Free Web NovelChapter 27: Chapter 27: Wall Of The First Inning
The sun moved right over the center of the pitch by 10:30 AM, baking the wet sheen off the white clay. The outfield grass grew hotter, the heat rising up through the thin canvas soles of my boots.
Kulkarni was into his fifth over from the pavilion end, his pace still clicking around 115 km/h. He ran in, his shirt completely soaked at the collar, and fired a short delivery right at my left shoulder.
He’s trying to make me pop a catch to short-leg. Keep the hands low.
I dropped my weight, letting the ball sail past my helmet. The keeper grabbed it high, gesturing to the slip cordon.
"He’s not moving his feet, Kulkarni!" the first slip shouted, kicking the dirt. "Keep him back there!"
On the fourth ball, Kulkarni dropped it full outside off-stump, trying to tempt a cover drive. I planted my left foot down, kept my bat straight next to my pad, and deadened the ball right into the crease soil.
Thud.
Nitin walked down the pitch from the non-striker’s end, scraping his shoe over a small mark on the turf. "They’re changing the fielders now, Kabir. Their captain is putting a deep point."
"Let them move," I said, wiping the sweat from my eyes with my sleeve. "The ball isn’t swinging anymore. Kulkarni is going to bowl a loose one before the over ends."
The final ball of the over was a tired leg-stump half-volley. I stayed steady on my back heel, rolling my wrists to flick it through the empty square-leg area. The ball rolled fast across the thick grass, hitting the boundary boards.
Score: 24 for 1. Kabir has 14 runs off 32 balls.
By 11:15 AM, the IES New English captain brought on his main off-spinner, a stocky boy named Chavan.
The pitch was completely dry now, and small puffs of red dust came up whenever Chavan landed the ball on the good-length mark. Nitin faced him first, using a long stride to block the spin right under his nose.
Click.
Click.
Chavan bowled a very tight line on middle-and-off. On the fifth ball, he tossed it a fraction higher, making the ball drift away in the air. Nitin reached out with loose hands to force a single through the covers. The ball took a thick outer edge, flying just past the diving gully fielder for a double.
Achrekar sir sat on the wooden bench near the ropes, his hands resting on his knees, watching Nitin’s hands. Nitin looked back at the bench once, then quickly fixed his stance, his face flushing red under his helmet.
"Watch the wrist, Nitin," I called out from the other end. "He’s releasing it from the fingers, not the palm. It’s sliding straight."
Nitin nodded, tapping his bat handle against mine as we changed ends after a single.
Right at 11:30 AM, the main umpire pulled the bails off the stumps for the forty-minute lunch break. We walked back to the pavilion tent with our bats under our arms. The scoreboard read 62 Runs / 1 Wicket in 28 overs [M]. Nitin was on 28*, and I had ground out 34* Runs off 76 balls.
The changing room stayed completely silent during lunch. Nobody talked about boundaries. I sat on my kit box, eating small pieces of boiled chicken from my container. My forearms were burning from the continuous vibrations of blocking the hard leather.
At 12:10 PM, the umpires called us back out. The afternoon sun was an absolute kiln, the concrete stands trapping the heat right inside the ground.
IES New English started with their left-arm orthodox spinner, Joshi, from the far end [M]. The ball was now thirty-two overs old, the shine completely gone from both sides.
Nitin took guard against Chavan from the pavilion end. On the third over after lunch, Chavan landed a flat delivery right into a spike mark on a good length. The ball didn’t bounce at all. It just skidded low along the clay, cutting inside Nitin’s defensive blade and striking his front pad before he could even drop his wrists.
Thud.
"Howzatt!" the whole inner ring screamed together.
The umpire lifted his index finger immediately. Nitin stood there for two seconds, looking down at his toes, before turning around to walk back. He was out for a gritty 28.
Score: 94 Runs / 2 Wickets (34.2 Overs).
Amit walked out at number four, his jersey already soaked with sweat before he even faced a ball. He looked over at the fielders, who were moving closer into the ring, their voices getting louder.
"Two down, boys! The small kid is alone now! Put the pressure on him!"
Amit took his guard, his bat tapping nervously against the crease line. Chavan ran in and delivered a looping ball outside off-stump. Amit reached forward, his wrists tense, and poked blindly at the turn. The ball missed his outside edge by an inch.
"Don’t chase it, Amit," I yelled from the non-striker’s end, stepping out of my crease to meet him. "The ball is turning sharply off the ridge. Just block the line of the stumps. Leave the rest alone."
Amit bit his lip, his eyes darting toward the slip cordon. "It’s spitting off the dirt, Kabir. I can’t see the spin clearly."
