Arun Bhatia
ONE
Samir Singh stood at the edge of the polo field, the sound of hooves thundering in his ears, as he watched his father, Veerendra Singh, ride across the vast estate that had been the heart of their royal legacy for generations. The sprawling grounds, dotted with grand palaces and ancient temples, had once echoed with the clink of polo mallets and the cheers of onlookers. Now, the grandeur of it all felt like a distant dream, fading with the passing years. Samir, at just seventeen, had inherited his father’s love for the game. Polo was not merely a sport to him; it was his inheritance, his identity, the last tether to a glorious past. He could feel the weight of history in his bones, and yet, there was an inescapable reality that he could no longer ignore—the family’s finances were in ruins, and the estate was on the brink of being sold. Every day, Samir heard whispers about the mounting debts, the failure to keep up with modern times, and the inevitable decision his father would have to make. The thought of the estate being lost, the game of polo relegated to the history books, sent a pang of fear through his chest. Yet, what frightened him more was the thought of losing everything his family had stood for.
Veerendra Singh, the royal prince and Samir’s father, had once been a celebrated polo player in his youth, his name synonymous with the sport. But the prince Samir admired from childhood had been replaced by a man burdened by the weight of financial ruin and an uncertain future. Though Samir had inherited his father’s passion for polo, Veerendra saw it as a relic of the past, a reminder of better days that could no longer be afforded. “This is the way of the world, Samir,” Veerendra would say, his voice heavy with the weight of his decisions. “The world doesn’t care for traditions anymore. We must move with the times, or we’ll be left behind.” Samir had always dreamed of playing polo on the national stage, of leading his team to victory and carrying the royal banner high, but each time he voiced his dreams, his father would gently remind him that it was better to focus on law, to secure a stable future away from the unpredictability of polo. Law was a practical choice, a way to survive in a world that had no place for the noble past that had once defined them. Samir hated hearing this, but he knew there was no convincing his father, whose mind had already been made up.
The night Samir overheard his father discussing the estate’s sale with his mother, Rani Shakuntala, a deep sense of helplessness filled him. He wasn’t ready to give up on the royal legacy, but there was a cold finality to his father’s words. The money was gone. The polo field, once the pride of their ancestors, now lay barren, untouched. Samir could feel it slipping through his fingers like sand. He turned his attention back to the polo field, where a few of the estate’s old horses grazed lazily, their once-pristine coats now dull with neglect. The realization hit him hard—if he didn’t do something soon, there would be no more polo, no more royal legacy. His father’s dream of modernity, of selling off everything to secure a future outside of polo, would become reality. For the first time, Samir truly feared for the future of his family’s name. As the cool breeze of the evening swept through the field, Samir made a vow to himself: he would find a way to save the sport, the estate, and his family’s honor—no matter what it took.
The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight pierced through the towering arches of the royal estate, Samir sat in the grand dining hall, staring at the half-eaten breakfast before him. His mind was far away from the food, lost in thoughts of the future and the fate of the royal polo legacy. His father, Veerendra, was already seated at the head of the table, his sharp gaze never wavering as he looked over financial reports, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the polished wood. Rani Shakuntala sat across from him, her face a mask of quiet concern, while Samir’s younger brother, Ayaan, played with his food, oblivious to the tension in the air. Samir wanted to speak, to tell his father how much polo meant to him, to beg him to reconsider the sale of the estate, but he knew it would be useless. His father’s mind was already made up. “Samir, you need to understand,” Veerendra said suddenly, breaking the silence. “This isn’t just about the game. It’s about our survival. The world has moved on, and we must adapt or fade into obscurity.” Samir’s heart sank as he listened to the cold, practical logic in his father’s voice. The weight of those words hung over him, suffocating him with a reality he didn’t want to face.
As the conversation continued, Samir couldn’t help but think of the glory days, when his family’s name had been synonymous with polo. He could almost hear the cheers of the crowd from the past, the sound of mallets striking the ball, and the pride in his father’s eyes as he led the team to victory. But those days felt as distant as the stars now, replaced by the constant reminder that their family’s wealth had been squandered, and the polo field now lay abandoned, like a forgotten relic of a bygone era. Samir tried to speak, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him. “But, Father, polo is who we are. It’s more than just a game. It’s our legacy. Selling the estate, letting go of everything… can’t we find another way?” His father’s expression remained unchanged, his eyes cold and resolute. “Legacy doesn’t matter if we don’t survive, Samir. You can keep dreaming about polo, but it won’t pay the bills. It’s time to face reality.” The finality in his father’s voice hit Samir harder than any blow he had ever received on the polo field. He felt his dreams shatter in an instant, his heart sinking deeper with each passing moment.
