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Abandon hope!

Have you ever been to a fire? A real, blazing inferno?

You know what is most striking about being at a scene like that? It is the atavistic thrill, etched in reflected flames, on the faces of the spectators.

It makes you wonder -- what is this curiosity, this almost obscene sense of pleasure, all about? Could it be that the spectator feels himself at the presence of the final frontier, at the very gates of Hell?

These and similar thoughts came to my mind as I was driving to the Oberoi Hotel, this Wednesday, for a press conference organised by tehelka.com. There was in me the aftertaste of the disappointment I had felt when I learnt of the now famous media briefing in Delhi earlier, when the Prabhakar videos were first aired -- the disappointment of a journalist who was not present at a news break. There was a curiousity, a sense of excitment at being able to finally get to see the controversial tape. There was a feeling of foreboding, almost -- having been a sports fan all my life, having invested time and emotion in our heroes of yesterday and today, my mind almost rebelled at the thought that I would, in a short while, see them brought down to earth.

Did I really want to see the likes of Kapil and Azhar being reduced to human -- in fact, less than human terms? Or did I want to make a U-turn at the next intersection, and head back to office and the security of unshattered illusions?

I drove on.

I got to the Oberoi, I saw the film.

And for the three days since, I have been struggling with a feeling of intense hurt, and disappointment. Feelings that wouldn't resolve themselves into words, feelings that warred with one another.

The disappointment, I must clarify, had nothing to do with the film. It had more to do with me, with the debris of shattered illusions that were all that was left for me to take back home.

As the grainy images rolled on, as the voices, clear enough despite the conditions under which they were recorded, spelt it all out in chapter and worse, all I could do was sit in numbed shock.

And yet the images rolled on. Images of duplicity, on the part of the police, of the board officials, of players both past and current.

Images that, together, tell a story of venality, of corruption, of complete unconcern for the feelings of those millions of fools who had invested their all in this game. It was all there, large as life and twice as natural -- the personal agendas of assorted politicians, the complete indifference of the ICC chairman, the personal vendetta of Inderjit Singh Bindra, the naked hatred of players for their peers.

Ninety minutes, that I now wish I had never lived through. Because those 90 minutes have, for me, turned the game I love on its head. I'll never be able, after this, to watch a match without wondering who fixed what. I will never be able to hear a player praising another, without wondering what he really thinks. I'll never be able to admire, to worship, people who, in my previous state of ignorance, epitomised all that was good and clean about sport.

I remember one particular moment in the screening. Not because of what was shown -- it was just another conversation, about just another fixed match. But as I watched, I suddenly flashed back in time to that game. I remember how desperately I wanted India to win. I remember how fervently I prayed to the Gods to help my country win. I remember how I watched every second of the action, my heart in my mouth, my fingers tight-crossed for my team.

I remember the almost hysterical joy I felt when the final ball was bowled, and India walked out the winner of the field.

Those memories turned to ashes, as I watched that video and realised that I was praying to the wrong Power. God, I realise now, has nothing to do with results. Prayers have no influence on the outcome. All it takes is a telephone with ISD facility. And a handful of numbers of top bookies.

Just before the screening, I bumped into Anirudhha Bahal, the journalist who along with Prabhakar had sliced open the whole can of worms. What were you trying to do, when you set out on this investigation, I asked him.

"I knew, everyone connected with the game knew, about all that was happening," was the response, from the maverick journo whose business card reads 'Editor-Investigations'. "But everyone turned a blind eye to all the betting and match-fixing which the players and other board officials were indulging in.

"We're journalists after all. We've done the maximum that we could as journalists. You don't let us tap phones; you don't give us any powers to investigate, what more can we do?," he carried on. "We did what we set out to do. Using whatever means we could, we proved that there is something seriously wrong. We haven't provided clinching evidence of specific wrongdoing, but that in any case was not the objective. The objective was to let the people know that there was something terribly wrong, going on. The objective was to rip the mask from the faces of the administration and the cricket hierarchy, and to show everyone what they really thought."

