Chapter 26: Chapter 26: start of the finals
The white sightscreen at the pavilion end rose twenty feet into the morning sky. It looked massive against the gray concrete rows of the empty Brabourne stands. Walking down the stone stairs from the main dressing room felt like a long trek. My spikes made a sharp clicking sound against the stone path until they hit the grass. Once we stepped onto the outfield, the noise stopped completely.
Kamlesh walked a yard to my left side. His bat was tucked deep under his armpit. His fingers kept pulling his helmet grill up and down every few steps.
"The grass is too thick, re," Kamlesh said, looking straight ahead. "The ball is going to slow down on the ground."
"Don’t worry about the outfield," I told him, adjusting my left elbow guard. "Just watch the bounce. It’s not like Azad Maidan. The ball will carry right to the keeper’s chest if you stay stuck inside your crease."
We reached the center square. The match pitch was rolled flat and bone-white. It looked almost like a polished stone floor under the morning sun. It was sweating a little bit after being under the plastic covers all night, leaving a wet sheen on the top clay.
I stood over the batting crease, looking across at the umpire. "Sir, leg-stump."
The umpire lined his finger up with my wood blade, shifting his stance behind the bails. "Line is correct, son. Play."
I scratched the line into the hard dirt with the toe of my boot. I took a deep breath and tapped my bat twice behind my rear shoe.
The legs are warm. Wrist feels stiff from the grease. The system is locked.
[Tendulkar Sync: 18.0%]
[Akram Sync: 18.0%]
The blue text updated in the quiet corners of my eyes. It stayed for one second before dissolving into the glare of the pitch. The mechanical balance of Sachin’s stance settled straight into my shoulders. It dropped my center of gravity until my feet felt completely heavy and fixed to the clay.
At the top of the pavilion end mark stood Kulkarni, the opening fast bowler for IES New English School, Bandra [M]. He was fourteen years old, tall, with wide shoulders and long arms. He was turning a brand-new, cherry-red SG leather ball in his palms. His eyes were fixed right on my chest.
Their keeper squatted low behind the bails, his leather gloves clapping together with a loud, hollow sound. Smack.
"Arey, chotu cha helmet bagha re!" the keeper shouted, his voice echoing off the empty concrete blocks. "Ball disto ka tula? Watch out, his helmet will fall off on the bounce!"
The first slip leaned forward, laughing a little bit. "Bowl straight, Kulkarni. Put it on his fingers."
I didn’t look back at them. I kept my eyes locked straight on Kulkarni’s right hand as he started his run-up.
His heavy boots thudded hard against the turf, picking up speed fast. He loaded up side-on at the crease, his arm coming over in a high, straight circle, and unleashed a quick delivery right down the fourth-stump line.
The speed was real. At 115 km/h, the hard red ball rushed out of the white background like an absolute blur. The true stadium bounce caught me slightly off guard. The ball flew right past my helmet visor, whistling loudly before thudding into the keeper’s webbing.
Smack.
My heart hammered hard against my ribs. I had ducked late, my knees feeling stiff.
The carry is twice as fast as the maidans. If I commit my weight forward early, I’m dead. Stay back. Trust the back-foot trigger.
Kulkarni walked back to his mark with a small grin on his face. He didn’t say anything to me. He just rubbed the shiny red leather against his white trousers.
For the second ball, he ran in with the exact same speed. He fired it in the same spot, just three inches outside off-stump. This time, I didn’t move. I trusted the 18% Tendulkar balance, stayed perfectly still on my back heel, and lifted my arms high to let the ball pass cleanly into the gloves.
"Nice leave, Kabir," Kamlesh called out from the non-striker’s end, tapping his bat against the grass.
Kulkarni grew frustrated because he didn’t find an edge. On the third delivery, he changed his length, bowling fuller to search for a morning LBW on middle stump.
I saw the front-foot release early through my Akram database. I lunged forward with a short, disciplined stride, keeping my left shoulder pointing straight down the line, and blunted the ball dead into the soil right under my nose.
Thud.
The ball stopped dead in the dirt. No run.
The fourth ball was another defensive block outside off-stump, the blade meeting the ball with a soft handle to prevent any catch.
By the fifth delivery, Kulkarni’s pace stayed high, but his wrist position scrambled because he was annoyed. He tried to force a fast outswinger but leaked the ball way too wide, delivering a full half-volley outside the off-stump line.
It was a classic bait ball.
I didn’t swing with wild, crazy power. I just leaned my weight onto my front knee, extended my small arms, and let the face of the bat flow through a straight cover drive.
