Chapter 18: Chapter 18:
The coin went up, flipped against the gray sky, and dropped into the grass.
Don Bosco’s captain leaned over. "Heads."
"Tails," the umpire said, tapping it with his shoe. He looked at Nitin. "What are you doing?"
Nitin didn’t even turn around to look at our tent. He just pointed at the pitch. "We’ll bowl first, Sir. There’s a lot of wet grass on it."
The other captain just nodded and walked back. The pitch looked dark green under the shadow of the buildings. The morning dew was still sitting heavy on the grass blades. It was a good track for bowling, at least for the first half hour.
I was sitting on the wooden bench, pulling my socks up. My thighs were still tight from yesterday’s long block, but the rest of my legs felt okay. The mustard oil rubs from last night had stopped the muscles from completely freezing up.
Achrekar sir walked over, his sandals crunching on the dry weeds near the boundary line. He reached into his linen bag, pulled out a new red SG leather ball, and dropped it into my lap.
It was cold and heavy. The seam felt sharp and completely unused.
"You’re opening from the Azad end, Kabir," Achrekar sir said, his voice flat. "The moisture will stay for thirty minutes before the sun dries it out. Don’t try to bowl too fast. Just hit the seam outside off and let the grass do the work."
I stood up, putting the ball in my pocket. "Should I swing it out early, Sir?"
"No," Achrekar sir said, cutting me off. "Their opener is a left-hander. He just pushes forward blindly. Keep it tight on his legs. Make him play crooked. If you give him width, he’ll cut you."
"Got it, Sir," I said, putting my cap on.
Nitin called the eleven of us into a quick huddle near the ropes.
"Listen," Nitin whispered, rubbing his hands together in the cold air. "Don Bosco scored two hundred and forty last week. They like using the pace. Devendra, you take the pavilion end. Kabir is opening from the far side. Keep the inner ring tight. Don’t let them take easy singles."
Walking to the bowling mark with a new ball felt completely different from yesterday’s blocking.
My fingers settled across the hard leather seam, locking into the grip—index and middle fingers squeezed tight together, thumb resting on the bottom pane.
I reached my five-step mark, turned around, and looked down.
At the striker’s end stood their left-hander, Rahul. He adjusted his helmet, tapping his heavy bat inside the crease, looking down the track at me. He was fourteen, much taller, and didn’t look worried at all facing an eight-year-old.
"Field, Kabir," Nitin called out from short-cover. "What do you want?"
I waved my left hand toward Kamlesh and Amit. Since Rahul was a left-hander and I was bowling over the wicket, the angle would naturally go away from his outside edge. "Kamlesh, come into first slip. Move to the off-side. Closer. Two steps right. Amit, take second slip."
I kept a mid-on and mid-off tight inside the ring, leaving the deep outfield completely empty.
Sanjay, our keeper, squatted down and clapped his gloves. Smack. "Come on, Kabir! Clean lines, re!"
I took a breath, looking right at Rahul’s front pad.
Shoulder feels okay. Wrist is locked. Let’s see what this leather does on wet grass.
I took my first step, running in with my short rhythm.
At the crease, I loaded up side-on, keeping my right shoulder pointing straight at Rahul’s chest to hide the ball behind my body until the last second. Then, I whipped my left arm through, snapping my wrist down.
[Akram Sync: 17.2%]
The ball left my hand straight on the seam, heading down the fifth-stump line. Rahul saw the width, stepped forward, and tried to punch it through the covers. But the second the leather hit the turf, it nipped back sharply in mid-air, cutting right back across him and whistling past his inside edge.
Smack.
The ball hit Sanjay’s gloves hard. Rahul stayed frozen in his shot, looking back at his stumps.
"Oye!" Sanjay shouted, throwing it back. "Beautiful, Kabir! He didn’t even see that!"
Good. The moisture is holding it late. Keep the same length. Don’t let him get forward.
I ran in again with the same rhythm, hiding the ball behind my hip. Rahul, scared of another sharp inswinger, shifted his weight back early to protect his pads. But this time, I released it a fraction later, keeping my fingers perfectly split across the seam. The ball flew straight down middle-stump, hit the grass, and skidded low without turning at all. It hit his front pad right below the knee.
"Howzatt!" Sanjay and I yelled, our hands up.
The umpire shook his head, waving his hand down to show it pitched just outside the leg-stump line. Rahul let out a loud breath, sweat already on his forehead.
For the third ball, I targeted the same spot but let the ball angle slightly wider before release. Rahul, completely confused by the late movement, played with a dead bat, poking blindly. The leather hit the shoulder of his bat with a dull clack and dropped into the dirt at his feet.
Three dots. Pressure is building. He wants to score to get out of the trap.
I ran in again, using a faster arm action to mess with his timing. I bowled a full half-volley wide outside off-stump. A classic bait ball. Rahul’s eyes lit up; he lunged forward, throwing his hands into a massive cover drive. But the ball hit the wet turf and nipped back late, cutting right through the gap between his bat and pad. It missed the inside edge by nothing, thudding into the keeper’s webbing.
"Lovely, Kabir!" Nitin yelled from the covers. "He’s completely blind to the angle!"
By the fifth delivery, the Don Bosco captain was standing near the fence, looking tense. Rahul stood deep inside his crease, his knees shaking a bit as he took his stance. I ran in, bowling a shorter, heavier ball right at his chest. Rahul panicked, throwing his hands up in a clumsy block. The ball clipped the shoulder of his bat and dropped straight into the dirt near short-leg.
One more ball. Keep it straight. Finish the maiden.
I took my final run-up, my left wrist snapping down hard. The ball flew down the middle-stump line, pitching right on a length. Rahul didn’t even try to look for a single. He went into full survival mode, dropping his head and slamming his bat down straight to blunt my final delivery back into the grass.
I fielded the ball cleanly with my left hand and tossed it back to the umpire without looking at him.
The over was an absolute maiden. Zero runs.
I walked back toward the boundary to change ends, my left shoulder feeling warm. Nitin walked past me, giving me a quick slap on the back. "Brilliant over, re. He didn’t even read the angle."
I took my white cloth cap back from the umpire, wiped the sweat off my forehead with the back of my sleeve, and walked toward short-mid-off. The grass was already drying up under the sun.
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