doesn8217;t talk much about his experiences in Kashmir, but the military training is part of his excellence. We can only imagine what it must have been like for him in battle, in those conditions. And here he is, in peacetime, still using a gun to compete.8217;8217;

8216;8216;I honestly believe,8217;8217; Mark continues, 8216;8216;that the sort of pressure he experiences here in training and in competition against the best shooters in the world is something he does while engaging some sort of automatic pilot. This is not pressure. Pressure is when you8217;re fighting for your life.8217;8217;

The discussion reminds me of the great quote by the late Keith Miller, the incomparable Test all-rounder who was also a fighter pilot in World War II. When once asked about how he coped with the pressure of a Test match, Miller, famous for his devil-may-care attitude, produced a famous quip. 8216;8216;Playing a Test match is not pressure,8217;8217; the legendary cricketer said. 8216;8216;Pressure is a Messerschmitt up your arse.8217;8217;

That, says Mark, is precisely the distinction he was trying to make.

8216;8216;At the momen,8217;8217; he says, 8216;8216;Chilly8217;s probably at 95 per cent of efficiency and with my help, maybe I can get him to 96 per cent or more.8217;8217;

Does Rathore have a drawback? Mark considers this carefully. 8216;8216;If there is one negative,8217;8217; he finally concedes, 8216;8216;it is that he trains too hard. You do that and you leave yourself open to injury. I think he needs to step back sometimes. But he8217;s on the path of realising that. In the hundred days we8217;ll work together, he wants to do a lot of that time in Delhi, with his family, his wife and kids. Two years ago, he would have competed in Italy or wherever he needed to. Now his focus is changing and the all-round perspective will ensure a better performance.8217;8217;

I ask Rathore if the Indian media8217;s portrayal of him as very religious is true. He doesn8217;t flinch. 8216;8216;I hardly pray. I8217;m not a fanatic. But I do believe that there is a force greater than all of us. I don8217;t know what name that force takes, or what godly presence it has. But I do have a very, very deep conscience. I believe there is a supreme force, an observer. And I concede that I8217;m accountable.8217;8217;

He8217;s also accountable as a member of the Indian team, and his interview schedule must cater for the fact that he is one of many who arrive and depart on the team bus. It8217;s a mass exodus akin to the logistics of the 8216;Partridge Family8217;, the television show starring the onetime pop superstar David Cassidy as one of several who travelled on a famous bus.

The shooters8217; bus is different. It carries The Cartridge Family.