Smack.
The timing was perfect, the ball hitting the exact middle of the wood. It flew along the turf, flashing right between point and short-cover before the fielders could even drop their shoulders. The outfield was lightning fast. The ball hit the iron boundary fence with a loud clang.
The IES New English slip ring went completely quiet. The keeper stopped shouting.
I didn’t celebrate or look at their dugout. I just turned around, tapped the crease twice with my bat, and blocked the final delivery of the over straight back to the bowler’s hands.
Score: 4 for 0.
The second over began from the far end. Deshmukh, their second opening seamer, took the ball. He was shorter, but he used a very loose wrist release that allowed him to swing the ball sharply using the morning sweat on the turf.
Kamlesh took his guard, his feet shuffling nervously inside the crease. His shoulders were high and tense.
Deshmukh ran in, delivering a fast ball on a good length that angled into the pads. Kamlesh tried to push forward with a crooked bat, his blade closing too early. The leather caught a thick inside edge, flying dangerously close to the short-leg fielder before dropping into the dirt.
"Calm down, Kamlesh!" Nitin shouted from the boundary fence. "Watch the line!"
Kamlesh didn’t look back. He scratched the turf with his spike, his forehead already wet with sweat under his helmet visor.
On the third ball, Deshmukh bowled another fuller delivery on middle stump. Kamlesh blocked it awkwardly, the ball bouncing off the inner portion of his bat toward mid-on. He was rushing his shots, his hands working way ahead of his feet.
For the fifth delivery, Deshmukh set the trap. He ran in, loaded up with the same action, but released the ball half an inch wider from the side of the crease. The leather landed right on the off-stump line, gripped the morning moisture, and turned sharply away from the batsman’s body.
Kamlesh broke the golden rule of survival. He got greedy for a boundary, reaching out with loose wrists away from his chest line, his feet completely stuck in the clay.
The outswinger caught a thick outside edge.
Clack.
The ball flew low and fast, right between first and second slip. Their second slip fielder dropped his knees instantly, cupping his palms right at shin height to swallow the leather cleanly.
"Howzatt!" the whole team roared together, their hands flying up.
The main umpire didn’t hesitate for a single second. His right index finger shot straight into the morning sky.
Kamlesh dropped his chin onto his chest. He stood there for three seconds, looking down at the patch of white clay where his bat had poked, before turning around to begin the long, silent walk back to the pavilion. He was gone for a five-ball duck.
Score: 4 Runs / 1 Wicket (1.5 Overs). Shardashram was in trouble early.
Nitin walked out at number three, his face completely serious as he adjusted his arm guard. He met me halfway near the non-striker’s crease, tapping his bat handle against mine.
"Sir bolla wicket nahi gela pahije now," Nitin whispered, his voice quiet under his helmet grill. "They are bowling very quick. Keep the ball completely on the dirt, Kabir. No risky runs."
"The moisture will dry up in four overs," I said, looking over at Deshmukh’s bowling mark. "Just block the straight ones. Let the wide ones carry to the keeper."
Nitin nodded once, walking down to take his guard line. He blocked the final ball of the over cleanly, letting his blade deaden the ball into the grass.
For the next four overs, the match entered a completely frozen state of pure grind. IES New English sensed blood after Kamlesh’s duck, packing the inner ring with three slips, a wide gully, and a short-leg who stood just seven feet away from my bat face.
Kulkarni ran in relentlessly from the pavilion end, using his speed to target my ribs with short, heavy deliveries.
Stay low. Drop the shoulders. Don’t look at the ball once it clears the nose.
I ducked under two consecutive bouncers, letting the red leather whistle past my helmet into the keeper’s gloves. When Deshmukh tried to bowl tight on the fourth-stump line from the opposite end, Nitin and I just put our heads down, burying our bats right next to our front pads to deaden every single bit of movement.
The fielders kept talking, trying to provoke an aerial shot, but my 18% Tendulkar grid kept my focus locked down. If the ball wasn’t hitting the stumps, I didn’t move my arms.
By the end of the sixth over, we had ground out just eight more runs through quiet leg-byes and two tight singles into the vacant mid-wicket pocket. The scoreboard on the grandstand frame moved slowly to 12 Runs / 1 Wicket in 6 overs [M]. Nitin was unbeaten on 2* off 13 balls, and I had pushed my score to 8* Not Out off 18 balls.
We had lost Kamlesh for nothing, but the opening morning choke was finally starting to ease as the sun baked the moisture out of the white clay. The long four-day battle was just beginning.
Comments