"So here's the proof, that everyone concerned with the game knows that it is fixed. Do something about it now. There's too much pressure from above. The political bigwigs will shield the accused players. What can you do?" he added.

Manoj Prabahakar was conspicuous by his absence. Why, I asked.

"It's tough getting Manoj to a press conference," Bahal told me. "Firstly he is a lose cannon. If a couple of journalists corner him and ask him questions, he might just make some more statements. For naming one guy, he's already got into so much of trouble.

There was, about the affair, something of the air of the premiere of a big budget movie. (And I'll tell you what -- if this video is ever aired in theatres, it will be the ultimate block-buster!) There were as many celebrities present, as there were scribes: veteran film-maker Shyam Benegal; journalist turned MP Pritish Nandy; pop crooner Lucky Ali; MP Shatrughan Sinha; novelist and columnist Shobha De; actor and now, television personality Amitabh Bachchan...

Almost every hand clutched a glass of whisky, almost as if they needed the crutch of alchohol to be able to stomach what they were seeing, and hearing, onscreen.

Just before the screening, Tarun Tejpal, editor of Tehelka.com, addressed the audience, stressed that Prabhakar hadn't been paid a penny for his sleuthing or his revelations, and then urged us all to sit back, and watch.

We did. And within the first few minutes -- how does one describe this feeling? It was as if someone were standing behind you, thumping you on the head with a club. Pain at first, then, as the blows landed with increasing frequency, a feeling of numbness, of despair.

The first blow landed when DCP Rakesh Maria clearly admitted that the voices of Mohammad Azharuddin, Ajay Jadeja, Nayan Mongia and Manoj Prabhakar figured prominently in tapes that were in the possession of the Mumbai police -- tapes made through phone intercepts of prominent bookies.

Now what's that supposed to mean? The police knew all along, and they have, by withholding the evidence, been a party to fooling you and me? Why? Who, which politician, which power behind the scenes, was pushing their buttons?

Then came Lele. And it was vintage Lele -- talking of incidents but getting the times and venues and dates mixed up. Talking of how he had warned Dalmiya not to appoint Kapil as coach (come to think of it, that seems to indicate that Dalmiya was responsible for the appointment. If so, in what capacity was he acting? He is chairman of the ICC, he is not supposed to involve himself in the working of any member board, the BCCI is nominally headed by Dr A C Muthaiah, but look who's the real power behind the scenes!).

Lele said, too, that he had told Dalmiya that appointing Kapil was the third mistake he was making. Made me wonder, which were the first two? Could the first be appointing Lele as board secretary? And the second, allowing Lele to retain his post, after a million foot in the mouth statements followed by a million and one denials that no one believes?

Interesting man, this Lele. When the story first broke, he swore he had never discussed match-fixing with Prabhakar. Then, when he thought it was a tape-recording, he said the tapes were doctored. But this is a video. I could see him sitting there, his lips moving in synch to the damning words he was uttering. No doctoring here -- so what does he do to squirm out of this one? Last I heard, he was suing, or threatening to sue (with board officials, you never know which is bluster, which is fact) Prabhakar for invasion of privacy! Huh? This from the man who swore that such a meeting had never even happened?

Then came Ali Irani, and there were as many gasps as giggles, as the portly ex-physio repeatedly mentioned Azharuddin and Jadeja, spoke of how there was no honour among thieves, about how Jadeja supposedly two-timed Azhar, about how nothing would come of this because to take action would probably entail the fall of the Vajpayee government....

At times, I caught myself laughing like the rest, then wondered what I was laughing at. A hysterical reaction to the numbing words and images? Whatever -- my own laughter, I realised after a bit, was leaving a bad taste in my mouth. It was as if I was laughing with the crooks who had taken the game I loved, and sold it for thirty pieces of tainted silver.

Anju Mahendroo, one time actress and socialite whose main claim to fame is that she is an intimate of top cricketers, robbed me of 42 days of my life when she claimed that the 1999 World Cup was fixed, from first game to the last.

