Man on Fire

30. World Record Number 6: 27 one-arm chin-ups in 42 seconds (2003)

It is always a painful lesson to learn when a friend you once were trusting with your life turns and bites you. I experienced this only twice: first time as young boy in my native place when my best friend Adil tried to kill me, and again much later when Rajesh Battacharjee did the same.

First time was actually more painful than the second. As a young boy in Cuttack I was always very gymnastic, developing strength of fully grown man plus great flexibility from very young age. This was due to the work I did with my father on our farm. It was very physical and I enjoyed it for practical benefit of my family. When the day’s work was done I would perform tricks for my own pleasure, doing chin-ups around my village. This came about quite naturally as there was an abundance of locations there: lower branches of tree or bamboo roof of orange seller or railway bridge over banks of Mahanadi River. Many arms of goddess Durga statue made a lovely spot for practice before their requirement in Durga puja which Cuttack is famed for across the nation.

The other children could only watch with much admiring. Each day they would set a new challenge for me, higher numbers added to my target, and I would break every one. Only Adil, my best friend of all, did not like the attention this brought to me. He became low in spirits and stopped walking to school with me. When the other children gathered to give me my latest challenge he was on his own at the other side of the yard. Final setback occurred when Adil brought a surprise challenge to me after weeks of no communication. He proposed a contest to see who could perform the most chin-ups from the railway bridge. He had been training in secret and wanted to prove that he was now stronger than me.

At first I did not accept his challenge as I was worried for his safety. He was not as comfortable with big heights as I was. But Adil would not rest until I had given in to his request. As his friend I had to accept that his desire was serious and based on personal honour. We would not let the adults know. We would go out to the bridge on a chosen day and there we would learn once and for all who was the stronger. Our friends would be witness and the result would put all quarrels behind us.

Chosen day came calling and we all took the long walk out to the bridge. Heavy feeling of guilt hung over us and also great excitement. When we arrived at the bridge and saw the river lying in wait below I gave Adil one last chance to drop his idea. But he would not.

‘I am stronger than you,’ he said. ‘Everyone will see it and then they will follow me instead.’

‘I do not care who they follow,’ I told him. ‘I just want you to be my friend again.’

‘We will never be friends. I will beat you and then we will not speak again. I have decided this and you cannot change it. Now hurry.’

I wanted to cry when I heard his cruel words but no tears were coming at this time. Perhaps my heart was broken but I was too sad to hear it snapping. And so we went together to the bridge where it began its span across the river. We climbed down to the spot where the railing provided the best place to hang from. Friends staying on the bank to watch with much trepidation. We lowered ourselves together from the railing. Adil could not swim so a situation over the water was not on the cards. The sand fifty feet below which would make a painful landing if we should fall. We looked at each other hanging there and promptly began the chin-ups in matching sequence.

All was fine at first as we kept nice pace without tiring. Adil had indeed been training hard, as I could clearly see his strength had improved from steady motion of each lift. It was actually a great feeling to be exercising God-given energy alongside my friend in surroundings of nature, with the sun shining on the water and a fine current from the air tickling my feet. I let out a laugh. But Adil did not share in my joy. He was very serious, concentrating hard on beating me.

I realised at this moment that my only hope of restoring our friendship was to win the contest. If Adil won he would keep his promise to shun me. To win my place back in his heart I must teach him valuable lesson of his limitations and the peace to be found in accepting the role the almighty had laid out for him. So I pressed ahead with greater purpose, putting more effort into my lifts. He looked across and saw me outstripping him with ease. I hoped he would be disheartened and stop his foolish pursuit of me.

Instead he became very angry and upped his speed. This proved too much for him. His strength left him and he began to struggle. He could no longer lift himself in smooth action. His arms wobbled and he was forced to slow down. Still hanging there but in no fit state to support himself. He looked down at the sand below and his eyes filled with panic. But he would not climb up because it meant declaring himself beaten. He hung there like a twisting rope and refused all my efforts to relieve him.

