‘I am coming, just a little bit
left Auntie. Then memsahib began
screaming. Then the fish seller almost began to reproach her, “Samiran Gupta’s
auntie knows what to do when you get the ball within the penalty-box, why were
you so late? Fresh prawns and you were pinching them. You should have taken a
first-time shot.” Memsahib did not
understand a single word of the fish seller. Auntie, with folded hands, began
to apologize profusely and promised never to push memsahib, was even about to tell that she would never buy prawns in
her life…’
‘Mala,
don’t tell lies,’ an almost piteous voice drifted out of the kitchen.
‘Ah,
I have said that you were about to tell so, had you really told it? If I had
not said, “Auntie, look green jackfruit” then you would have definitely said
so.'
Rekha
Gupta appeared at the doorway of the kitchen and holding out a prawn, gushed, ‘Look,
how fresh they are, and how cheap, only eighty rupees.’
‘With
mustard paste and chili… Samiran clicked his palate with his tongue. ‘Not eaten
tiger prawns for a long, long time.’
‘No,
auntie, sweet and sour malaikari with
coconuts and currants,’ Shyamala implored in a nasal tone.
‘Wait,
wait, a fantastic preparation with green jackfruit…’Rekha Gupta went inside the
kitchen.
‘Mala,
go quickly and somehow manage to stop green jackfruit.’
‘You
had better go.’
A
brother and sister were bandying words, Himadri’s scooter screeched to a halt
in front of the house. Putting the packet of jalebis on the table, he said, ‘There are thirty, six for each,
including father.’ He added excitably, ‘Two guys were coming in a taxi, they
stopped before Tara Ma and asked me,
where is Samiran Gupta’s house? Seemed to be some transfer party from Jatri or Sarathi, I said I have no idea, go inside and ask someone. They
entered Susobhan, might come here any
minute. Talk to them outside.’
Just
as Himadri had finished speaking, the door-bell rang. Samiran went to the
veranda outside.
Both
of them were from Sarathi. Dilip and
Bapi, Bata Biswas’s faithfuls. The first performed his personal duties, the
other travelled along with him like his bodyguard. Samiran only had a passing
acquaintance with them.
‘Yes,
what brings you here?’
‘Bata-da
has called you,’ Dilip assumed an air of urgency, ‘the taxi is waiting.’
‘But
I cannot go now. Auntie has brought tiger prawns.’ Samiran’s voice was calm and
casual.
‘What
does that mean?’ Dilip could not make out anything.
‘Auntie
has brought tiger prawns for me from the market. Now she is shelling them, then
they shall be cooked. I cannot leave the house until I have eaten it.’ Samiran
said with a smile on his face, but there was no answering smile on the faces of
the other two.
‘Bata-da
is waiting for you,’ Dilip’s voice assumed an even greater degree of urgency.
‘The
fishes can wait, first come and talk with Bata-da.’ Posing as a big gun, Bapi took
two steps towards the stair.
Samiran
furrowed his brows. Looking fixedly at Dilip, he said in a measured tone, ‘I am
not going anywhere without eating Auntie’s dish. This is the most important
thing to me now. I will meet Bata-da at evening, where will he be at that time?’
The
two of them stared at Samiran with stupefaction and some confusion. Bata-da had
called and someone did not rush pell-mell to meet him—they had never seen such a thing
before. But they knew Samiran. His stern voice and expression meant that they
could not take him along with him.
‘Did
anyone come from Jatri?’ Dilip asked
in a soft voice.
‘Yes.
Ghunu Mitra.’ Samiran knew that they were in possession of all the information.
‘Has
he given an offer?’ Dilip lowered his voice.
‘Yes,
but I have not committed anything.’
Both
of them seemed to feel assured. They knew that Samiran did not resort to any
subterfuge.
‘During
evening, Bata-da will be at Abhay Kundu’s residence at Shobhabazar, do you know
the house?’
Abhay
Kundu was a vice-president. Three years ago, he, along with many others, had
attended Abhay Kundu’s daughter’s wedding ceremony. He did not remember exactly
where the house was. All that he dimly remembered was that it was somewhere
within a gully attached to a broad road, was very old, had thick walls, high
ceiling, a marble-stone engraved hall room, and the main doors were very heavy.
‘I
remember the place, can’t recollect the house.’