Later that evening, as the sun dipped behind the distant hills, Samir wandered through the estate’s polo field, feeling the cool grass beneath his feet. The field, once the site of fierce matches and royal triumphs, now seemed lifeless, the polo posts standing like silent sentinels. Samir’s eyes swept across the field, imagining the fierce battles, the moments of glory, and the pride his family had once felt when they played for honor, not just for victory. He thought about the future that awaited him—law school, a life of paperwork and courtrooms, a future so different from the one he had dreamed of. But even as his mind battled the overwhelming weight of reality, a spark of defiance ignited within him. He couldn’t let it end like this. He couldn’t let his family’s legacy disappear without a fight. As the last rays of sunlight flickered across the field, Samir made a decision. He would find a way to bring polo back, to prove to his father that the game still had value—not just for their family’s legacy, but for their future. The battle ahead would be tough, and he knew the odds were stacked against him. But Samir was no longer willing to sit in silence. He would fight for his dream, for his family, and for a future where the Singh name would be synonymous with more than just the past—it would be a name that defined the future as well.
The next day, Samir gathered his closest friends in the old, weathered stables behind the estate, where the scent of hay and leather still lingered in the air, a faint reminder of the days when polo horses had filled the space. Kunal Rathore, his best friend and loyal companion, leaned against the stable door, arms crossed, clearly waiting for Samir to speak. They had been inseparable since childhood, sharing the same love for polo and the same dream of making the sport a defining part of their future. “What’s going on, Samir?” Kunal asked, raising an eyebrow. Samir’s face was pale, his mind racing with ideas. He had come to a decision last night, after walking the fields alone and realizing that if they didn’t act quickly, everything would slip away forever. He knew he had only one shot to change things, to prove to his father that polo wasn’t just a game, but the very core of their legacy. “I’m going to organize a match,” Samir said, his voice unwavering despite the enormity of the idea. “One last game. High stakes. If we win, it’ll prove that polo can still bring honor to the family, and maybe… maybe we can save the estate.”
Kunal’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed unsure. “A match? With who? You know, we don’t have a team, Samir. Half the horses are out of shape, and we’re barely keeping the stables running.” Samir knew this well. The royal estate’s polo horses had long been neglected, and finding a team that could match the standards of the royal polo players of old was a near-impossible task. But the fire inside him refused to die. “We’ll make it work,” Samir said, his voice rising with a newfound conviction. “We’ll train every day, fix the horses, and bring in players from the surrounding villages if we have to. It’ll be a battle not just for the game, but for everything we stand for. If we win, I know my father will see that polo isn’t dead. It’s our legacy. It’s the only chance we have left.”
Kunal paused for a moment, taking in the weight of Samir’s words. It wasn’t like him to act so impulsively, but Samir’s determination was infectious. Finally, Kunal gave a nod, his usual skepticism replaced by the same fiery determination. “Alright, I’m in. But who are we going to face? You know it’s got to be a rival team, something to show that we still matter.” Samir’s mind raced, and he thought of the one person who could challenge them—Imran Malik. Imran was a young polo prodigy from a wealthy family nearby, known for his arrogance and cutthroat attitude. His family had long rivaled the Singh family, not just in polo, but in status and wealth. If they could beat Imran’s team, it would send a message to everyone, including Samir’s father. “Imran Malik,” Samir said, the name leaving his lips with a weight that carried both the promise of competition and the danger of facing their greatest challenge. “We’ll challenge him and his team. If we win, we’ll prove that polo can still make us relevant, that the Singh family’s legacy is worth preserving.”
The plan felt reckless, but Samir’s mind was set. They would train relentlessly, repair the stables, bring in the best horses they could find, and recruit players who still had the passion and skill to bring them victory. The pressure of the game would be immense, but Samir felt an odd sense of exhilaration wash over him. This match, this single game, would determine the future of the family estate. It would either save them or destroy them. And in that moment, Samir realized that he wasn’t just fighting for his dream of polo; he was fighting for his family’s survival, for the legacy of the royal house, and for the future they all deserved. As he looked at Kunal, the fire in both of their eyes reflected the seriousness of the mission. There would be no turning back. This was their last chance, and they were going to take it.
