Raja, Story of a Racehorse (2 page)

She nodded. “Will the horses be OK?”

“They'll be fine. Usually they just stay in their turn-out sheds during storms. We put in extra hay so they have something to munch on.”

Bob cleared his throat, patted me on the neck, and then wordlessly shuffled off to check a broodmare that had a hoof sized lump on her chest.

Princess Ayesha gave me another hug. She scratched the tickly spot above my eye and whispered. “You are the most perfect thing in the universe and I love you.” She gave me one last pat and slowly turned and started walking away. I suddenly realized that this was it.

She's leaving me!

Running along the fence line, I whinnied, again and again. Then I ran to my mother. She nudged me to comfort me. “In a horse's life, special people come and go. That's just the way it is. It's better not to get too attached to a person or another horse or your heart will break.”

The muggy afternoon dragged on, slower than an earthworm. Fat black clouds squatted heavily on the horizon and the thick air made me tired. After the mothers were fed their supper, a swirling wind kicked up, steadily growing stronger.

It's a strange day; something is going to happen. I can feel it.

I stayed close to my mother watching as the relentless wind made the bushes and the trees spring to life. Trees dipped and bowed. Branches snapped. Deep angry rumbles of thunder growled their way forward as bright flashes lit up the dark clouds rolling toward us. The wind taunted and jeered as it started to take things with it. First, a peppermint wrapper and a paper feed bag, then an empty bucket. A barn door banged and chains rattled in protest as the gates in our field swung back and forth. A sense of dread, like a stone, grew in my stomach.

This is silly; it's just a thunderstorm.

Feeling as though I was in a dream, watching myself, I pawed the ground in a frantic tempo, digging through the grass, growing more and more uneasy. Suddenly, the wind snapped a dead tree branch, flinging it through the air and onto the fence close to me.

Whoa! What's that?!

I bolted across the field, then skidded to a stop to listen, rooted to the ground, flanks heaving, breathing quick, shallow sips of air. I was trembling in every limb. Shaddy suddenly appeared, nudging me with his nose. Max was behind him. I jumped.

“Are you OK?”

He looked me in the eye, holding my gaze for an extra moment. I just shook my head. The black clouds lumbered toward us, seeming to grow fatter and heavier, until they took over the sky. Illuminated by the lightning flashes, the trees looked like terrible monsters moving awkwardly to the wind's wild beat.

Suddenly, heavy raindrops pelted the ground. After a few seconds, Max, Shaddy and I were soaked. We galloped to the shelter of the shed next to the big oak tree. My mother and some of the other broodmares stayed grazing in the rain, unconcerned. Looking out of the shed at the wall of rain, we watched a jagged yellow streak split the sky followed by a loud CRACK, and a sizzle. Another followed. Then another, all accompanied by the terrifying howls and growls of the wind and thunder. I felt an electric surge and raised my head and tail, nostrils flaring and hair standing on end as the ground shuddered.

CRASH!

A huge bolt of lightning hit the big oak tree. It fell with a wood-splintering groan into the corner of the shed, letting in a torrent of rain through the new gash in the roof. Now a dangerous and unfamiliar landscape, the field was all lightning flashes, rain and thunder, all yellow and grey and black. I galloped out of the shed across the field crying out for my mother. She answered in a loud, clear whinny, “Don't be afraid. Come to me.”

Halfway across the field, the sky lit up again, this time an eerie yellow, as lightning stabbed the ground. My mother stood, neck arched and proud, outlined against the terrible sky. I galloped toward her as fast as I could.

But not fast enough.

I watched another bolt burst through the clouds. Her body collapsed in a heap on the damp ground. Skidding through a puddle in front of her, I touched her face with my nose. She was still. Not breathing. Steam rose off her body, accompanied by a strange, bitter smell — burnt hair.

I nudged her.

Wake up! WAKE UP!

I nudged her frantically, again and again, trying to wake her, but nothing I did could help my mother. Deep down, I knew she wouldn't wake, that she'd never come back. A cry of despair escaped out of my body and into the roaring, indifferent wind.

I was suddenly exhausted. I could barely move. I curled up next to my motionless mother, trying to shelter from the driving rain. As I nestled into her still warm body, drinking in her mother smell, trying to hold onto it, memories came to me. All night, with the wind and rain howling around us, I thought of happier moments. I couldn't believe that I would never see my mother or Princess Ayesha ever again.

It was the worst day of my life.

Three months earlier, June, Ocala, Florida

“Pip, pip,…trrreat, trrreat…coo-ee, coo-ee.”

In the cool dark of the early morning, when you aren't sure whether it's still night, or if the day had finally made up its mind to arrive, deafening caws, whistles and warbles fill the air. Then the sounds of breakfast — nickering, whinnying and impatient kicking of stall walls from the barns. In the field, our mothers all lined up patiently at their buckets at exactly the same time every day.