‘Then
Bapi will be waiting for you at Shobhabazar More exactly at six o’ clock. You
stop the taxi there, he will take you to Abhay-da’s house. Exactly at six. OK?’
Samiran
had arrived ten minutes late. Though he was very strict when it came to eating,
in order to pay due respect to mustard-chili prawn and not to show any
indelicacy by slighting malaikari, he
decided to flout his eating rules for one day. But just for today. He had only
said to himself, ‘After all I am a Bengali.’ Since he had consumed a large
amount of rice along with the fish, he had to take recourse to an afternoon
siesta to steady himself. He definitely could not accept the ten-minute delay
as being late. Of course, Bapi had just once said in the car, ‘I have been
waiting since five-thirty.’
The
taxi started from Shobhabazar More and began to wind along the banks of the
Ganges. On seeing the Hatkhola post office, Samiran could recollect that this
was the way he had taken earlier when he had attended the wedding. After moving
a bit forward, the taxi entered a road on the right side following Bapi’s
instruction. Then it stopped at the left before a blind lane.
There
was a tea shop in front of the lane. Seven-eight boys were playing carrom on a
board on the table at the side of the road. Three of them came forward as the
taxi stopped. Respect and adoration was writ large on their faces.
‘Hey,
Samiran-da has come….please come, Samiran-da.’ One of them opened the door of
the car.
Another
of them bent forward and extended his hand to help him climb out of the car.
Samiran smiled at him but did not take the proffered hand.
‘Samiran-da,
the league is the main thing, we must win it this time. Shield, Cup, these do
not matter, you have to…’
‘Oh,
can anyone win the league alone? Football is a game played by eleven players,
so many matches in so many days, can the team play the same level of football
every day?’ Samiran replied, embarrassed, but with a smiling face. He had faced
such situations many times in the past. It was useless to elaborate. By saying ‘of
course I will try’ and ‘this time we will certainly win the league’ with a
smile plastered on his face, he had escaped from such football fanatics.
‘No, Samiran-da,
you cannot say this, our team this time has been very good. Vinu John is…’Even
before he could finish his statement, Bapi snapped at him.
‘Nothing
is settled, these guys are pining after Vinu John. Who else do you need when
you have Samiran Gupta?’ As Bapi glared at the boy, he suddenly withdrew.
Tapping Samiran on the shoulder, he said, ‘Let’s go, these guys who don’t understand a
thing, to spend time with them...’
It was
the same old mansion. Near the staircase leading to the first floor, an Alsatian
could be seen tied to the door. It was resting, eyes closed. On hearing
footsteps, it lazily opened one eye and looked at them. As he was ascending the
staircase, Samiran was reminded of what Subodh Dhara had told him, ‘I have
myself kept Vinu at my friend’s house at Chandannagar.’ And just when this boy
had said, ‘Vinu John is…’Bapi had snarled at him and cut him short.
Bata Biswas
wanted to keep pressure on him by bringing Vinu. Then Albuquerque would come,
followed by Karnail. Bata Biswas would try to asphyxiate him by vitiating the
atmosphere. Mudslinging would start. The media would lap it up and the papers
would report how one player had accused another and how the latter had
retaliated. Tempers would flare, the zest for playing would be lost. The
supporters would abuse them in the choicest language.
Four
people were seated on the sofa in the hall room. Samiran was acquainted with
all of them. It was this quadrumvirate that now managed the club. Bata Biswas,
reclining on the sofa, was reading a typed paper. Apparently he seemed to be
forty five-fifty years of age, actually he was fifty five. He had a rotund
face, a slight bulge in his stomach could be seen protruding under the Punjabi.
He was very fair in complexion and two rings of coral and topaz could be seen
on his right hand fingers. The man had a serene countenance and spoke slowly. He
put down the paper in his hand, removed his specs and looked at Samiran. A
sincere smile slowly spread on his lips.
‘You
came yesterday but did not inform me. At least you could have given me a call.’
Bata Biswas complained affectionately. He patted the space next to him and
said, ‘Come, have a seat.’
‘I came
home last night at a very late hour. I was too tired.’ Samiran said warily even
before sitting. Bata Biswas was in possession of all the news and it was better
not to conceal anything from him.
‘Of
course you were tired. From the station to Dulal’s bank, then the chief guest
at Dumdum, quite some stress,’ Bata Biswas blinked at him.
