As if traditional Indian sports didn’t have a hard enough time trying to fend off the all-consuming spread of cricket, the hundreds of thousands of wrestlers in akharas across the country have been told that their game’s up. And, ironically, the threat comes from their protector: the Wrestling Federation of India. Announcing its proposal to ban akhara kushti (mud wrestling), the WFI says the decision has been taken keeping in mind the fact that the trend the world over is for mat-wrestling. And mud-wrestling, it feels, leaves our boys at a disadvantage. The proposal has, not unexpectedly, set off a storm among the wrestling community. It’s not just a sport but a deep-rooted national tradition, they say, likening the decision to banning grass pitches for hockey because the game at the top level is played on astroturf. Indeed, the tradition of mud-wrestling goes back centuries and even today is the nursery for all top wrestlers. ‘‘Mud wrestling has been around since the Mahabharat’’, says Sat Pal, 1982 Asiad gold medallist. ‘‘It’s a rural and traditional sport and can’t be banned because the federation wants it so. All Indian medallists at international competitions have come from mud akharas.’’ At New Delhi’s famous Guru Hanuman akhara, where wrestlers have taken a break because of the cold, the mood became even more sombre among the few still there. ‘‘All pahelwans come from mitti kushti only. If youngsters from villages don’t fight on mud where will they earn their money? Without preliminary mud practice, no wrestler can make it big,’’ said Ram Dhan, one of the coaches. ‘‘It’s culturtal terrorism’’, says Umrao Singh, former Punjab MP and president of the state athletic association. ‘‘You can’t send the police to every village to see whether mud-wrestling is on or not.’’ There’s a national sentiment involved, said Punjab state wrestling coach Amarnath Sharma. ‘‘These akharas have an emotional meaning for both Hindus and Muslims. This is our traditional sport and a conventional form which is the identity of Indians. Banning it will be unhealthy.’’ Not so, says WFI president M S Malik, who had made the announcement yesterday in Ranchi. ‘‘We have to make a beginning somewhere. All major international meets are conducted on mats; our boys struggle mainly because they are not used to wrestling on mats. We have been deprived of so many international medals on that count alone. Practising on mats would surely improve our medal prospects at international meets’’, he reasoned. What Malik doesn’t address, though, is the economics of the plan. First, setting up proper mats. Each costs approximately Rs 4 lakh, a huge sum of money even given the WFI’s pledge to subsidise the cost. Captain Roop Chand, international coach and general secretary of the Indian-Style Wresting Association, has threatened a revolt against the plan. ‘‘It’s ridiculous. There are thousands of akharas in villages all over the country; how many mats can the federation provide? Also, it’s impossible to practise on mats in summer; you need air-conditioned halls.’’ Sat Pal makes the same point, less harshly. ‘‘It’s good the WFI is thinking of providing mats to state associations but will it be practical? The federation should first provide an alternative and announce its scheme before banning mud akharas,’’ he said. The federation’s talking through its hat, says Bishamber Singh, who finished 6th in 1964 Tokyo Olympics. ‘‘In a vast country like India it’s not possible to provide mats to every state association. How many states in the country have astro-turfs for hockey, which is supposed to be the national game?’’ And traditional wrestling has its own economics in the villages of Punjab and Haryana, where it really is a way of life. Even today, the smallest vllages have daily wrestling bouts, punctuated by trips to the field to check on the irrigation. And the bigger kisan melas have dangals (bouts) that can attract the best in the country and offer cash prizes — tens of thousands of rupees — and other things equally appealing, such as motorcycles and kilos of ghee. Once the sponsors were maharajas; today, local politicians, many of whom have themselves done a spot of wrestling. It’s this environment that spawned the likes of Ahmed Baksh Gama, popularly known as Gama Pehalwan (1880-1960), reckoned to be the greatest Indian wrestler ever. Awarded the ‘Rustam-e-Hind’ title in 1910, he wrestled till almost till the end, defeating J C Peterson in 45 seconds in his last bout, a few days before his death in Lahore. The tradition has given rise to its own myths and legends. Like that of Sadika, the gentle superman, who chastised his brother’s attacker by killing an ass with a single blow in front of the miscreant. Or Kikkar Singh, who uprooted an acacia tree with his bare hands. These names and stories have gone out of circulation in urban India, where the deeds that matter take place on a cricket pitch. If the WFI has its way, it’ll be curtains in the villages too.
