That’s a position, you know. You know? No? You should. Know. That’s a position. That’s a position that also leads to other positions. Or can.

Once you are in that position one of many things can happen. You can reverse that position. You can stay teetering on the brink between that position happening and not happening. Remember, you can be put in that position. Awwwwwwrrrright! Now that hurt!

You got me, let’s call it quits, let’s go home. But that doesn’t always happen, does it? Once you’re in it you’re in it, winning or losing, you want more of it. A chance to win if you’ve lost. A chance to win again if you’ve won. Such a thing is this thing. It gets to you, into you.

Kushti. Wrestling. MallaYuddha. It’s a tough thing, deal with it. It’s even a thing of profundity. A contest to the finish. Enter only if you are prepared for the consequences. Of victory more than of defeat. Victory will bring on greater challengers, and more dour duelling. Defeat will mean a way out. Victory will mean stay, and face a tougher bout.

There was a time it was better (or worse) than it is today. There were no rules. The only rule was strength and force and the ability to maximise the effects of those things. No referee. No rounds, no regulation, only victory and loss, victor and vanquished. You disabled the other or the other disabled you. Such that a contest, or a yuddha, was no longer possible. Plant a leg on the other’s thigh. Grab the other’s other thigh, and yank it. Off the body, if possible. There, job done. Freestyle kaa baap.

Those that were capable of yuddha were yoddhaas. Seen a camel with a hump? Two humps? Seen folks with bumps all over and nothing else, so many bumps that you’d wonder where they fit? Yoddhaas... Often bare hands were all they required to rip opponents to pieces, leave them mangled, disjointed bone and impossibly crumpled flesh. Nowadays we do not allow such things. Or perhaps we do, but we do not call it sport. And we award no points for such exploits, leave alone medals. We are civilised folk, we pretend at yuddha, we get into positions of advantage, or put opponents into positions of disadvantage, and we score points. Round after round, grunt after grunt. Cheer after cheer. Jeer after jeer. We gather points and we lose or win on aggregate. That’s how it happens. It’s clinical, and neat, it transpires on flatbeds of foam. None of it is messy or mucky or muddy as in wrestling out muddy. That happens elsewhere. The dirty-filthy stuff.

Or so we think. Or so we believe.

But no. There is dirty-filthy stuff happening too. Unspeakable dirty-filthy stuff. Let’s not speak about it, shall we? Or shall we speak about it all, and openly, and go on and on until something is done?

Would you jump into the pit

Or would you rather the pestle

Bothers me not the slightest bit’

Cause in the end it’s how you wrestle.