The man
had got wind of even these incidents. He desperately tried to maintain an air
of nonchalance and succeeded in his effort at keeping a straight face. Putting on
a sullen expression, he said, ‘Then I had to put up with Ghunu-da’s whining in
the night.
Bata
Biswas did not express surprise at the mention of Ghunu’s name. Without
digressing, he asked in a very normal voice, ‘Of course you are staying in Sarathi this year?’
No hint
of any question or any anxiety, Bata Biswas’s tone was that of a person making
a statement. ‘We have accrued huge debts over the past year. Look at this, the
bank has sent us a letter reminding us to clear our dues. I can’t imagine how
we will make a team this year.’
‘The
bank is yet to receive eleven lakh rupees as a total of principal and interest
from us,’ the assistant secretary, Apurba Majumdar, seated beside Bata Biswas, said
in a dry voice.
Deb_Ban: I am in a planet called earth inhabited by aliens called human beings. Seriously, this thread has been languishing for a long time. What with my constant shuttling between West Midnapur (where I was posted) and Durgapur ( to where I have now been transferred), the Euro Cup and the Copa America and the trauma of seeing Argentina lose another final and a malfunctioning computer that seems to have become as unpredictable as me, I seemed to have kind of spaced out. I knew that someone was going to point this out to me sooner or later, and I had surmised that it might be you. However, no excuses; I will definitely post something tomorrow.
I understand your trauma of Argentina losing. After all, we have grown up on a liberal Argentina diet since childhood (though there are Brazil freaks also). But there are no traumas that a Germany-Italy match cannot fix. And it is medically accepted also. So try that tonight, come stronger, and keep on posting.
After an
inordinate delay the saga continues… my apologies to all who were regularly
following the thread…from now on, I will try to continue to post something,
even if it is very small
P.S: I am
very bad at keeping promises. But as the Kumar Sanu song goes, ‘Milne ki tum koshish
karna, wada kabhi na karna/ Wada to toot jata hai.’ (You try to meet me, but never
make promises/ Promises
are made to be broken)
‘You are a club faithful, you will unhesitatingly accept
what we offer. But not everybody is like you.’
‘Not
everybody is Samiran Gupta,’ Abhay Kundu, seated on another sofa, quickly
attached himself to Bata Biswas.
‘You
were not present, I was facing a lot of problems. I could not find anyone to
discuss whom we should retain and whom we should let go. I asked Nirmal, he
told me to sign Biplab Bose and Goutam Chatterjee from Jatri. You well know what sort of players they are. One does not
have anything in the shape of a right leg, all that he can do is to take long
sprints. The other is a dandy, one has to hand him the ball on a platter for
him to make a move. Can you play in
modern football with such players?’
Samiran
could barely stifle a smile on hearing the words ‘modern football’ in Bata
Biswas’s mouth.
‘Modern
football requires constant running in the field,’ Abhay added.
Nodding
towards the fourth person on the sofa, Bata Biswas said, ‘Pulakeshbabu has given me the names of four
footballers from the smaller teams. They have been paid their advance.’
‘Whom
are you getting from the other states, there seems to be some problem with
Karnail’s transfer?’ Samiran queried. No one had asked for his opinion or
advice regarding the formation of the team in the last three years. He felt ill
at ease at the pretence of cordiality this time around.
‘Karnail’s
case is a bit complicated. AIFF has informed us that he has taken loan from his
office, unless he returns the money he will not get the release order.
Government office, so there will be bound to be some hitch. Albuquerque’s
problem is the referee’s match report against him in the Santosh Trophy match.
And Vinu John has asked for inter-state transfer to Bengal and Maharashtra. This
cannot take place. If someone wants to play for both states, how will he get
permission?’ Bata Biswas looked at the faces of the others helplessly. Everyone
nodded their heads in agreement.
Samiran
was in a fix. Didn’t Subodh Dhara tell him that Vinu had already arrived? But he
was not known to babble. Just at that very moment, a small boy of about twelve
years old came from inside and standing before the door of the hall, said, ‘
Daddy, someone has called from you from Chandannagar.’
Abhay Kundu
almost jumped out of his chair. Bata Biswas raised his hand to desist him and
rose from the sofa. ‘You don’t need to be worried, I will take the call.’
Bata Biswas
went to receive the phone. Everyone had suddenly turned silent. In order to
break the uneasy silence, Samiran asked Abhay Kundu, ‘Is Sukhen-da staying?’
