Empty Hand Revolution

The Lure of the Fight

The second year of Cosmo’s studies began much the same way his first year ended, broken up by a short trip home. The monsoon season had been particularly hot and muggy. Well into August, the humidity and daily temperatures remained high.

During Cosmo’s afternoon workout, the temperature on the cricket field hovered around 31 degrees Celsius (88 Fahrenheit). Due to the humidity, the nearby drain from the Yamuna River provided no relief. Immediately after his personal workout, Cosmo transitioned into the martial arts class he taught.

Drenched in sweat, Cosmo led the class through their Thaing disciplines without a word. The central core of his class, a mere five or six students, was hard working and consistent. They showed up on time and pushed themselves to improve. Beyond the core students, a rotating fringe of another dozen drifted in and out of the workouts, depending on how hard they had partied the night before.

Cosmo pushed the thoughts aside and focused his mind on the distant sounds of Delhi. If he allowed them to pour over and through each other, they served as a poor replacement for the peace of the jungle. He kept track of the repetitions on a mental clock at the back of his consciousness without the need for actual numbers or counting. When the moment came, he would stop.

Rising from the mental current, he bowed toward the class. They bowed lower. He sat with his legs beneath him and explained the exercises for the day. Popping up, he called one of the stronger male students forward to demonstrate the techniques they would work on.

After a short demonstration, he broke the dozen students into pairs and worked his way around as they practiced. He liked the sharpening effect of teaching. Breaking down the techniques into fundamentals and then employing the patience and insight to help each student improve never failed to better his own fighting.

Each student incorporated his instruction differently. Personalities not only learned differently, but manifested the same moves differently. Those attentive to detail needed help to free their minds into action. Those drawn to impulsivity required additional lessons in the value of accurate form.

He stopped a gifted female student who tended to be one of the latter. He instructed her to start the process of attacking him the way she had been attacking her partner. Without hesitation she lunged for his throat.

Cosmo blocked her hands. With a quick shuffle forward, he kicked her exposed side and swept her legs. He caught her head while pinning her to the ground at the throat.

Angry at herself and the teacher, she ground her teeth.

Cosmo gave her a second to rein in her temper before helping her to her feet. He nodded, and she resumed her stance. This time, with a personalized mixture of strength and humility, Cosmo corrected her bad form. “Keep your weight on your back leg. Keep your elbow strong and you will dictate your opponent’s response. Control yourself first. Control your opponent second.”

“Thank you, sir.” She bowed, and the two partners returned to their sparring.

As Cosmo moved toward the next pair, he noted a man striding toward them from across the field. Using the public space for class required constant vigilance. Typically, locals referred to the area as the cricket field. In reality the open space served whichever team or club had the muscle to commandeer it. Cosmo’s class was still small and inexperienced, so a larger, stronger group could force them to leave.

Certainly this lone man posed no threat. Still, Cosmo watched the man approach through the corner of his eye. He wore a gi, but Cosmo didn’t recognize him from any of the martial arts clubs.

Cosmo corrected two more students before realizing the man had taken a seat on the grass twenty meters away. Thinking the man had come for instruction, Cosmo joined him.

As soon as Cosmo sat, the man spoke. “I’ve seen you fight at the city martial arts club.”

Cosmo nodded.

“Good, to the point then. How would you like to make money with your talents?”

“I’ve made a little.” Cosmo thought he knew where the conversation was headed. If correct, caution would be essential. “Are the regional tournament monies increasing? As it is, the prize money hardly seems worth the time, with classes and all.”

The man smiled. “I understand your hesitancy. It’s a sign of intelligence.” The man thumbed his nose. “The money I’m talking about is significantly better.”

“How much better?” Cosmo asked the question fully aware that in two weeks time he wouldn’t be able to afford rice.

“A thousand rupees.”

Cosmo swallowed. The equivalent of $20 USD would feed him for two weeks.

“For a loss.”

“Excuse me?”

The man looked Cosmo in the eyes. “A thousand rupees is the standard pay out, win or lose. Every time you win, the amount increases. Win, half a dozen times,” the man rocked his head from side to side, “and win with style, the purse tops out at 10,000 rupees.”

Cosmo licked his lips.

“Could you use 10,000 rupees, Mr. Zimik? Because from what I’ve seen, I wouldn’t expect you to lose.”

“But I’m a student first. I have class—”

“Most of the fights are on Saturdays, no more than an hour bus ride outside of the city.”

Cosmo paused for a deep breath. He watched his class train without him. He had considered fight clubs and prizefights before. Until now he hadn’t known how to find one, much less had an invitation. And the level of prize money shocked him.

The stranger was right about one thing, Cosmo wouldn’t lose. That meant $200 USD on a single Saturday, for a few minutes worth of fighting. Two hundred dollars. He could afford real shoes for the first time in his life. He stared at the calloused black soles of his feet and recalled the days in Manipur when the skin had flaked off in white chunks from being wet and mildewed.

“And the rules?” Cosmo asked.

“Well, other than biting or attacking the groin, there are no rules.” The man stood suddenly. “Look, most of the locals come from a background in Kushti or some variant. They’re farmers and street thugs. The sport needs some discipline. Some exotic talent. I’m paid to find that talent.”

Cosmo stood. This wasn’t the same as what he’d been a part of before. He wasn’t fighting over turf. He’d be beating up Indians in a ring and getting paid for it. Besides, it was either this or find a job as a porter or autowallah. By fighting he could earn ten times the amount of money and still have plenty of time to study. “Where do I go?”

“Good.” The man produced a piece of paper and held it out. “Here is the address.”

Cosmo took it.

“This Saturday the fights will be in an old barn. Show up by 1:00pm. You’ll be paid by 5:00pm.” The man looked Cosmo up and down. “How much do you weigh?”

“Seventy-five kilograms.”

“We’ll start you off as a middleweight.”

“Fine. Good.” Jittery with excitement, Cosmo bowed.

The stranger returned the bow. “Sorry to interrupt your class.”

“No need. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“No need.” The man spoke over his shoulder while walking off. “Show up, fight, make it look good. We all come out winners.”

Cosmo watched the man stride away before returning to his class with a huge grin on his face. Fighting, making it look good, and winning were the three things that came most natural to him.