A group of shadowy horses and riders jogged out of the morning mist along the endless white board fences past paddocks filled with horses and by our field to the track. After a few minutes, the horses appeared again on the other side of the track, jigging with steam swirling and billowing from their backs as they headed home past the moss-covered live oak trees to the tidy yellow and white barns.

We stood still, watching and snorting. Then, Max stamped. The signal to go! As one, we spun and bucked and raced back to our mothers, where we pulled up to a trot, tails straight in the air, snorting and blowing.

I was scratching my ear with my hind hoof, watching a worm slowly crawl across the ground when I heard them. I looked up quickly, snorted and froze. Half a field away a line of shiny black cars slithered into the farm driveway, passing the big live oak trees and rows of hibiscus before slowing to a halt in front of the main barn.

Something's going on!

Men wearing dark clothes spilled out of the cars and walked quickly across the green lawns surrounded by colorful flowers. I shivered and played with Max, my best friend, nibbling his neck and rearing up, all the while keeping an eye on the men, watching their every move.

Who is that? Let's check it out — race you to the fence!

A tall man wearing a bright yellow shirt and a young girl with her head covered by a yellow scarf emerged from one of the cars and began to walk toward the barn. The girl slowed her walk and stopped to greet the yearlings in the shed row who were watching her every move, their ears pricked and flicking back and forth, not missing anything. She reached into her bag and fed something to one of the horses who lipped her hand and then tossed his head up and down as he chewed.

“Come along, Ayesha, the foals are waiting for you. Ah, there's Bob.” The tall man spoke impatiently, as though he only had a little bit of time before heading on to the next thing.

I looked in the direction he was pointing. Bob ambled out of the stable office and then picked up his pace when he saw the man and girl, covering the ground easily in his relaxed way. Pulling a faded yellow baseball cap off his head, he offered his hand to the man.

“Welcome back, it's nice to see you again, Sheikh.” He bowed slightly to the girl. “Princess, it's always a pleasure to have you back at the farm.”

“Hello Bob. Wow! Everything looks wonderful. I'm sooo happy to be out of school for summer. That boarding school is a prison! I can't wait to spend time here. I'm only going back home for a little while this year because I have to take SATs here in the U.S., so you'll see a lot of me. My mother and grandmother are coming next week and we're going to the Belmont Stakes. I can't wait!”

“I think that you'll be pleased with this year's foals. That black colt, out of Roxanne, is quite special. Shall we go and see them?”

The Sheikh nodded yes.

Squinting into the sun and using both hands, Bob placed the cap on his head.

“After you, sir,” he gestured as he began walking across the lush green lawn toward the white board fence at the edge of the field.

“Ah, the ‘youngbloods.' I have great hopes for you.”

The tall man, the Sheikh, is looking at me!

“Bob was right — you're a handsome colt, and big, too. What a powerful hind end. You have the ‘look of eagles,' just like your sire. That is an interesting marking on your forehead, like a scimitar, an Arabian sword. Are you ready to win the Kentucky Derby? Maybe the Triple Crown, eh? You'll need a good name.

“Ayesha, any ideas, my girl? A good name for a Derby winner? The chestnut and the bay next to him already have names — Shadrach and Maximillian — after his sire, Millionaire. You were too young to remember, but Millionaire won the Derby ten years ago, when you were six. He's been our best stallion ever since.”

Ayesha turned toward me, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement. “They're so cute! The black one is the most beautiful foal I've ever seen.” She sighed dramatically, tilting her head and frowning in concentration.

“I hope he wins the Derby! I hope, I hope, I hope…” She thought for a moment. “How about Raja? Raja means ‘hope' in Arabic,” she explained to Bob, “and in India, Raja means ‘king,' or, ‘ruler,' so the name has a double meaning.” Her eyes lit up as she drew a breath in and held it, waiting for her father's response.

“I like it! Raja, it is. Bob, will you see about registering that name?”

“Of course, sir, I'd be happy to.”

One of the men in dark glasses approached. “Sheikh, I'm sorry to interrupt, but the Senator is waiting for you. It's time to leave.”

“We'll be right there, thank you.”

Princess Ayesha looked at me and smiled warmly, “Good bye, Raja.”

The Sheikh, Bob, and the dark-clothed men followed her gaze. Surprised, I raised my head sharply. Pretending to be indifferent but secretly liking the attention, I looked off in the distance at a movement — a man trimming a hedge a field away. All eyes were on me. I stamped, spun and galloped away, causing a stampede of foals and mothers, long broodmare manes flying, hooves pounding the ground like a hundred hammers.