The ground fifty feet below was looming and my confidence extinguished. I had to stop my chin-ups to focus all energies on maintaining my grasp. I was forced to climb up in order to preserve myself. I reached safety and turned around to pull Adil up: he was no longer there. Only a scream where he had been.

I felt a sickness and looked down expecting the worst. Adil was lying in the sand below, perfectly still like he had been painted there. Our friends clambering down the banks to aid him. Time became shrivelled like apricot stone. I made my way down to the river in state of shock to find Adil already expired. Nothing could revive him, it was too late.

Seeing my friend broken in the sand brought many feelings rushing in at once. Anger that he had not listened to me. Sadness that death must bend its grip around us even before we have prepared for it. Most of all I felt a powerful desire to give up myself to the almighty’s pleasure. I said a promise at Adil’s side that I would gain revenge for his expiry by living my life in the right way, making full use of all the opportunities at my fingertips.

After my painful experience with Bollywood I was very keen to rediscover old self, and this is why I poured all effort into breaking two records in close succession. The first of these was detailed in previous chapter. In quiet period between them I took a trip to Tadoba Tiger Reserve in Nagpur where Shubham had long expressed his desire to visit. This to show him his father still loved him despite my decision to remain in old conditions instead of grabbing Bollywood riches. Sighting of majestic big cats brought revival in possibilities and restored the family love to previous level. Shubham provided one moment of anguish when he tried to touch a tiger as it crossed the track behind our Gypsy. Fortunately the tiger was too far away and I pulled his arm back inside before any harm could come.

Shubham was happy to have his father back and this time also allowed me to patch things up with my wife. With every effort peace was returning to our home and my decision to keep the next records simple met with approval all round. No special training required and no risk to my person. No complicated measures or preparations. This record was conducted in Mumbai’s historic Victoria Terminus, a proud landmark for all attending (the happy event took place some years before unfortunate scenes at same location which sent dark echoes around the world), and received live telecast on New Delhi Television and Star TV. To this day I cannot pass the magnificent building without recalling to that time and reliving the joyful emotions which accompanied the day.

Twenty-seven one-arm chin-ups in forty-two seconds.

I heard the words spoken by Gopal Dutta and echoed by Adil from his viewpoint above. This record holds special importance for me, because it was to honour the memory of my best friend Adil. He died while trying to kill me but also provided strong inspiration for me to move forward through my span in determined and positive manner.

The world is full up with hidden traps in every direction the eye can see. You must be watchful and ready to leap if your foot touches on unfamiliar ground. When Adil came across a strange twig his desire was to test it. He jumped upon it to discover what was underneath, and underneath was nothing. Just a deep dark hole that he fell in. He was not satisfied with the place in which he was born. He wanted to take my place. The outcome was calamitous.

Such a calamity almost took me personally when Rajesh Battacharjee came calling. I had not associated with him for long time since the Bollywood scandal. I did not like the company he was keeping and he had lost face to the Bollywood producer when I walked away from the filming. There was a rift between us. However I welcomed him into my home as he was in state of disarray. I cannot turn my back on a person in need.

I listened with disbelieving ears as Rajesh Battacharjee told how he had reached a low point due to financial need and various projects failing to take off from the ground. He had become indebted to Mr Karkera, the Bollywood producer who had caused me such distress in past encounter. In order to repay debt and avoid a sticky end he had devised a plan for which he needed my help.

‘Mr Karkera is a very powerful man,’ Rajesh Battacharjee said. ‘You think he is just a Bollywood playboy but there is much about him that you do not know. You are fortunate, BB, you have rare skills which you can make into gold. I do not possess these gifts, all I have is my nose. I must follow it where it leads me to sniff out the best opportunities. Now we must both make up for these losses. It is lucky for us that my nose has found an alternative option.’