Sukhen
Kar was Sarathi’s coach. Intelligent,
hard-working and sympathetic. He did not talk much and was a rigid in matters
of discipline as Novacheck. Last year, he had not allowed Dulal Chakraborty to
attend training for seven days for coming to the field but skipping training on
the pretext of feeling unwell. As a result, some senior footballers, under the
leadership of Dulal, had formed an alliance and formed a small revolt against
him. The revolt was doused because of the mediation of Bata Biswas.
Whatever happens in other threads, let those not distract you on the holy mission you have undertaken in this thread, @thebeautifulgame . Samiran Gupta needs your attention.
Comments
‘I am coming, just a little bit left Auntie. Then memsahib began screaming. Then the fish seller almost began to reproach her, “Samiran Gupta’s auntie knows what to do when you get the ball within the penalty-box, why were you so late? Fresh prawns and you were pinching them. You should have taken a first-time shot.” Memsahib did not understand a single word of the fish seller. Auntie, with folded hands, began to apologize profusely and promised never to push memsahib, was even about to tell that she would never buy prawns in her life…’
‘Mala, don’t tell lies,’ an almost piteous voice drifted out of the kitchen.
‘Ah, I have said that you were about to tell so, had you really told it? If I had not said, “Auntie, look green jackfruit” then you would have definitely said so.'
Rekha Gupta appeared at the doorway of the kitchen and holding out a prawn, gushed, ‘Look, how fresh they are, and how cheap, only eighty rupees.’
‘With mustard paste and chili… Samiran clicked his palate with his tongue. ‘Not eaten tiger prawns for a long, long time.’
‘No, auntie, sweet and sour malaikari with coconuts and currants,’ Shyamala implored in a nasal tone.
‘Wait, wait, a fantastic preparation with green jackfruit…’Rekha Gupta went inside the kitchen.
‘Mala, go quickly and somehow manage to stop green jackfruit.’
‘You had better go.’
A brother and sister were bandying words, Himadri’s scooter screeched to a halt in front of the house. Putting the packet of jalebis on the table, he said, ‘There are thirty, six for each, including father.’ He added excitably, ‘Two guys were coming in a taxi, they stopped before Tara Ma and asked me, where is Samiran Gupta’s house? Seemed to be some transfer party from Jatri or Sarathi, I said I have no idea, go inside and ask someone. They entered Susobhan, might come here any minute. Talk to them outside.’
Just as Himadri had finished speaking, the door-bell rang. Samiran went to the veranda outside.
Both of them were from Sarathi. Dilip and Bapi, Bata Biswas’s faithfuls. The first performed his personal duties, the other travelled along with him like his bodyguard. Samiran only had a passing acquaintance with them.
‘Yes, what brings you here?’
‘Bata-da has called you,’ Dilip assumed an air of urgency, ‘the taxi is waiting.’
‘But I cannot go now. Auntie has brought tiger prawns.’ Samiran’s voice was calm and casual.
‘What does that mean?’ Dilip could not make out anything.
‘Auntie has brought tiger prawns for me from the market. Now she is shelling them, then they shall be cooked. I cannot leave the house until I have eaten it.’ Samiran said with a smile on his face, but there was no answering smile on the faces of the other two.
‘Bata-da is waiting for you,’ Dilip’s voice assumed an even greater degree of urgency.
‘The fishes can wait, first come and talk with Bata-da.’ Posing as a big gun, Bapi took two steps towards the stair.
Samiran furrowed his brows. Looking fixedly at Dilip, he said in a measured tone, ‘I am not going anywhere without eating Auntie’s dish. This is the most important thing to me now. I will meet Bata-da at evening, where will he be at that time?’
The two of them stared at Samiran with stupefaction and some confusion. Bata-da had called and someone did not rush pell-mell to meet him—they had never seen such a thing before. But they knew Samiran. His stern voice and expression meant that they could not take him along with him.
‘Did anyone come from Jatri?’ Dilip asked in a soft voice.
‘Yes. Ghunu Mitra.’ Samiran knew that they were in possession of all the information.
‘Has he given an offer?’ Dilip lowered his voice.
‘Yes, but I have not committed anything.’
Both of them seemed to feel assured. They knew that Samiran did not resort to any subterfuge.
