Threads of Triumph

By Shivani

The monsoon lashed against the zinc roof of their small home in Kerala, mimicking the relentless doubts that hammered against Rohan’s spirit. His right leg, withered and shortened by polio in his early childhood, was a constant reminder of what the world deemed his limitations. He limped, a familiar rhythm in the symphony of their village, a rhythm often accompanied by pitying glances and hushed whispers. But Rohan harbored a secret rebellion against these perceptions, a fiery ambition that burned brighter than the kerosene lamp illuminating their modest dwelling.

He was sixteen, and cricket, the undisputed king of sports in India, was his obsession. He’d spend hours watching matches on their neighbour’s flickering television, mesmerized by the fluid movements of the batsmen and the lightning speed of the bowlers. He dreamed of wielding the bat, of the satisfying crack as leather met willow, of the roar of the crowd. But the dream felt distant, almost mocking. How could he, with his dragging leg, ever compete?

The prejudice was palpable. During casual gully cricket matches with the village boys, he was relegated to fielding in the farthest corners, a silent observer rather than an active participant. “Rohan, be careful, don’t fall,” they’d say, their concern laced with an unspoken judgment. The medical challenges were constant too. The discomfort in his leg after a prolonged walk, the extra effort needed for even simple movements, were daily reminders of his difference. Specialized equipment, like a custom-made prosthetic that could aid his movement on the field, was a financial impossibility for his family.

One sweltering afternoon, watching the local archery competition, something shifted within Rohan. The archers, standing with unwavering focus, their bodies still as statues, their only connection to the target the taut string of the bow, captivated him. It wasn't about sprinting speed or agility; it was about precision, focus, and the disciplined control of one’s body. He saw an opening, a sport where his leg wouldn't be the defining factor.

He started small, with a makeshift bow fashioned from a sturdy branch and a frayed rope, aiming at mangoes hanging ripe on the trees in their backyard. His early attempts were clumsy, the arrows veering wildly off course. His mother, Amma, worried about him wasting his time, his father, Appa, offered quiet encouragement, his eyes reflecting the quiet determination he saw in his son.

Rohan’s training was unconventional, born out of necessity and ingenuity. He learned to anchor himself firmly, using his stronger leg as a stable base. He developed a unique draw, compensating for the imbalance by engaging his core muscles more intensely. He spent hours practicing his breathing, calming his mind, picturing the bullseye even before he drew the arrow. The medical challenges remained; the strain on his back and shoulders was significant, but he pushed through the discomfort, fueled by an unyielding resolve.

News of Rohan’s unusual dedication reached Coach Nair, a retired archery champion who lived a few villages away. Intrigued, Coach Nair visited Rohan and watched him shoot. He saw not just a boy with a disability, but an athlete with an extraordinary focus and an unconventional skill. He saw potential.

Coach Nair took Rohan under his wing. He taught him proper techniques, helped him acquire a second-hand but professional bow, and guided him on strengthening exercises that wouldn’t further strain his leg. He pushed Rohan hard, but he also understood his limitations, tailoring the training to his specific needs. “Your leg is not a weakness, Rohan,” Coach Nair would say, “it is simply a different anchor. Find your balance, find your strength within that difference.”

The real test came when Coach Nair entered Rohan in a regional archery competition, a mix of able-bodied and para-athletes. The whispers followed him like a shadow. “Look at him, what’s he doing here?” “He’ll just slow everyone down.” Rohan felt the sting of their prejudice, but he focused on the target, on the rhythmic beating of his heart, on the years of relentless practice.

He stepped up to the shooting line, his movements deliberate and controlled. He drew the arrow, his gaze locked on the bullseye. The bowstring sang as the arrow flew, a blur against the bright sky. It landed squarely in the center. A hush fell over the crowd, followed by a murmur of surprise, then grudging respect.

Round after round, Rohan’s arrows found their mark with uncanny accuracy. He wasn’t just competing; he was dismantling preconceived notions with every shot. He wasn’t just participating; he was vying for the top spot. He faced seasoned archers, their movements seemingly effortless, their equipment state-of-the-art. But Rohan’s unwavering focus, honed by the very challenges he had overcome, proved to be his greatest weapon.

He didn't win the competition that day. He came in a respectable third, a feat that stunned everyone. But the victory wasn't just about the medal. It was about the stunned silence of the skeptics, the awed whispers of the other competitors, the way young children with disabilities in the crowd looked at him with wide-eyed admiration.

Back in his village, Rohan was no longer just “the boy with the weak leg.” He was Rohan, the archer. Children, some with their own physical challenges, flocked to him, eager to learn. He showed them that disability wasn't a barrier to dreams, but a different path towards achieving them. He inspired them to find their own unique strengths, to bend the rules of expectation, to aim for their own bullseyes, regardless of the obstacles.

Rohan’s journey was far from over. He knew the path ahead would be filled with more challenges, perhaps even the need for that specialized equipment he still couldn’t afford. But standing under the Kerala sky, the scent of jasmine in the air, he felt an unshakeable confidence. He had proven to himself, and to the world, that limitations are often self-imposed, and that with unwavering determination, even a disabled athlete could draw back the bow and send their dreams soaring. His aim, once uncertain, was now unwavering, a testament to the indomitable spirit that resided within the boy who dared to dream beyond the bend in his body.

By Shivani