History in the making

It’s the world cup finals 2007 and India is chasing a record total this time. Chasing down 441 is not a matter of joke especially when you are at 260 for 7 at the start of the 36th over when I walk into bat. Boos all around since I had been hit all around the park when the Aussies were batting and my economy rate of 23.5 runs for 6 overs stand testimony to the fact. Ganguly walks up to me almost mid of the Kensington Oval to ask me to just stay on the ground. Plagued with various conspiracies, he too is playing his first match of the tournament and that too because Sachin, Yuvraj and Mongia had been badly injured. He had blasted his way to a well made 40 after captain cool Dravid had made a 102 in under 70 balls. “Prabal, play it quiet and try to give me the strike as far as possible,” he says and I nod in affirmation.

“Leg stump,” says Billy Bowden and Gilchrist whistles a tune which I can vaguely recognize from behind. Brett Lee charges in, his tail up as he had seen the back of Kaif and Dhoni in successive overs. At 144 kmph, I just could make out a sound as the ball wheezes past my left ear. “That’s one for the over,” screams Bowden and the Kensington crowd boos all the more.

Ganguly screams from the other end, “Watch the ball Prabal.” Now how do I tell him that I am playing with one eye because Husseys catch which I had missed at third man a couple of hours back had left a big bloop, patches, blacks and all. The next ball, I barely make out is straight towards my organs. And suddenly there is Gopalda inside me saying, “Left foot. Down the track. One and half foot. Bat and pad close together. And make straight contact.” The next sight is Bowden ducks for cover and suddenly you can see the Indian flags fluttering. As a player I can tell you that is one of the most flattering sights you can see. One of the most optimistic audience who will go with you till the last ball if you agree to fight it till that distance. “That’s a six and that’s over Brett.” Lee is almost near me and whews his brush of hair with his exhale. “Patience sir will do a bit of good I hope,” says Ganguly as he eyes Lee and walks towards me. “But, that will rarely take you to 440,” I retort.

MacGill is next in round the wicket. The first ball Ganguly cuts in customary vintage style, and its racing towards the deep point boundary. “It wont make it to the boundary Prabal,” he screams as he races past me. “Make it three sir,” I jag back. Ponting is breezing towards the ball and slides into take it in his right hand and here comes the throw. I am almost starting my third as the ball crosses the gully fielders head and running with all the glucose I have. No wait its towards the non striker and Ganguly is half way. “Dive in,” I say as I race along and is too tense to look back. “Not out,” says Bowden as I look towards the big screen and see Sourav tumble in full length, bats, pads, boots, guards and all. As he stands up with a big grin, I rush towards him. “Everything fine dude, I have something to prove as well,” says he. Bowden pats him as he walks back to his mark.

I am back at my crease and thus starts the first of the five momentous balls in Indian cricket. First one is on leg turning in towards middle and off. Gopalda (oh by the way he was my coach, passed away of leukemia a couple of days before the semifinal, his body is still there awaiting my return for the funeral) in my head says, “On your right knee. Head straight. High bat lift and keep it low. Shoulders straight and try to hit flat.” The ball comes in from the Sobers stand.
Next ball is on off. Gopalda says, “A googly. Might turn in. Left leg to the pitch of the ball and do not be in doubt. If you want to lift, use a bigger bottom hand.” Ball is just at the bottom of the commentators box.

The crowd has gone mute with wonder almost like a channel under child lock. Ganguly is too tense even to watch me. That’s the fourth coming, well flighted up. Gopalda speaks again, “Down the track without any doubt. Meet it at half volley length and connect well, no half measures.” “Going, going, gone,” says Tony Greig in the commentators box. Gilchrist comments from behind saying, “Watch it dude. You are not hear for long.” I grin ear to ear. There is a change going on as the sweeper on the off moves towards deep square leg. Ganguly runs to me and says, “Prabal do not chance your arm too much.” I grin to him as well, much to his irritation.
Next ball on middle this time. Gopalda says to meet it straight, but I am late on my knees and I use the reverse handle. The ball pops up and just crosses the boundary ropes where the sweeper would have been. Ponting groans in chagrin. Admonishment from Gopalda, “That’s the most clumsy looking cricketing shot I have ever seen albeit a six. Never tell anybody that you were my pupil. I won’t talk to you again. Is this what you do in a world cup finals?” Ganguly is aghast.

The last ball is round the wicket. Macgill puts it way outside leg. Gopalda speaks, “Take your left leg out of the way. Keep it close to the pitch of the ball and hit. God be with you.” That’s on Sobers stand again. Gopalda grins in my head, “That’s the worst bit of cricketing advice I have ever given. Totally ungrammatical, but desperate times need desperate measures. What say kid.” Ganguly comes down, “Well done sonny, you make me proud.” The Indian audience is on their toes like popcorns on a hot tin roof (Sidhuism!!). Sehwag tries to stand in wonder, but is severely reprimanded by Sachin on one leg, “Sit right where you are. I do not want to lose by some of your stupid actions.” “But I want a snap of this kid,” cajole Sehwag. “I will give you the entire thing in DVD format if he takes it from here,” says a visibly irritated Sachin, still on one leg.