‘During evening, Bata-da will be at Abhay Kundu’s residence at Shobhabazar, do you know the house?’
Abhay Kundu was a vice-president. Three years ago, he, along with many others, had attended Abhay Kundu’s daughter’s wedding ceremony. He did not remember exactly where the house was. All that he dimly remembered was that it was somewhere within a gully attached to a broad road, was very old, had thick walls, high ceiling, a marble-stone engraved hall room, and the main doors were very heavy.
‘I remember the place, can’t recollect the house.’
‘Then Bapi will be waiting for you at Shobhabazar More exactly at six o’ clock. You stop the taxi there, he will take you to Abhay-da’s house. Exactly at six. OK?’
‘Yes, I will be there,’ Samiran nodded.
VI
Samiran had arrived ten minutes late. Though he was very strict when it came to eating, in order to pay due respect to mustard-chili prawn and not to show any indelicacy by slighting malaikari, he decided to flout his eating rules for one day. But just for today. He had only said to himself, ‘After all I am a Bengali.’ Since he had consumed a large amount of rice along with the fish, he had to take recourse to an afternoon siesta to steady himself. He definitely could not accept the ten-minute delay as being late. Of course, Bapi had just once said in the car, ‘I have been waiting since five-thirty.’
The taxi started from Shobhabazar More and began to wind along the banks of the Ganges. On seeing the Hatkhola post office, Samiran could recollect that this was the way he had taken earlier when he had attended the wedding. After moving a bit forward, the taxi entered a road on the right side following Bapi’s instruction. Then it stopped at the left before a blind lane.
There was a tea shop in front of the lane. Seven-eight boys were playing carrom on a board on the table at the side of the road. Three of them came forward as the taxi stopped. Respect and adoration was writ large on their faces.
‘Hey, Samiran-da has come….please come, Samiran-da.’ One of them opened the door of the car.
Another of them bent forward and extended his hand to help him climb out of the car. Samiran smiled at him but did not take the proffered hand.
‘Samiran-da, the league is the main thing, we must win it this time. Shield, Cup, these do not matter, you have to…’
‘Oh, can anyone win the league alone? Football is a game played by eleven players, so many matches in so many days, can the team play the same level of football every day?’ Samiran replied, embarrassed, but with a smiling face. He had faced such situations many times in the past. It was useless to elaborate. By saying ‘of course I will try’ and ‘this time we will certainly win the league’ with a smile plastered on his face, he had escaped from such football fanatics.
‘No, Samiran-da, you cannot say this, our team this time has been very good. Vinu John is…’Even before he could finish his statement, Bapi snapped at him.
‘Nothing is settled, these guys are pining after Vinu John. Who else do you need when you have Samiran Gupta?’ As Bapi glared at the boy, he suddenly withdrew. Tapping Samiran on the shoulder, he said, ‘Let’s go, these guys who don’t understand a thing, to spend time with them...’
It was the same old mansion. Near the staircase leading to the first floor, an Alsatian could be seen tied to the door. It was resting, eyes closed. On hearing footsteps, it lazily opened one eye and looked at them. As he was ascending the staircase, Samiran was reminded of what Subodh Dhara had told him, ‘I have myself kept Vinu at my friend’s house at Chandannagar.’ And just when this boy had said, ‘Vinu John is…’Bapi had snarled at him and cut him short.
Bata Biswas wanted to keep pressure on him by bringing Vinu. Then Albuquerque would come, followed by Karnail. Bata Biswas would try to asphyxiate him by vitiating the atmosphere. Mudslinging would start. The media would lap it up and the papers would report how one player had accused another and how the latter had retaliated. Tempers would flare, the zest for playing would be lost. The supporters would abuse them in the choicest language.
Four people were seated on the sofa in the hall room. Samiran was acquainted with all of them. It was this quadrumvirate that now managed the club. Bata Biswas, reclining on the sofa, was reading a typed paper. Apparently he seemed to be forty five-fifty years of age, actually he was fifty five. He had a rotund face, a slight bulge in his stomach could be seen protruding under the Punjabi. He was very fair in complexion and two rings of coral and topaz could be seen on his right hand fingers. The man had a serene countenance and spoke slowly. He put down the paper in his hand, removed his specs and looked at Samiran. A sincere smile slowly spread on his lips.