“Let’s do it,” Kunal said, clapping Samir on the back. “We’ll show them what the Singh family is really made of.” With that, the two friends set out to put their plan into motion. They would train in secret, avoiding the prying eyes of the royal court, gathering their resources, and preparing for a match that would not only determine their fate, but also prove to the world that the spirit of polo still burned brightly in their veins.
The days following their decision to challenge Imran Malik’s team were a blur of action and anticipation. Samir and Kunal worked tirelessly, pushing themselves beyond their limits, knowing that the odds were stacked against them. With the royal estate’s finances in disarray, there was little left to invest in the horses. The stables were in disrepair, and only a handful of old polo ponies remained, their once-vibrant coats now dull and their muscles weak from years of neglect. But Samir refused to accept defeat. Every morning, he and Kunal worked with the horses, coaxing them back into shape, cleaning the stalls, and feeding them whatever scraps they could afford. The sound of hooves on the ground became a familiar rhythm, and every day, they trained harder—riding from dawn to dusk, practicing their shots, their coordination, and their strategy. Samir knew that a single misstep in the match could cost them everything. There was no room for failure.
As the days passed, Brij Singh, the aging coach who had once trained Samir’s father and uncles, returned to the estate. He had watched from afar as the royal family’s polo legacy crumbled, but he was too loyal to let it die completely. When Samir had approached him with the idea of one final game, Brij had agreed to help, though his heart was heavy with the weight of the family’s history. “You know it’s not just about playing a game, Samir,” Brij had said when they first spoke. “It’s about reclaiming what’s been lost. Polo isn’t just about the mallet and the ball—it’s about pride, honor, and the very soul of our family.” Samir had nodded, understanding the depth of what was at stake. Brij’s wisdom and years of experience were invaluable. Under his guidance, they refined their technique, their rhythm, and their unity as a team. With each passing day, Samir felt a growing sense of purpose, as if the game was no longer just about polo, but about saving everything he loved.
But as the match drew closer, so did the pressure. Samir’s father, Veerendra, continued to insist that Samir abandon his dreams of polo, focusing instead on his future in law. The royal court had begun to gossip about the family’s dwindling fortune, and whispers of the estate’s imminent sale were growing louder. Despite his father’s rejection, Samir refused to give up. He had to prove that polo could still bring dignity to the family, that it was more than just a game—it was their history, their pride, their legacy. The tension between father and son grew palpable. One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, Samir found himself face-to-face with his father in the family’s ornate drawing room, a place once filled with laughter and conversation, but now drowned in the silence of impending loss.
“Samir,” Veerendra said, his voice soft but firm, “I’ve given you everything I could. I’ve tried to prepare you for a future in this world. A future that’s not dependent on a dying tradition. Polo is a thing of the past. We must be realistic.” Samir’s heart pounded in his chest as he stood across from his father, the weight of the world pressing down on him. “I don’t want to live in a world where we give up on what we were born to do,” Samir replied, his voice trembling with emotion. “Polo is who we are, Father. It’s not just about money or titles—it’s about our family’s legacy.” Veerendra sighed, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “I know you think that, Samir. But it’s too late to turn back. We’re not the family we once were. You need to let go of the past.” For a brief moment, Samir felt his resolve waver. But then, he thought of the field—the horses, the game, the spirit of the royal legacy—and he felt a surge of determination. “I can’t let it go,” he said quietly, “and I won’t. This match—this game—is our last chance. If we win, it will prove that the Singh name still means something. Please, Father… just trust me.”
Veerendra looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Samir stood tall, waiting, his heart in his throat. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Veerendra nodded, though his eyes were clouded with doubt. “You have one last chance, Samir. But know this—if you fail, there will be no turning back. I will have no choice but to sell the estate.” Samir’s heart raced, but he stood his ground. “I won’t fail, Father.” With that, Veerendra turned away, leaving Samir alone in the vast room, the weight of his promise settling heavily on his shoulders.
With the match just days away, Samir and Kunal worked tirelessly to prepare. They sought out the best riders they could find, some from local villages and others from nearby estates, all united by their love for polo and their belief that the game could still revive the royal family’s legacy. As they practiced together, Samir saw the same fire in their eyes that he felt in his heart. They were no longer just a team; they were a symbol of everything they had lost—and everything they could still save. The stakes had never been higher. This match would either save the family name or destroy it forever. Samir could feel the weight of the challenge pressing on him, but for the first time in weeks, he felt ready. He had no choice but to give it everything he had, to show his father, his family, and the world that the Singh legacy was worth fighting for.