I thought back to those days, when I would come to work at 7... and leave, completely exhausted, at two, often three, in the morning. I thought back, too, to the joy I felt as I watched India's record breaking chase against Pakistan in Dhaka earlier that year. And the corresponding let down as Mahendroo, smoking cigarette as visible symbol of this smoking gun, revealed that the game was, to her knowledge, fixed, and pointed out how, of all the Indians that day, Azhar alone was seen sitting worried and irritable, because he had supposedly backed an Indian defeat that day.

But again, I found myself involuntarily laughing when she spoke of Hrishikesh Kanitkar. 'Poor fellow,' she says, 'he must have felt like such a hero when he hit that winning four, not realising that the shot would, in the end, cost him his place in the side'.

The piece de resistance, though, was Ravi Shastri, in skimpy shorts, doing a wicked imitation of Azharuddin as he retold the Pappu Bhutani episode, wherein Azhar supposedly plonked down six lakh in hard cash to buy a watch he fancied. The expletives that liberally laced any mention Ravi made of Azhar were indication enough of what the commentator thought of India's erstwhile captain. Ravi, in fact, makes no secret of his feelings -- Jadeja, according to him is a *bleep* (shocking expletive deleted) and the sight of Mongia makes his blood boil.

Talking of hate, who do you suppose qualifies as the most hated man in Indian cricket today? Ajit Wadekar, by miles -- you had to hear player after player speak his mind about the erstwhile captain and manager and selection committee chairman, to realise how low his stock stands in cricket circles.

Funny thing was, while I watched Ravi speak his mind about Kapil and Azhar, I flashed back to pictures we have in our photo library. Of these players posing, all smiles, together. Of them exchanging pleasantries off the field. Of them exchanging high-fives on it.

And this is what they really think of each other?

As you watched, you also developed a sneaking admiration for the native shrewdness of one Sunil Manohar Gavaskar. None of the others on video were aware they were being taped -- but there is, in the way Gavaskar spoke, in the way he stone-walled without committing to anything, enough indications that he alone was shrewd enough to smell out the sting Prabhakar was perpetrating, and to cover his bases. As clean a defensive display as any we have seen when the Little Master wielded the bat.

There are some bits that actually detract from the impact. Like Mohinder Amarnath speaking of things of little consequence. Or Sandeep Patil talking of how team lists are often leaked to the press -- a small enough matter given the far more serious revelations they were sandwiched between.

Then there were the bits that widened the angle of focus, to bring in the political element. Like the part where Kamal Nath suggests that the government should take over the BCCI. Or where Arjun Singh passes the buck to then board president Madhavrao Scindia. Or where Irani talks of Azhar's friendship with Chandrababu Naidu, and how this provides an umbrella that keeps the former sheltered.

I wonder if the public will ever get to see this video. I wonder, too, if a member of the public who sees this video will ever feel like shelling out good money to go to a stadium and watch the Indian team.

That fire image I had at the beginning turned out to be apt, after all -- watching this video is like gaping into cricketing hell. Maybe the organisers would have done us all a favour had they, at the entrance to the hall where the screening was held, put up in large letters the famous words that, according to Milton, decorate the entrance to Hell: "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here!"

Shatrughan Singh was at his fiery best after the screening, remarking loudly that the ills in cricket could not be ignored any more, that Parliament and the government had to take a hand, that players and officials had cheated India's paying cricket fan, and so on. "Put Kapil also in this, don't let this matter rest, I will speak to Advaniji and see that a fair trial is run," Sinha was heard assuring Tarun Tejpal.

As I walked out of the screening, I was reminded of a saying: "Pick battles big enough to matter, but small enough to win".

Manoj Prabhakar and the Tehelka team have certainly picked the mother of all battles. The question I am waiting to see answered is, having got the first part right, will they be equally successful in the second?

Postscript: Ever since the story first broke and the videos were aired, various people, through mail, phone and in person, have expressed one concern. Are these tapes for real? Is it really Ravi Shastri and Ali Irani and Lele and Wadekar and the rest of them, on videotape? And did they say the things they are supposed to have said?

On Wednesday I got the answer to that one. It is. They are. They did.