A <i> Real </i> Contact Sport : Slaps, Kicks and Chaos Are the Norm in India’s Ancient Sport of Kabaddi

Clusters of men, shirtless and barefoot, stand warily on opposite sides of a chalk line that divides a grass field. One of them inches toward the line, clasping his hands in prayer. Then he scurries across, only to be slapped and kicked to the ground by his opponents.

The crowd roars its approval.

The ancient Indian sport of k abaddi resembles, at first glance, nothing short of mayhem. And it looks all the stranger when played in a college football stadium south of Oakland.

Yet a tournament here Saturday drew half a dozen professional teams from around the world, cheered on by more than 2,000 spectators.

No matter that kabaddi is essentially a child’s game, a blend of tag and Greco-Roman wrestling that becomes alternately comical and vicious when played by adults. For immigrants of the Punjab region, which straddles northern India and Pakistan, it represents a cultural heirloom. It is nurtured far from home by men who refuse to let their tradition die, men such as Balwinder Singh.

Back home in Arleta, Singh owns a laundry service and a couple of taxicabs. The Punjabi community, however, knows him best as the captain of the U.S. team, the quiet and thickly built player they affectionately call “Sukha.”

Singh exemplifies the fervor of kabaddi. At 32, he has reluctantly entered the twilight of his sporting career. Nagging injuries and a viral infection forced him to miss much of the international season and no one expected to see him at the Kabaddi USA Cup ‘95, this country’s only major tournament.

But he arrived in Hayward the night before, overweight and weak.

“I will play,” he told teammates with a shy grin that is his habit. “This is my game.”

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Millions of people, both men and women, play kabaddi worldwide. In India, the most talented are paid by corporations who sponsor their teams. The English televise their tournaments. Last month’s competition at the domed B.C. Place in Vancouver drew 10,000 fans.

The Kabaddi USA Cup was not so auspicious.

Its promoters, three brothers who run a trucking company in Los Banos, paid travel expenses for teams from the United States, England, Pakistan, India, and western and eastern Canada. They put up $27,000 in prize money.

But Singh and the other players crowded into a Motel 6 in Santa Nella, two hours from the stadium. On Friday night, they were fed a meal cooked by the promoters--stewed goat, lentils and nan bread baked in a makeshift tandoor oven, a steel drum whose sides were lined with concrete. On each table stood a liter bottle of Canadian Club.

The next morning, the opening ceremony began two hours late. Touted as an “Olympic-like” event, it featured five high school marching band members playing a meager version of “Saratoga.”

Even so, the players had all they needed--a field, their teammates and blue skies above.

“This is one of the better tournaments,” said Harman Purewal, 22, of the Canada West team. “Anybody who is a good kabaddi player will be here.”

The crowd seemed equally pleased. More than 180,000 Indian expatriates live in California. Many, especially Punjabis, have traded the rich soil of their homeland to farm in such places as Fresno and Yuba City.

Carloads of families came to Hayward dressed in their finery. The men dignified in their turbans; the women shielded from a midday sun in bright scarves; teen-agers dressed in blue jeans and T-shirts, their hair tied in more traditional buns. Applause rolled down from the bleachers, mixing with the scent of curry from a concession stand outside.

“This only comes around once a year,” said Jasvir Puaar, 16, who came from San Jose. “We look forward to it.”

Singh, however, was in no mood to enjoy the scene. As Purewal’s team opened the action against England, the American captain was beginning to have doubts. A man whose quiet demeanor belies the ferocity of his game, he said only: “I shouldn’t play if I am no good. I don’t know. I will try my best.”

On the field, a Canadian player slapped an Englishman repeatedly on the head and shoulders. Singh rubbed his sore knee.

“You see? It is rougher than American football.”

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Despite its chaotic appearance, kabaddi follows a set of rules, albeit a loose one. Teams occupy opposite ends of the circular field. Each team takes its turn sending a lone “raider” into enemy territory. There, he confronts four “stoppers.”

The raider must tag one of the four opponents. At that point, the game becomes a one-on-one confrontation. To score a point, the raider must return to his side of the field within 30 seconds, while the stopper employs all manner of strategies to delay him.

“Speed, stamina, technique,” explained Slakhan Khera, a 30-year-old raider for England.

Purewal said: “You have to kick some butt.”

Such simplicity makes sense. The game was born of poverty, conjured in small farming villages.

“ Kabaddi doesn’t cost you anything to play,” said Ram M. Roy, a Cal State Northridge political science professor. “All you need is a field.”

Originally, the raider chanted the meaningless word kabaddi over and over--when he ran out of breath, or a stopper crushed the air out of him, his turn ended. Neighboring villages met for heated matches, most often during the summer monsoon season.

“In small areas of Pakistan and India, they don’t have good fields,” said M. Faiz Rehman, editor-in-chief of the national weekly, Pakistan Link. “They waited until it rained and then played the game on softer soil.”

These days, the international tournaments are played on manicured turf or the padded floors of indoor stadiums. Referees time each turn with stopwatches and games usually last 40 minutes. But the time limit can vary, as does so much in kabaddi. And players wear colorful shorts instead of wrapping their thighs in a loincloth, or langot .

Yet Roy insists that kabaddi remains true to its roots.

“The Indian pragmatism, the Indian simplicity, the Indian skills all combined in one,” the professor said.

And like so many players before, Singh learned the game from older neighbors. His playing nickname, Sukha, translates roughly to “one who is easygoing.” But as he grew larger and broader, he soon drew attention outside of his native town of Jullundur. After playing professionally in India, he emigrated to Arleta in 1984 and was quickly recruited by the U.S. team.

“All the players and the fans know him,” said Ajmer Sidhu, manager of the Canada East team. “He was a damn good stopper.”

Sidhu emphasizes the past tense. Opponents are well aware of Singh’s age and ailments.

“Damn good,” Sidhu repeated. “But he’s had some injuries.”

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In the U.S. team’s first match, it quickly became evident that Singh was not ready to play. Positioned at stopper, he moved awkwardly and the Canada West team began to target him.

Teammates offered encouragement after each missed tackle. But even their captain’s characteristic grin was lacking on this day. Late in the first half, Singh dove for a tackle and was kicked in the face, opening a small cut across the bridge of his nose. When the team returned for the second half, he remained on the sidelines, shaking his head.

But the captain could not bear to stay out long. In the game’s waning minutes, he returned to tackle Canada’s best raider, Tarlochan, scrambling on top of the man and pinning him until the referee’s whistle.

The play reversed neither his fortunes nor those of his teammates. He would sit out a second-round loss to the eventual champion, India.

“So bad,” he would say later. “So out of shape.”

But one rousing tackle gave the home fans something to cheer about. Singh seemed a little taller, a little more powerful, as teammates slapped him on the back. He might have been young again, fit and swift, playing on a field in Punjab.

If only for a moment, he grinned.