He was fair and chubby, standing there with a smile in his eyes. The old woman who worked at the nearby mansion spoke up, "Put a black dot on his forehead for protection!"
"Oh no, no! From head to toe, it’ll just be the dot standing out. Don’t you see? He’s blooming like a silk-cotton flower in his white color. If he accidentally touches it while playing, the black will spread all over his forehead." The maid, who was cleaning the washbasin, stood up and said.
"While playing? Oh, he’s about to go play!" his mother said while applying cream to his face.
"This little? What will he even play?" the old woman doubted.
The boy glared at the old woman with fiery eyes.
His mother wiped his face with the edge of her saree once more and then proudly said, "Oh, don’t talk like that. He’s been playing since the day he was born. Don’t you see? Whether it's cold, heat, or rain, he never stops playing. Every day, he sweats for two to three hours. His father might get tired, but he never does."
"Wow!" the old woman said affectionately, gazing at him.
"He’s broken more birds while playing than there are in all of Lalbagh! He’s mischievous, and so is his bat," his mother added.
"Don’t say that. He’s not mischievous. Look at how innocently he’s staring. The mischief is in his bat; watch, one day he’ll go beat the whole world with it!" This voice came from Pappu’s grandmother, who was sitting in front of Lord Krishna, turning her prayer beads but listening to the conversation intently.
"Oh, please, the whole world later. First, let me get him ready, or I’ll be in trouble. He still has to eat breakfast. Let the milk cool down a bit." His mother said carelessly.
"Is he going out of town?" the old woman asked.
He’s going with his daddy. Once he arrives, they won't wait for a minute. Whether he’s had breakfast or not, whether he’s had milk or not—he’s like a bullet from a gun, no stopping him." His mother said fondly, looking at her son.
From inside, his grandmother’s voice came again, "What’s this? Praising your son by belittling mine?"
Everyone laughed at the grandmother’s teasing.
Pappu quickly finished his glass of milk in one breath. He left the egg his mother had peeled for him and grabbed another one, peeling it while running toward the porch, throwing the peels everywhere.
"Hey, hey, sit and eat... sit down!" the old woman shouted.
Grandmother, as if taking the boy's blessings with her eyes, rang the bell she held a little louder, as if reminding Lord Krishna to fulfill her grandson’s wishes.
The sound of a car pulling up came from the porch, and in the blink of an eye, both father and son were seated inside, zooming away like the wind.
All the women in the house got back to their work.
It was the talk of the colony that a six or seven-year-old boy was going to play in such a big competition.
For those who were used to seeing him play at the club with his father from a very young age, it was no surprise. But others were astonished to hear that the boy was going to play in an event where the Chief Minister was attending as a guest.
When a group of four or five children parked their bicycles and walked up to ring the doorbell, his mother saw them through the mesh and came out before they could ring, saying, "You’re a bit late, he just left!"
The children were a little disappointed as they had come to wish their friend Prakash "all the best."
"You all send him your good wishes, son. Children’s voices reach everywhere."
The children left.
When the game began, there was a pin-drop silence.
The old woman was right. She had said someone might cast an evil eye on him, and perhaps that’s exactly what happened.
Prakash lost his first match.
His father knew very well that achieving such success at such a young age was a far-off dream, for he himself was the secretary of the Mysore Badminton Association.
But what about people? They don’t know how to stay quiet.
Even whispered words found their way into the child’s ears: "So what if his father is an association official? That only gives him a chance to participate. To win, he has to play by himself!"
That was enough to stir a determination in Prakash as soon as he returned.
Now, it was as if winning that tournament had become the sole purpose of his life. Eating, studying, sleeping—everything came second to playing. Day and night, he poured his sweat into keeping his dream alive and practiced hard to make it come true.
He nurtured the dream of winning next time in his little heart as one would take care of a beautiful parrot in a cage. And he put his very soul into that parrot.
Two years passed, and in a state-level tournament among children, he claimed the Junior Championship title. His hard work even helped him develop a good physique.
Now, no old woman could dare say, "This little? What will he play?"
When Prakash from the small village of Padukone in Kundapura tehsil, Udupi district, Karnataka played, even the best players from the big cities and prominent people were left stunned.
His reputation spread not just across the city but throughout the state. Winning one tournament after another, he became the Junior National Champion at the age of sixteen.
And the amazing thing was that within a year, by the age of seventeen, he had earned the honor of becoming the Senior National Champion as well. He had become the country’s top badminton player!
