Animal Instinct

He meticulously tapes his left hand, so tightly he feels a numbing sensation in his fingertips. The grimy walls of the changing room shake tremulously as the boisterous crowd outside chant “Beast! Beast! Beast!” He shudders involuntarily.

He has an unblemished record. Nineteen wins to date. Seventeen of which were won by knockouts. Each time he steps into a ring, the arena explodes with cheers. Cameras go click consecutively, accompanied by blinding flashes of light. It is a spectacular show of lights and sounds.

But he remains the main spectacle. Pacing up and down the ring, throwing quick shadow punches, he senses the supporters gawping at him. It suffocates him. He can only clench his teeth and throw his punches more furiously.

Beast. It escapes him how he earned the nickname. They tell him he is unique. He is unlike any other Muay Thai fighter in the circuit. He fights like a beast. He hates it when they compare him to an animal. It is not his fault. He knows no other way to fight.

He comes from a proud family of fighters. At three, he started practicing Muay Thai. Before he could learn to fight, he learnt to steel his heart. He remembers his first fight vividly. His father grabbed his shoulder and said, “Only the strong survives. There is no hesitation, no sympathy, and no mercy. Do not disappoint me.”

His father would be proud of him today. But he is not proud of himself. He no longer sleeps peacefully at night. He sees fear reflected in his opponent eyes as they fall to the floor. But he sees himself unmoved. He sees the referee pulling him back, lest he further injures the defeated opponent.

His own brutality frightens him.

The time comes. His twentieth fight tonight. By now the tips of his finger are cold and numb. His manager beckons him, “Come Beast. They are waiting.” Nobody calls him by his real name now. They call themselves supporters, his fans, but they have forgotten his name.

He stands up slowly and pulls his robe tighter to his muscular frame, using it to protect him from the piercing chants and stares of his supporters. He begins to mouth a prayer, the very same prayer his father whispered to him the day he started training to be a Muay Thai fighter.

Bless me with the strength of the elephant

And the speed of the windy monkey

Let me soar with the wings of an eagle

And gift me the spirit of the tiger.

He wonders if his humanity is the price he has to pay for God’s blessings. Perhaps, long ago, his heart had already become numb and cold.