On the golf course

P. RAGHU NANDAN

The third hole at Guindy, Chennai, is a par five 515 yards dogleg to the left. At about 275 yds from the tee box in the left of the fairway is a mound of earth covered with grass. This is a point of reference to where the drive should go. Long ballers try to cross the mound's line and then be two on the green.

No one knows what that mound is there for; it is too small to be a hazard. Some people say it is a boundary marker between two revenue districts. A boundary marker in the middle of a fairway? But there is another version.

In 1875, a group of Englishmen played golf at Guindy. They had imported their clubs from Scotland, the shafts were made from birch, the blades from the finest English steel. After each game, they would down pints of English smaller at the club bar. Henry Moorhouse had been posted in Madras and had taken to the game. He used to diligently practise every morning, hoping to come to terms with the game and win the wager of a pint from his friends.

He had as his caddy a man called Munnu, who wore a white dothi, was bare-chested and for protection against the sun wore a turban of blue Masulipatam cloth. Munnu was middle aged manual labourer and lived in the nearby village of Pinjur. This little village has since been consumed by the urban sprawl of the city. He was a notable character in his village and lived with his wife and children in a hut.

He used to smoke a cheroot every evening before retiring for the night. This was the only indulgence he had. It was a cheap brand costing, one anna for two dozens. It came wrapped in paper, on which were printed with the words in Tamil "Trichnopoly Cheroots, Abdul Jabbar, Blacktown, Madras. Estb. 1870". Abdul Jabar's son had continued this trade until the mid 1920s and then closed the shop and moved to Malaya.

One day when Moorhouse was practising, a ball went high. Munnu could not see the ball as he was facing the setting sun. The ball hit Munnu on the forehead and he collapsed in a dead faint. Water was thrown on him, but to no avail. By the time a carriage was organised, Munnu had reached the great golf links in the sky. Moorhouse felt miserable and drowned his sorrows in several badda pegs of scotch. The next day he sent some money to Munnu's sorrowing wife and filed a complaint to the police. The police submitted a report to the Chief of Police Madras Presidency. Moorhouse was Sahib, the case was not continued and Moorhouse was transferred to a station in the North and finally left India two years later.

Munnu belonged to one of the lower castes who buried their dead and did not cremate as other Hindus did. A few days after Munnu died, a mound of earth was seen in the fairway of the golf course.

One evening at the end of 1996, a long hitter, drove the ball, a nice shiny, green-yellow titanium ball. It landed a little to the left of the mound and curving to the right along the ground got lost in the mound. It was late evening and the light was fading, the caddy could not find the ball. The member went home, cursing the lost ball.

An hour later, a full moon arose. Late at night, the moon was at its zenith and the entire golf course was bathed in its light. There was a cool night breeze tickling the fronds of the palmyra trees. Three jackals, from the neighbouring Raj Bhavan forests, had made their way into the golf course and were on a hunt. They made their way straight to the third fairway and the mound. One jackal climbed the mound; nosing around un-lodged the green- yellow ball, which glowed like a golden sphere in the moonlight. It had an electric radiance about it. The jackals chased the ball for a few minutes and then lost interest. They climbed the mound and arching their heads to the brilliant full moon let out a long sonorous wail. The ball lay a few feet from the mound glowing an eerie electric green-yellow. If one had seen beyond the mound, in the driver's seat of the parked tractor, one would have seen a dark figure. The figure fumbled in the fold of his clothes, took out a smoke, lit one and the air had the smell of country cigars. the jackals could not smell this; they were occupied with their sad lament. The man got out of the tractor and walked purposefully towards the mound. The figure wore a white veshti, was bare chested and had a turban of blue cloth; in his hand he carried a golf club, whose polished wooden shaft reflected the moon light.

The man went up to the ball lying in the grass, looked towards the third green and in one flowing movement, as the blade of the finest steel glinted in the moonlight sent the ball flying to land and stop dead, six inches from the cup. The man threw his head back, laughed and sighed.

The moon was setting and the early dawn was just beginning, when the member arrived. Walking past the third green, his caddy looked at the ball lying there and exclaimed "Ayyah (Master)! It is our ball. Look where it is. How could it have got here I wonder."

An hour later, Velan the tractor driver, came in. He went straight to his tractor, to dust and start his day's work. On his seat he found, wrapped in paper a bundle of cheroots. On the paper was printed in Tamil "Trichnopoly Cheroots, Abdul Jabbar, Blacktown, Madras, Estb. 1870".

Note: All characters and incidents in this story are fictional, except for the Madras Gymkhana Club's course at Guindy and the game of golf itself.

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