Pakistan hockey legend Mansoor Ahmed's death a missed opportunity for India to trump jingoism and extend help across the border

Don’t touch those hockey goalposts for a few days, they would be moist — they are grieving. On the other side of the border, in a city called Karachi, Mansoor Ahmed passed away; hopefully, his last thoughts were not on India. In a fractured world where humans are on the verge of extinction while bigots flower and increase their numbers like rodents in heat, Mansoor, dying, his heart fluttering like butterfly wings, extended his hands towards India — for life. And we responded with cliché-laced religious hate-mongering, wrapped in cowardly nationalistic fervour.

A dying hockey player, arguably one of the best the sport has seen, the man who gave Pakistan the 1994 World Cup saw the worst of both sides. To call the other a zealot, you don’t have to be one; India forgot that. Those emaciated hands, holding a stick, wrapped in gloves, held off 90mph penalty corner flicks by Dutch legend Floris jan Bovelander but couldn’t fend off the rush of hate messages that erupted in India. He wanted a heart. Mansoor’s was failing. He wanted one of ours; our heart.

In a video plea, he said, “Now I need a heart transplant, and for that I need support from the Indian government. I may have broken a lot of Indian hearts on the field of play by beating India in the Indira Gandhi Cup (1989) and in other events but that was sport. Now I need a heart transplant in India and for that I need support from the Indian government.”

Mansoor, who played 338 international matches and participated in three Olympic Games, added, “Humanity is paramount and I’d be immensely obliged if I get a visa.”

His death becomes a classic example of how we look at each other as sporting nations. It’s been 71 years since we created borders. We refuse to look beyond it. Caught in the whirlpool of hate, we constantly fall prey to jingoism, fanaticism and a brand of zealotry that should make us hang our heads in shame. Somewhere in the making of India, politicians made monkeys out of us — making us clap and dance to their tune.

Sane sportspersons on both sides of the border spoke like born-again fire-brands, their sporting frustrations coming out in their ignorant Indo-Pak tirades. Amidst all that the sub-continent offers through online hatred and television channels spitting hatred like a diarrhea spewing rump, Mansoor knew he only had days to live. A man self-consumed by hatred would never extend his hand towards a sworn enemy, even if it was to save himself. Hatemongers won’t agree. But remember, 71 years back that blood was ours too. Short-sighted politicians gave it a name — Pakistan.

Not many knew or remembered him when his plea hit TV stations and news wires. Not many remember the 1994 World Cup that turned Mansoor’s life upside down. Despite losing the 1990 World Cup final in Lahore to Holland 1-3, they were rated behind the Dutch in the 94’ World Cup final. After a stuttering start and with Bovelander’s threat looming large, Pakistan came back strongly in the second half. Mansoor’s agility and solid goalkeeping allowed Shahbaz Ahmed, Tahir Zaman, Shahbaz Junior, Kamran Ashraf and Asif Bajwa to run rings around the Dutch defence. Yet when the match finished 1-1, the Dutch still held the aces with Taco and Bovelander sure shot penalty stroke winners. Pakistan chanted for Mansoor in unison. The Homebush could have been the National Stadium, Lahore, filled with green shirts and almost every Pakistani worth their name buying tickets in black to attend the World Cup final.

After Taco van dan Honert scored, the flick ripping through the middle, the power almost shoving aside Mansoor, it seemed that it would be second time unlucky for Pakistan. Mansoor stood still as Bovelander looked strained; the pressure working its stressful magic on the sport’s most deadly drag-flicker. His was the opening goal of the match. But strokes have a different theme — face to face with a man under the helmet, the pusher usually cannot see the eyes, can’t read the goalkeeper. It’s the power, the angle, the corner and the assumption that the goalkeeper will go the wrong way. Mansoor didn’t have to make a save. Bovelander pushed wide. Bovelander had blinked. Mansoor, with the tag of the world’s best goalkeeper, had forced him to.

Marc Delissen and Jacques Brinkmann scored. With the scores 4-3 in favour of Pakistan, Shafqat Malik failed with his stroke. Holland had one chance to equalise and take it do sudden death. Jeroen Delmee walked up. Mansoor, the hooded knight in a white helmet, white pads and blue jersey, number ‘1’ monochromed on the front, stood still. For that split second, Homebush went quiet. Thousands of kilometres away, Pakistan went still. Delmee slightly moved his body to the left. Mansoor went to his right and the flick went off Mansoor’s right glove. The hooded knight had given the World Cup to Pakistan. Shahbaz Ahmed won the Player-of-the-Tournament, the first player in history to win it for the second consecutive time. But Mansoor was the darling, the jewel, the hallowed one. It’s been 23 years and five World Cups since that victory. In the lanes of Karachi and Lahore, when nostalgia grips former players and hockey fans, they remember Mansoor. Of course, they speak about the artistry of Shahbaz. But it’s the knight of Homebush Stadium they revere.

Maybe, we could have helped. The Chennai Hockey Association volunteered help with surgeons confirming they had been contacted by his doctors. Maybe, it was all in vain.

Mansoor has been a heart patient for almost a decade and doctors recommended a transplant for the 49-year-old. It takes anywhere between four and six months for an overseas patient to get a heart in Chennai. A heart can be given to a foreigner only when there are no Indians on the waiting list. As per the new rules, a hospital doing the transplant on a foreigner has to give an undertaking it is not overlooking any Indian in need of heart.

Former India captain V Baskaran did his best to speak to the doctors in Chennai and personally also spoke to players in Pakistan but Mansoor’s deteriorating condition made it impossible for him to take the trip. “It’s sad,” said Bhaskaran. “In the end, he was a human, a player who gave his best. And in the end, he just wanted help. I don’t know yet, but I think we failed somewhere.”

Mansoor is gone. His funeral is after the Zohar prayers at the Sultan Masjid in Karachi. Offerings of grief appear a little hypocritical, like a cheap gimmick. Maybe, help would have been humane.