The Race of My Life (10 page)

I invoked the blessings of the Almighty once again while I waited for the signal. The gun went off with a loud bang and as we took off there were loud cheers and claps from the spectators, some backing Spence, some Gosper, while the majority were yelling for Salisbury.

I ran as if the furies were after me. I remembered Howard’s advice and strained every muscle for the first 300 metres. I was in the lead and when Spence saw that I was running at lightning speed, he tried to overtake me, but luck was on my side. I saw the white tape when I was just fifty yards away and made a mighty push to reach it before Spence caught up. There was a gap of a yard or so between us when I floated ahead and breasted the tape. Wild cries of ‘Come on, Singh; come on, Singh’, filled the air. I had won the race!

And then, my body felt lifeless and I fell to the ground unconscious. The effort I had put into the race had taken its toll. From what I later heard, I was taken on a stretcher to the medical post, where I was revived with oxygen.

It was only after I regained consciousness that the realization that I had won started sinking in. My teammates and other supporters surrounded me and lifted me on to their shoulders. As they brought me back to the stadium from the medical post, thunderous cheers greeted me. I draped the Indian flag around me and took a victory lap of the stadium.

After my race, I was interviewed by BBC television.

‘Mr Singh, how do feel after winning the race?

‘I felt nothing at all, I was lost in another world. Now
I feel just like any other winner in my position—on
top of the world!’

‘Did you hope to win the race?’

‘I had no such hope. I only tried to do my best and I
am happy that I succeeded beyond my expectations.’

‘In your hour of victory, do you have any messages for your
country?’

‘Only to say: my country, your son has done his duty
towards you. May every citizen do his duty to his
motherland.’

‘
What are your impressions about the people of this country?’

‘Their love and good wishes inspired me to win.’ (This
reply was just a formality.)

‘Did you have a chance to run with these athletes before?’

‘No, this is the first time that I have had the honour.’

My win was a historic event, particularly significant because this was the first time that an Indian athlete had won a gold medal at the Commonwealth Games. My victory had put India on the sports map of the world.

When I first arrived in Cardiff I was a nonentity. Today, I was treated like a celebrity. Our high commissioner to the Court of St James, Mrs Vijaylakshmi Pandit, had watched my win from the VIP enclosure, and she came up to congratulate me after the victory ceremony. When I saw her approach, escorted by our manager Ashwini Kumar, I wondered who that lady with ‘bob-cut’ hair was. Then we were introduced and I was very happy to meet the sister of our prime minister, Pandit Nehru, whom I had the privilege of meeting after I had returned from Tokyo. She embraced me and remarked that I had raised India’s honour and the nation was proud of me. I was uplifted by such warm felicitations. Then she told me that Panditji had sent a message asking what I would like as a reward for bringing such glory to India. I requested that a national holiday be declared on the day I landed in India—a wish that the prime minister happily granted! The Duke of Edinburgh had also come up to greet me. He had watched me winning the race and said, ‘I greatly appreciate Milkha Singh’s style of running.’

That night we met sportsmen from all the other Commonwealth nations. We congratulated each other and talked of this and that. The next morning, I received a tsunami of telegrams praising my performance and congratulating me for winning.

After the Games ended, we left for London where we stayed at the Dorchester Hotel. Queen Elizabeth had invited all the teams who had participated in the Games for a grand banquet at Buckingham Palace. We were all awestruck by the invitation, well aware of how prestigious it was for us humble athletes to be given the opportunity to visit the Queen’s palatial residence and mingle with a distinguished guest line-up of royalty, ministers, diplomats and celebrities. When our team arrived at the palace, smartly clad in our blue blazers—and us sardars in turbans—we attracted the attention of the glamorous crowd. A ball was held after the banquet. By then the guests had congregated in groups and drinks were served. I had my first ever sip of beer that evening and was bold enough to join the dancing couples on the floor. After all, I had received good practice in this area in Australia. The Indian contingent was amused, but I egged them on to join in. I said, ‘Today is a day of great rejoicing and no one should disapprove of dancing at such an occasion.’ My words acted as an incentive and my companions joined in the festivities. While we were dancing, the lights dimmed and some couples got closer and more intimate with their partners. When the lights came on, we were all amused to see that many of the young men had traces of lipstick on their lips. Such behaviour is unacceptable in India, but this was the West.

We left for Delhi the next morning, where once again I was received rapturously. What was even more gratifying was that my arrival was celebrated with a national holiday!

I was a star, my name a household word and the stories of my exploits had acquired legendary proportions. My struggles and perseverance had finally heaped huge rewards, not only for me but for my country as well.

y triumph at the Commonwealth Games had elevated my status to such a level that I was now an international sports celebrity. Between 1958 and 1960 I received numerous invitations from different countries and travelled throughout the world, participating in at least eighty international races, out of which I won seventy-seven. The international press featured glowing articles on my life and achievements, because wherever I went I broke the old 400-metre records, establishing new ones.

In 1960, the much-awaited Olympic Games was to take place in Rome. I was very excited; this would be my second Olympics after Melbourne in 1956. In the years since then, I had matured and grown as an athlete, and was now at my peak. Perhaps I would have better luck this time.