He told me quite frankly how he had been diverted from the straight path by his involvement in political world of Mumbai. In his role as elected corporator he had many opportunities to serve the needs of his community and advance conditions for the common man, but unfortunately greed had got the better of him. He had been using his position exclusively to fill his own belly. He confided to me sleazy details of his activities within office of development, accepting illicit payments to grease the wheels of several construction projects around my city, including fancy apartment complexes and retail sector. In return for these payments he would award contracts and fix paperwork so that work could begin without proper checks and assurances. Because of this many projects were halted midway through due to exhaustion of funds and others were allowed to progress to completion despite severe gaps in quality of materials and safety feature. Thus my city is looking like a concrete jungle with many broken branches, office blocks half built and standing empty, residential towers collapsing without warning due to low-grade concrete and many unfortunate souls crushed in the rubble. Only people to benefit are contractors and Rajesh Battacharjee and his fellow conspirators on planning board of municipal corporation.

This had been going on for many years and the thought that my former employer, who once lifted me up on his shoulders when times were hard for me, could be involved and happily profiting from this evil function brought tears rolling down my face.

‘Why did you do it?’ I asked.

‘Because it is the way things are done,’ Rajesh Battacharjee replied. ‘I am a family man, BB. I am just like you. I will do anything to protect my dear ones and make them happy. I came from nothing. To be born poor is no sin, but to die poor is foolish. I will not make that mistake.’

‘I too have come from nothing. But my heart is not filled with greed. This is a lonely path and it leads only to ruin.’

‘Not quite from nothing, BB. I gave you a job when you first arrived here. I gave you food when you were starving. Everything you have become now is because of me. This is why you cannot turn your back on me now.’

I was silent. Rajesh Battacharjee told me his plan for recovery of fortune and release from Mr Karkera’s jaws. He intended to announce through his contacts in construction industry a major new residential complex for the mainland, on undeveloped site in Andheri. It would attach all top features of modern standard, including state of the art sports facilities onsite, and would offer splendid accommodation to high-class residents from elite of Mumbai. The gymnasium would be named in my honour and he would like to use my image and the recognition I had achieved in my extreme sports career to promote the project. He said this would be a big boost in attracting the people to invest in the apartments. With my name attached they would be clambering to sign up for every available unit in the block. No work involved my end except lending my name and image and perhaps appearance on website conveying benefits of all the fitness equipment on offer. In return I would have satisfaction of knowing I saved his life from the clutches of bad men and perhaps a cash sum from pool of deposits when all the units were claimed.

At this point you may be thinking that this was not such an unhealthy deal. I would agree wholeheartedly were it not for the fact that no such apartment block would ever exist in reality. Rajesh Battacharjee planned to pocket the people’s deposits then make an announcement that the project had stalled due to unforeseen hitch-up. People would have no luck recovering their money as it was not legally protected. He might employ a fellow as front man to make the announcement, who would then flee when the backlash came. This way no public outcry would stick to him and his reputation would be preserved.

Also he asked me to provide muscle to protect him from Mr Karkera and his henchmen in duration of the scheme until it had been successfully completed. For this there may be a salary.

Needless to say I was shocked by this idea. I told Rajesh Battacharjee immediately that I could play no part in it. With a heavy heart I decided to remove his name from my history for ever.

‘It is wrong,’ I told him simply. ‘You cannot go through with this.’

‘I have no choice. He will kill me.’

‘I do not believe it. He is not so powerful that he can decide your fate in this way. Only God can do this. I will ask him to pick you up from this path and set you back on the correct route. When he has done this no harm will come to you. Now you must leave.’

Rajesh Battacharjee left my home vowing to proceed without my help. In the next days I spoke to him constantly to try and talk him into dropping his plan. But to no avail. Therefore I had no choice except to expose him. I could do nothing else, if only to protect the dignity of the common man whose pockets he wished to plunder.

