The final was in eighteen hours.
The turning point came during the , the most brutal local tournament. The Tigers were losing badly to the rival “Dongri Devils,” a team known for playing dirty—eye-gouging, hair-pulling, ankle-stomping. Lala got injured. The coach looked around the bench. No one dared to step up. Then he saw Chandu, sitting in the corner, tying his worn-out canvas shoes.
Billa was so enraged that he forgot the rules. He grabbed Chandu by the collar after a raid and punched him. The referee disqualified the Devils. The Tigers won. And Chandu, bleeding from a split lip, was carried on the shoulders of his teammates. chandu champion
The ultimate test came when India announced its first-ever official kabaddi team for the . Chandu was selected as captain. But on the eve of the final match against Iran—the defending champions, unbeaten for eight years—disaster struck.
That was the beginning.
He faked a move to the left, Billa lunged, and Chandu twisted mid-air—the Flying Cobra. His fingertips grazed the midline, and he somersaulted back to safety. The crowd gasped. He did it again. And again. He raided seven times in a row, touching defenders like a ghost, escaping tackles like water through fingers. He didn’t just score points—he dismantled souls.
Mumbai swallowed him whole.
In the second half, the numbness began to fade. With ten minutes left, the pain exploded—white-hot, like someone hammering a nail into his bone. He could barely stand. The coach signaled to replace him.