Lee is in again and the second ball this time it’s a snorter at me. I get hit on the guard right near my chin. I sway myself just around the wicket and fall heavily on the ground. The Aussie players crowd around me. I am bleeding profusely, and the medicos are here. “Are you fine?” says someone. I try to sit up and is helped by Gloster. He tries to stitch me up and am feeling a bit better now. Gloster asks all to make some way and let some air come in. There is a Mexican wave chanting my name. I plonk again and Gloster takes me on a stretcher and carries me back with 36 in 7 balls retired hurt to my name.

I am sobbing at the make shift operation table. I am stitched up, injected with some incomprehensible pain killers. The world is bobbly and Gopalda says, “What the hell have you been doing? I just went out for a smoke and by the time I am back you are at this table.” “I am no good Gopalda, I cannot fight,” I say sobbing. “That I know, but what face will you show at your fellow countrymen. Will you be ready to carry the burdens of losing your second world cup?” There is a roar outside and Harbhajan returns with tears in his eyes. The entire contingent is downcast.

I return wobbling towards the team and sit at a chair behind everyone. Meanwhile Ganguly cuts over point again and the ball sails over the boundary. Lee steams in and looks menacingly towards him. Ganguly does not even bother to look. Two balls later he is hit straight. A copy book four to end the over.

Mcgrath is in from the other side to Ajit. The first ball he misses. The second is cover driven handsomely for four. The third is hit to third man for two. The fourth is edged between the first and second slip for four. The fifth has his furniture behind him shattered. India 306-9 in the 40th. 10 overs and 134 to get. Its that simple.

Zaheer puts on his helmet and suddenly I hear myself speak. “Wait. Let me in.” Gloster says, “You won’t last it there dude. Take rest.” I do not even listen to his words. Greg had been my biggest critic. Lazybones. Overweight. That’s all I heard from him. He puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “Take care, son.” I grin with all the movements that I can muster from my facial muscles.

Sachin walks up to me, “You have changed much of Indian cricket in the space of 7 balls. You have 60 balls more to change history. Let God be with you.” They all patted me, shook my shoulders, Kaif, Bhajji, Anilbhai, Yuvi, Dhoni. I start to walk out when suddenly there is a stern tone behind me, “Wait kid. I will run for you.” Rahul Dravid is all padded up, helmets, guards and all. He walks up to me and puts a hand around my shoulder and turns to the team. “Don’t worry folks, we will win it and come. He will win it for us.” And then turns towards me, “Lets go buddy.” Ajit meets us at the staircase, smiles and wishes me luck.

After a space of a few seconds, I find myself limping into the Kensington Oval. The entire audience stands up and applauds my return. The Indian contingent is emphatic. Bugles, flags, banners and… hope. Ravi Shastri says on air, “This is the greatest tribute to cricket and the undaunted human spirit. Hats off lad.” Ganguly walks towards me and says, “You will make all proud today.” The Aussie team nods and claps in disenchantment.

So starts the last 45 minutes of an epic. Lee to Ganguly. Cover driven for four. Again and four again. Short and pulled awkwardly. Ball plocks and lands at nowhere. Three runs. I take guard. All pain is shrouded. Gopalda is at his desk, “Backfoot, weight on right leg let the ball on to the bat and punch hard.” Four it is. Next ball. “On your right leg. Full weight. Stretch yourself like a spring and find the gap between the two gullies like a surgeon.” The point fielder jogs towards the boundary to collect the ball.

And so it happens. Cuts, pulls, drives, hoiks as Ganguly reaches to 79 and I am at 91 in 22 balls. Last over and victory is almost ours. Symonds it is and Ganguly tries to reach victory with a six, miscues and is holed out at long on. He trudges back in disgust. Dravid runs half way down Kensington and puts his hands around Ganguly’s shoulders.

The last wicket is in Zaheer. The Aussies throng him with weird jokes. Second ball, play and miss. Three balls and five runs to get. Next ball edges, Hayden fumbles with the catches and drops, but Dravid is off. Munaf sees it late and starts running. Gilchrist has picked up the ball and is about to throw. Both of them dive in full length towards their respective creases as the ball kisses off the bails at the non striker. Picture perfect, it cannot get better than this as Rudi Koertzen refers to the third umpire and not out is the verdict.

The fielding is set. Symonds comes in. Short and fast. Gopalda says, “Make it cheeky, turn it around the corner of leg slip. Move towards off, shift your weight accordingly, and just deviate it from Gilchrist.” The ball is almost there….

There is an alarm. “How much do you sleep,” rants the maid. “Don’t you remember you have to go to office? Bloody old fatso.”

I never return on the shoulders of my teammates and kiss the cup. It always ends this way. Sob.