The setting was perfect. The finals of the 10,000 metres race in the ongoing World Athletics Championship in London. The stadium was full, not a single seat vacant. All eyes were on Mo Farah. Undoubtedly, the best distance runner of all times. He had proved himself to be a legend time and again, winning double gold medals in 5,000 and 10,000 metres time and again. But this was possibly his last 10,000 metres race. And opposition knew it. They wanted to beat him at any cost.
The line up had the best in the world. Three Ugandans, three Ethiopians, two Kenyans. All of them had one clear motive. To beat Mo Farah. The sun had gone down, a cool breeze was blowing across the stadium, perfect for a long, gruelling race. Thirty athletes lined the starting block, divided in two groups, eagerly awaiting the sound of the gun.
The Ugandans took an early lead, setting a nice pace, closely followed by a Kenyan. But leading for 25 laps of a 400 metres track is not an easy task. The World Championship has its own stress and plays games on your mind. When a Ugandan would tire, he would signal to the Kenyan or the Ethiopian to take the lead. It was becoming clear that the East Africans were running this individual race as a team, just to beat Mo Farah. It was a war on tracks. Runner warriors were battling against the one and only Mo Farah.
Initially, Mo bid his time, running comfortably at the back of the pack. By the end of lap 12, around the middle of the race, he started to move up. Every time he would try to get ahead, the East Africans would surround him, box him, not giving him way to overtake them.
Everyone in the stadium realised what was happening. Mo’s family, his four children and wife would get up in hope everytime he tried to break free, but would sit down with a gasp as East Africans would close in on him even more. This was the time Mo Farah needed support more than ever. While running, he continuously gestured to the stand to shout and yell in support.
It was 2 O’clock in the morning here in Gurgaon. I was watching the race on television. And the first thing that came into my mind was that Mo was like Mahabharat’s Abhimanyu, Arjun’s son, for who the East Africans had laid a perfect Chakravyuh.
The race went on. Mo, just like Abhimanyu kept fighting the Kauravas, kept running surrounded by the Ugandans, Kenyans, and the Ethiopians. Again, after the 20th lap, he tried to break free. The only thing going for him was that the Africans seemed to be tiring, while he seemed to go on tirelessly. But they were running as a team, it was one against eight.
There was no limit to Kauravas’ cunning. They kept coming at Abhimanyu. Destroyed his arms and ammunition, and attacked him from all sides while he was unarmed. The same tactic was being tried on the race track. The Africans surrounded Mo so closely that he tripped and lost balance in the penultimate lap. Was is the end of a dream? Almost everyone was on their feet in the stadium. Mo’s family was biting their nails. But he kept going.
The sound of the bell broke the deafening noise of the stadium. The Africans had to do something now, as Mo had almost broken free of their clutches. They needed one last trip, and it would certainly make him fall. Then, it will be all over and the bounty of this sweet victory would be divided among them.
This is where Abhimanyu had fallen in Mahabharat, in his last lap. Killed by the Kauravas. But this Abhimanyu, knew how to break the Chakravyuh. He knew that in keeping pace with him, the Africans had ensured that they were a spent force.
He kept his balance, broke away free, and with last ounce of energy left in him, raised both his arms in victory as he touched the finishing tape, at least ten metres ahead of second placed Joshua Cheptegei of Uganda. Kenya’s Paul Tanui won bronze. Come what may, Mo Farah will not be conquered.
(Sanjay Ahirwal, a former journalist, works for NDTV.)
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