‘You came yesterday but did not inform me. At least you could have given me a call.’ Bata Biswas complained affectionately. He patted the space next to him and said, ‘Come, have a seat.’
‘I came home last night at a very late hour. I was too tired.’ Samiran said warily even before sitting. Bata Biswas was in possession of all the news and it was better not to conceal anything from him.
‘Of course you were tired. From the station to Dulal’s bank, then the chief guest at Dumdum, quite some stress,’ Bata Biswas blinked at him.
The man had got wind of even these incidents. He desperately tried to maintain an air of nonchalance and succeeded in his effort at keeping a straight face. Putting on a sullen expression, he said, ‘Then I had to put up with Ghunu-da’s whining in the night.
Bata Biswas did not express surprise at the mention of Ghunu’s name. Without digressing, he asked in a very normal voice, ‘Of course you are staying in Sarathi this year?’
No hint of any question or any anxiety, Bata Biswas’s tone was that of a person making a statement. ‘We have accrued huge debts over the past year. Look at this, the bank has sent us a letter reminding us to clear our dues. I can’t imagine how we will make a team this year.’
‘The bank is yet to receive eleven lakh rupees as a total of principal and interest from us,’ the assistant secretary, Apurba Majumdar, seated beside Bata Biswas, said in a dry voice.
After an inordinate delay the saga continues… my apologies to all who were regularly following the thread…from now on, I will try to continue to post something, even if it is very small
P.S: I am very bad at keeping promises. But as the Kumar Sanu song goes, ‘Milne ki tum koshish karna, wada kabhi na karna/ Wada to toot jata hai.’ (You try to meet me, but never make promises/ Promises are made to be broken)
‘You are a club faithful, you will unhesitatingly accept what we offer. But not everybody is like you.’
‘Not everybody is Samiran Gupta,’ Abhay Kundu, seated on another sofa, quickly attached himself to Bata Biswas.
‘You were not present, I was facing a lot of problems. I could not find anyone to discuss whom we should retain and whom we should let go. I asked Nirmal, he told me to sign Biplab Bose and Goutam Chatterjee from Jatri. You well know what sort of players they are. One does not have anything in the shape of a right leg, all that he can do is to take long sprints. The other is a dandy, one has to hand him the ball on a platter for him to make a move. Can you play in modern football with such players?’
Samiran could barely stifle a smile on hearing the words ‘modern football’ in Bata Biswas’s mouth.
‘Modern football requires constant running in the field,’ Abhay added.
Nodding towards the fourth person on the sofa, Bata Biswas said, ‘Pulakeshbabu has given me the names of four footballers from the smaller teams. They have been paid their advance.’
‘Whom are you getting from the other states, there seems to be some problem with Karnail’s transfer?’ Samiran queried. No one had asked for his opinion or advice regarding the formation of the team in the last three years. He felt ill at ease at the pretence of cordiality this time around.
‘Karnail’s case is a bit complicated. AIFF has informed us that he has taken loan from his office, unless he returns the money he will not get the release order. Government office, so there will be bound to be some hitch. Albuquerque’s problem is the referee’s match report against him in the Santosh Trophy match. And Vinu John has asked for inter-state transfer to Bengal and Maharashtra. This cannot take place. If someone wants to play for both states, how will he get permission?’ Bata Biswas looked at the faces of the others helplessly. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement.
Samiran was in a fix. Didn’t Subodh Dhara tell him that Vinu had already arrived? But he was not known to babble. Just at that very moment, a small boy of about twelve years old came from inside and standing before the door of the hall, said, ‘ Daddy, someone has called from you from Chandannagar.’
Abhay Kundu almost jumped out of his chair. Bata Biswas raised his hand to desist him and rose from the sofa. ‘You don’t need to be worried, I will take the call.’
Bata Biswas went to receive the phone. Everyone had suddenly turned silent. In order to break the uneasy silence, Samiran asked Abhay Kundu, ‘Is Sukhen-da staying?’
Sukhen Kar was Sarathi’s coach. Intelligent, hard-working and sympathetic. He did not talk much and was a rigid in matters of discipline as Novacheck. Last year, he had not allowed Dulal Chakraborty to attend training for seven days for coming to the field but skipping training on the pretext of feeling unwell. As a result, some senior footballers, under the leadership of Dulal, had formed an alliance and formed a small revolt against him. The revolt was doused because of the mediation of Bata Biswas.