But, before that, in January, I was to participate in the National Games at Delhi’s National Stadium. My sister Isher and her family were very keen to see me run. They had heard of my exploits but had never watched me on the track. I happily invited them for the event. I was overjoyed to see them, especially my beloved sister Isher, who had sold her gold earrings to secure my release from jail all those years ago. When I greeted her, she said, ‘Dear brother, you have endured terrible hardships and trials, but now good fortune has smiled upon you, and us because of you. Don’t get exhausted by running so fast.’ Her love and concern overwhelmed me and I embraced her warmly, at the same time assuring her that running did not debilitate my body; instead it gave me added strength.

She responded with tears in her eyes, ‘My dear brother, your name is like a shining star in the world today. You have raised the honour of our family enormously. If only our parents were alive to see what you have achieved. How happy and proud they would have been.’ I wiped her tears gently and tried to console her, ‘Who can fight fate? Perhaps I would never have reached such pinnacles of success if I hadn’t endured those early days of austerity and adversity.’

My sister was unaware of the little surprise I had planned for her. I asked her to put on my India blazer. Once she did, I asked her to put her hands in the side pockets of the blazer. I had put a gold earring in each of the pockets. ‘These are for you’, I told her. She took the earrings and just couldn’t stop crying.

Inside the stadium, I ordered tea and fruit for my family, but Isher demurred saying, ‘Why are you going through all this trouble for us? We’ve already had tea.’ Her simple remarks filled me with affection as I led them into the stadium. As we entered, I felt the crowd staring at their simple attire with disdain. For a moment I felt embarrassed, but then was filled with loathing at people’s snobbish attitudes. With great love and consideration I made them sit in the best seats and stayed with them until my event began.

Isher asked me where I would run and I pointed to the track, and patiently explained that the athlete who would reach the winning post first would receive a medal, which added to his glory as a sportsman. When I entered the field, Isher tried to keep her eyes fixed on me throughout the duration of the race. I came first as usual, but fainted yet again because of the energy I had expended while running. My poor sister thought that I had been shot dead by the gun that had started the race. She started wailing loudly when she saw me being carried away on a stretcher. The other spectators attempted to reassure her, but she was not convinced and demanded that she be taken to me immediately. When she saw me lying down looking pale, with a film of glucose on my lips, she cried, ‘I can’t bear to see you in this condition.
Veer
(brother), please, I beg you, give up running.’

When I recovered, we returned to the stadium to be greeted by vociferous cheers. I nudged Isher and remarked, ‘Look at the honour and praise I receive when I run and win races. If I stop running, no one will bother about me.’ But she was still not convinced.

The National Games were held for three days, during which I set new records—100 metres (10.4); 200 metres (20.8); 400 metres (46.1); 4×100-metre relay (42.1); and 4×400-metre relay (3.12.6).

Soon after the National Games, our team had received an invitation from the Pakistani government for the Indo-Pak Sports Meet. What an ironic twist of fate. I was returning to the land where I was born, where I had lost my home and most of my family in the inhuman savagery that followed Partition. It was not the religious bigotry that troubled me, just the fear that the visit would revive those horrible memories. I did not want to go, but Pandit Nehru intervened, saying that this visit was for the honour of our country and that I was going there as an ambassador for India. The others in our team felt as I did, as we reluctantly travelled to the border at Attari via Amritsar. The welcoming committee at the border greeted us warmly and then we were taken by bus to the Faletti’s Hotel in Lahore.

Days before the Meet opened, headlines in newspapers as well as banners and posters carried large-print notices that said:

‘Indo-Pak Athlete Duel

Abdul Khaliq to meet Milkha Singh’

The Meet was declared open by the president of Pakistan, General Ayub Khan, at the newly constructed Gaddafi Stadium. There were more than thirty thousand spectators in the men’s enclosure, and several thousand more of burqa-clad ladies in the women’s. The general, other senior officials and their families sat comfortably in the Presidential Box.

At this event I was once again pitted against my old opponent, Abdul Khaliq, whom I had defeated at the Tokyo games.

Consequently, the massive crowd’s excitement levels were high as they eagerly waited for the moment when their hero would defeat me. In this Meet, too, the pattern of our victories were the same as at Tokyo—Khaliq won the 100 metres and I, the 400-metre race. The deciding race would be the 200-metre one. My teammates reassured me by saying that there was no way that I could lose, my technique was too finely honed and my timing was much better than the one at Tokyo. But as usual, on the day of the race, I woke up feeling feverish and bilious. I was shivering, either because I was unwell or by memories of those terrible days that still haunted me. Instead of succumbing or feeling sorry for myself, I forced myself to get up and go to the stadium. As I said to myself, over and over again, I had to win because a defeat in Pakistan would be a fate worse than death.

The Pakistanis had heard about me, but only because I had defeated their hero two years ago in Tokyo. They felt that the time had come for Khaliq to avenge his defeat. While the two of us were going through our warm-up exercises, there were deafening shouts from all the spectators: ‘Long Live Pakistan, Long Live Abdul Khaliq.’ The entire audience kept cheering for him as he walked in before me, followed by other Pakistani athletes and Makhan Singh, the only other Indian besides me.