The Bard of Blood Read Online Free

just about to take a shot when he realized the ball wasn’t with him any more. The literature professor had it at his feet and was shooting through the empty spaces on the field. One enthusiastic, muscular defender came running towards him and rammed into his shoulder. The Professor lost his footing for a second, but not the ball. Instead, it was the defender who lost his balance, after colliding into a shoulder made of what seemed like iron. The Professor saw the goal clearly this time. He dribbled the ball to attain a suitable angle. He made enough space and then, with calculated strength, hit the ball with the arch of his foot. The ball swerved inwards into the net. There was nothing the keeper could do about it! He kicked the grass in frustration and turned to retrieve the ball dejectedly.
    The crowd erupted into a louder cheer this time.
Ten minutes. One to equalize. One to win.
Could the Professor actually pull it off? He was single-handedly taking on the college’s best footballers. The odds were still stacked against his team, though. He strode over and muttered something into Nimkar’s ear. Nimkar nodded and in turn went and whispered something into the Hindi professor Mr Shukla’s ear. He nodded, but it didn’t look like he understood fully.
    The students broke out of their huddle and clapped and shouted words of encouragement to each other. They looked charged and ready to take on the Professor’s team. They kicked off and passed the ball backwards to a defender. They were passing the ball around, trying to get time off their back. It was the safest way they could win, they reckoned. The Professor understood their ploy and began to judge their passing rhythm. He jogged slowly to where he knew the next pass would be and, just as soon as the student tapped it, he ran wildly towards the ball. He gained possession of it and had the ball in his command. He dribbled past the final defender faking a shot at the goal and stopped mockingly right in front of the goalkeeper. The goalkeeper ran towards him to grab the ball, just as he kicked it aside and dodged the goalie cleverly and, in a languorous sweep of his foot, landed the ball into the goal. The crowd went berserk! They couldn’t believe their eyes. Not only was the literature professor beating the students, he was doing it in style. They had equalized!
    Three minutes to go. One goal to win.
The Professor loosened his ponytail and opened up his sweaty hair. He allowed himself a dimpled smile as he looked at the students yelling out his name. The students knew three minutes were not likely to be enough for the professors to win. But, given today, they had already suspended their belief so far. The opposition team came together in a huddle yet again. They discussed the situation heatedly, throwing in an abundance of cuss words for good measure. The other professors, however, were speechless. They didn’t say a word to their colleague, and he didn’t say a word to them either.
    It was time, the referee said, to resume the match. The opposition started with the ball again. They decided to take a shot at the goal themselves. It was win or lose. They didn’t want to settle for a draw at this point. Their two best strikers ran furiously, dodging a few professors along the way. Nimkar stuck his leg out and got the ball. He passed it to Shukla, who, by fluke, managed to hold possession of the ball now. There were just two minutes of play left. Shukla looked completely out of place with the ball at his feet, as he moved clumsily towards the goal. Suddenly, a defender came running into him from behind and knocked him off balance. The crowd laughed and then quickly tried to contain themselves.
    The referee blew the whistle. It was a free kick. There was a deafening silence as the literature professor bent down to tie his laces. He placed himself behind the ball and set his eye on the spot where he intended to send the ball. He was pretty accurate at shooting . . .
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