Chapter 2 - chapter 2:Santos' Rising Star

Santos FC's trials in 1956 were a circus—kids from favelas, all dreaming big. I was 15, nerves jangling like Diwali fireworks. Coach Lula eyed me skeptically: too young, too scrawny. But when I nutmegged the defender and chipped the keeper—pure magic from my reincarnated playbook—they signed me on the spot.Debut season, 1957: I scored 4 goals in my first game. Newspapers screamed "O Rei!" The King. Fans chanted, but I stayed humble, teaching teammates yoga stretches from my past life to prevent injuries. "Breathe deep, brothers," I'd say. They laughed, then won.Money trickled in—first real cash for Mom's roof. I bought her a radio; she tuned to Hindi songs I hummed, confusing everyone. Off-field, I dodged temptations: girls, parties. Instead, I studied game tapes (smuggled from Europe) and nutrition—bananas, rice, no junk. My body transformed: explosive speed, vision like a hawk.1958 World Cup call-up stunned Brazil. I was 17, homesick for Agra's taj views, but focused. Plane ride, I prayed in Portuguese mixed with Hindi. In Sweden, I dazzled. Semi-final vs. France: hat-trick, ballet on grass. Final vs. Sweden? Injured early, but returned to seal 5-2 victory. Youngest World Cup winner ever. World bowed.Back home, parades choked São Paulo. President greeted me; I whispered to him about poverty fixes, channeling old-life activism. Santos became unbeatable. I netted 1,000+ goals, but innovated: no-look passes, rabonas before Maradona.Rivalries ignited. Botafogo's Nilton Santos tested me; I outfoxed him. Media frenzy grew—Pelé mania. But loneliness hit. Nights, I wondered: Am I stealing his life or honoring it? Letters from fans poured in; one from India called me "desi deus." Smiling, I replied.By 1962, another World Cup. Injury sidelined me early—frustration boiled. But Santos tours conquered the world: Europe, Asia. In India, Kolkata crowds rioted for my jersey. Felt like home. I scored against legends: Eusébio, Puskás. Records tumbled.Yet, politics loomed. Military dictatorship courted me as propaganda. I navigated carefully, using fame for peace pleas. Off-pitch, I built academies for poor kids, blending football with education—my reincarnated vision.Chapter closed with Santos' Libertadores win. I lifted the cup, tears mixing sweat. The boy from two worlds was now a man, stadiums my kingdom.