"Then don’t look for the spin. Just play it under your eyes," I said, tapping his pad.
But the pressure was too heavy for our middle-order. In the forty-second over, Amit tried to play a risky sweep shot against Joshi’s left-arm spin, looking to clear the infield. The ball turned off a crumbling crack, caught a massive top edge, and looped straight to the short-mid-wicket fielder. He was out for just 11.
Three overs later, our number five batsman got clean-bowled trying to cut a straight delivery that kept low.
Score: 122 Runs / 4 Wickets.
The middle order is completely folding. The tail is going to be out before tea. I have to shield them from the spinners.
[Tendulkar Sync: 18.0%]
The mental blueprint clicked firmly into my vision. I shifted gears, accessing Sachin’s precise gap grid to manufacture runs along the ground.
When Chavan drifted too full outside off, I leaned my weight onto my front knee, opening the face of the blade to punch the ball right between point and cover-point for a boundary.
Smack.
Two balls later, Joshi bowled a short delivery on my pads. I stayed perfectly steady on my rear foot, rolled my wrists over the bounce, and flicked it through the empty mid-wicket pocket, running hard doubles that made my chest burn from the exhaustion.
By the 2:10 PM tea bell, I had ground my way to 74* Not Out off 152 balls, hitting five ground boundaries. Shardashram reached the break at 148 Runs / 4 Wickets in 54 overs.
We sat in the tent for twenty minutes. My hands shook so much I could barely hold the water glass. The senior boys sat with their heads down, none of them looking at Achrekar sir, who wrote quietly in his black book.
"The tail is out next, Kabir," Sanjay whispered, tying his keeper guards. "You have to take most of the strike now. If they get you, we won’t even reach two hundred."
"I’ll keep the strike for the first four balls," I said, my throat feeling like sandpaper. "Just survive the end of the over."
At 2:30 PM, we walked out for the final evening session.
The IES New English captain took the option to bring back Kulkarni with the old, soft ball. They wanted to use the reverse movement to clean up our lower order before the day ended.
Our number six batsman lasted four balls before Kulkarni trapped him LBW with a fast, tailing ball at his toes.
Score: 154 for 5.
The number seven walked out and got caught at slip two overs later.
Score: 168 for 6.
It’s just me and the tail now. Shield the stumps. Take the singles on the fourth ball.
I locked myself into a complete survival shell. Kulkarni ran in hard, delivering fast, reverse-swinging yorkers right at my shoelaces. I used a dead bat, dropping the leather right onto the white clay. When they put three fielders on the leg-side boundary, I stopped looking for the flick. I used my wrists to guide the ball into the vacant off-side gaps, running desperate singles on the fifth ball of every over to keep the senior bowlers from facing their main spinners.
My score crawled past eighty, then ninety. My legs trembled with every stride, my white uniform brown from the maidan soil.
By 4:10 PM, I was sitting on ninety-nine.
Kulkarni came back into the attack, his shirt completely stained with red dirt. He pushed his mid-on and mid-off right back to the boundary rope to stop any century celebration. He ran in and delivered a full ball right on the fourth-stump line.
I leaned my weight forward, keeping my chin perfectly over the ball, and punched it straight past his right leg. The ball didn’t have the speed to reach the fence on the thick grass, but it rolled cleanly through the empty mid-off region.
"Two, Kabir! Run!" Devendra shouted from the non-striker’s end.
We crossed for the first one easily. I turned hard, my spikes slipping once in the loose soil near the crease. I lunged back toward the batting line, sliding my willow blade through the red dust just as the keeper collected the throw and broke the stumps.
The leg-umpire looked at the square and nodded his head down. Safe.
The status box updated in the corner of my eye: 105 Runs (212 Balls) | Grand Final Century.
The Shardashram tent erupted, the standby boys clapping loudly. I raised my bat toward the boundary fence. My dad stood near the cycle stand by himself, his arms crossed, nodding once.
But the exhaustion completely took over my eight-year-old muscles. My focus broke by a fraction of a millimeter on the very next ball.
Kulkarni ran in and fired a quick, flat delivery that hit a deep crack on a length. The ball completely died on the surface, shooting under my defensive blade and crashing straight into the base of the off-stump.
Clack.
The bails flew into the dirt. I was out for 105.
I lifted my bat onto my shoulder and began the long walk back to the pavilion stairs, my head down. The remaining two tail-enders didn’t last another five minutes against Kulkarni’s pace, getting clean-bowled within the next over.
Right at 4:25 PM, Shardashram was bundled out for exactly 210 All Out in 76 overs.