Even knowing this would bring assassins to my door I would still have splashed the story. Such was my disappointment in Rajesh Battacharjee and the dishonour of men in general. I immediately began investigation with burning sense of commitment to the righteous cause. Using the words Rajesh Battacharjee had confided to me and my knowledge of Mr Karkera’s dealings gleaned from my time on set of Vengeance at Midnight I painted a sensational picture of corruption and violent lawbreaking at the heart of my city’s corporation. Some colleagues on my newspaper told me to leave this wound unpicked for fear of reprisal from powerful men but I was adamant the power of a truthful man would always be greater. My editor was unsure at first whether to publish my findings but I convinced him in the end with passionate plea.

Shortly after the story splashed across the front page: Navi Mumbai corporator embroiled in property scams stealing from the common man and in league with Bollywood producer-cum-organised crime boss. It was the talk of my city for many days consecutively. I waited for the call from the chief of police thanking me for alerting him to these shady goings-on and picture of the suspects in handcuffs being taken to justice finally.

No such call was coming. Instead the office of my newspaper was attacked with a small bomb causing damage to building. My editor fled to Dubai to avoid further trouble. Then came the attempt on my life. Leaving the office one day having delivered copy of my latest article I was beset by a dozen thugs on motorcycles and foot, all carrying lathis, chains, machete, etc. I knew that Rajesh Battacharjee had sent them to silence me. But it was too late for him. I had already revealed his deeds to the world and there was no chance for him to bury them again. I dispatched these twelve men sans hassle, very regretful that I must resort to violence to preserve myself bodily. It is always a sad time when one must strike one’s fellow man down but there was no other option available to me. Hearing the cracking of another man’s bones at my hand was a tough event but this is what I am trained for in order to resist the dangers of the world.

‘Tell Rajesh Battacharjee that Bibhuti Nayak cannot be silenced,’ I said to the stricken men as they lay at my feet. ‘Tell Mr Karkera this also. The words I speak come directly from God and his mouth is bigger than all the seven seas, you cannot fill it.’

One fellow promised to convey the message and I helped him back onto his motorcycle after a quick examination revealed no broken bones except the jaw, which did not prohibit him from driving safely away.

I am happy to tell you that this message was delivered successfully, as no further attempts on my life were made before the police finally took an interest in my story. Rajesh Battacharjee, following extensive trial which became headline news throughout the nation, was sentenced to a hefty prison term. Unfortunately Mr Karkera escaped similar fate due to immunity purchased by bottomless pockets. But a different level of justice was served to him by the almighty when he succumbed only weeks later to hail of bullets fired by a rival Don.

I was given the duty of reporting on the trial for my newspaper and witnessed in person the sealing of Rajesh Battacharjee’s fate. A careless threat to my life was uttered on passing of the sentence but he was in no position to act upon it from a central jail cell.

From this eventful segment of my life you will see how littered is the path of the righteous man. Mostly with the stones which wicked men are throwing to obstruct the journey to destiny’s shore. Such men are only envious that their journey is not blessed by the guiding hand of God or illuminated by the talent he gives as a gift to his chosen few. Friends are changing to enemies at the drop of the hat and it is the righteous man’s job to keep his eyes peeled for this eventuality.

Now a new friend has come to me from across the seven seas. His name is John Lock. I did not expect his arrival. It was a surprise gift from the almighty who sent him when I was most in need of his support. His commitment allows me to forget all previous betrayals. He is the first man I have known from England and also the first man I have met whose spirit matches my own. He has been tested very harshly since arriving with illness and unfamiliarity with Indian climate and he has sailed through each test with only minor complication. Soon we will embark together on ultimate test and my mind is very calm because I know he will protect me in the final time. When we have achieved our goal together our love will be sealed and I will wash my blood from him personally. Then we will live out the rest of our days as closest companions who share the sun and rain and all the food nature provides. This is our destiny and there is no force in the world which is strong enough to come between. Sometimes I wonder how so huge the earth becomes so tiny.

Thank you.