A King in Hiding Read Free

Bangladesh, and all my aunts, uncles and cousins. Even I was allowed to hold him. I was happy and amazed: I’d never seen such a tiny baby.

    I spent more and more of my time playing chess. Every day my father would teach me new things: how to work out moves in advance, how to avoid making mistakes and how to avoid traps. The pieces of this giant jigsaw began to fall into place, the muddle started to sort itself out, and I got better. Soon I was begging my father to enter me for a tournament. I’d heard that the top thirteen players would win lessons from a FIDE World Chess Federation instructor. I was five and had only been playing for two months, but my father quickly agreed.
    On the day of the tournament I was excited and fought like a lion. I won three games out of six. In the last round, my opponent was very laid back. He knew I was a beginner and assumed I wasn’t that good. So I took advantage of it and beat him. When I found out I was the thirteenth finalist I was stunned.
    My father was so happy he hugged me. His friends had come to watch me play, and they congratulated me and gave me beaming smiles. Back at home, I told my mother the good news. She was really impressed.
    My first lesson with the FIDE instructor showed me more about the world of chess: it was a real jungle, with all the jungle’s dangers and predators, and all its hiding places and traps. I explored every inch of it, and got on so well that my parents decided to pay for me to have private lessons. Although he’d played every day for 30 years, before long I was beating my father.
    I took part in several tournaments in Dhaka, playing against both children and adults. I won trophies and sometimes even medals, and I was so happy to take them home to my mother – except for the time when I left my medal on the bus by mistake, and I was so furious I nearly cried. My parents loved it when I won, but when I lost against weaker players my father would scowl at me. One day he was so angry with me that he refused to take me back for the rest of the championship. My mother asked her brother to drive me instead. Upset, I won the last five rounds. A government minister awarded me the trophy. The newspapers began to talk about me, and I was even on the television.
    I was six years old when I asked my father if I could take part in a tournament in India. He agreed, but my mother was horrified:
    â€˜But it’s too far away! It takes too long to get there! He’ll be worn out by the journey! He’ll get lost in the streets of Kolkata!’
    â€˜ Amma , it’s only for a week. I’ll be careful.’
    I begged and begged her, and in the end she gave in.
    â€˜You won’t do anything silly? You’ll eat properly? You’ll sleep? You won’t go out on the streets alone?’
    I promised her everything, and ran off to tell the news to the whole neighbourhood. I couldn’t wait, I was counting the days. At last the day came when it was time to set off.

    Kolkata! I was lost in wonder at this city of riches, with its vast shopping centre, its lights everywhere, its Metro and its smart hotels. Our room had a television and a bathroom.
    It was a strange city too. People there spoke Bengali with a peculiar accent that I tried to imitate. There were traffic jams like at home, not because of the traffic but because there were people walking about all over the roads, and cows wandering through the streets wherever they wanted to go. There were lots of other surprising things, like the street sellers offering strange red fruit called strawberries. And I nearly fell over in amazement when I passed a woman on the pavement and she was walking about smoking like a man!
    I came second in the championship, and it wasn’t difficult to persuade my father to let me go again. A few months later, I was the winner. When I got home, in the middle of the night, my mother ran to me and gave me a big hug.
    â€˜ Amma, Amma , I won