Truly Madly Deeply (18 page)

They were now seven down for 107 with just about seven overs left. Faced with the sudden loss of wickets, the run rate dipped down and the boundaries dried up for the next couple of
overs. The next man, Mushtaq and Rahul, both played watchfully but in the process could just make 16 runs of the total 18 deliveries in the partnership.

The Blue house knew the game was up for them and there was widespread unrest in the players' tent as much as it was in their house stand. Rahul took strike again, but not before glancing at the black manual board, which a small boy updated with the single he had taken on the last ball of the last over. He was not taken aback by the equation; he knew getting 72 runs in five overs was a herculean task but not one that was impossible. Perhaps such an instance would never happen again, he would never permit his pride to
rule over the happenings. He had always dreamt of standing out in such a moment, if ever there was a time to realise that dream, it was NOW!

“Mushtaq, play your shots in the straight V. The fielders are a lot finer, just concentrate,” Rahul whispered in Mushtaq's ear.

Mushtaq played it straight along the ground and only managed to get him a single.

What followed after that perhaps could only be best described by the Green house bowlers, as two balls were lost in the five sixes that came in the next two overs. Rahul played an on-drive and followed it with a straight drive to find two consecutive boundaries and used his bottom hand to muscle away the fuller length deliveries into the stands while cutting and pulling away the rising deliveries.

“Don't try to hit it. The ball will disappear if you just time it well, just gather power in your swing, not in your arms,” Rahul suggested and Mushtaq nodded.

Mushtaq made no effort to keep the ball down on the ground on each delivery that he faced and was trying to hit it in the V region behind the bowler. It seemed luck aided them somewhere as a couple of catches went down and some hard edges flew past the keeper to the boundary and over gully.

Rahul checked the equation again, with two overs remaining. The small boy next to the scoreboard had just finished putting up a three besides a two in the required field on the scoring board. Mushtaq faced Ramadan, who looked lost at the way the pendulum had swung. The bowler knew this would be a deciding over, that would tilt the game towards either side. Mushtaq could not read Ramadan's line and after two dot deliveries, ended up pulling a slow delivery straight into the hands of the mid-wicket fielder, who pouched a difficult catch.

Khalid walked in next. He looked nervous and shaken in that place. The first thing Rahul did was to calm him down, after walking
upto him.

“Shit, I can't grip the bat. My hands are as wet as a slut's pussy.,” he complained.

“Abey CKB, this is not the time to entertain your fascination for pussies. You can meow-meow with them later all you like, just get me on strike for now and adjust your gloves again if your hands are sweaty,” Rahul admonished, feeling irritated.

“Don't panic!” he repeated before going back to the
non-striker's end.

The dapper guy nudged the ball all right, but straight into the hands of the forward short-leg fielder, who was more than joyful to accept it. Sensing fresh blood, the Green house fielders moved in for the kill, when Vishal walked in.

Rahul considered his options. He knew that Vishal was as useful with the cricket bat as a white crayon on white paper but he tried to think calmly. It was their last wicket and if Vishal did anything silly, there would be no second chances. The field was up. Rahul, anyways, was not going to go for a single with two balls to spare in what had turned out to be a nightmarish over until then. Rahul had a long talk with Vishal much to the irritation of the fielders. There was no use telling him to get a single as he noticed the batsmen became more nervous if he did so. He told Vishal, to hit the ball hard with his willow trying to keep it on the ground, wherever he gets the chance.

The poor guy just kept nodding to whatever the captain was saying without taking in much of it but that's exactly what he did, unintentionally though, as he gave an unintended half-volley a mighty heave intending to clear mid-wicket. Fortune favours the brave, they say and it did so now, as another edge whizzed past the slip fielder and reached the boundary. Ramadan came up well the next ball, with a good length delivery that Vishal missed even before moving his bat.

18 RUNS OFF ONE OVER! Rahul's brain did not comprehend much. He had done it once before, he remembered. Playing in his chuddies, with his little cousins, he had managed the twenty-four runs required of the last over but that was in a small playground right below the building in which his aunt stayed. And he doubted whether he could count that event to boost himself right then.

Asif took the ball in his hands. He knew Asif was a tight length bowler; he had faced him before, when he had come to play with his local buddies for a colonial clash. In such a clash, there would be no friendship and where a win or loss mattered, there would be no room for such manipulation.

There was widespread discomfort around the ground. The Yellow and Red houses gave mixed reactions but the participating houses remained loyal to their respective colours now.

Rahul boxed the pitch with his bat, checking for holes around him and feeling the comforting presence of his bat. Asif ran in with the ball in his hand with a peculiar action, he had a stumbling gait, just pausing for a slight second before
delivering, he let go of the ball. Rahul too stood in an unusual stride with his back foot pointing towards square-leg. He had changed his stance and played an orthodox shot sweeping the ball when it was near enough, right over the keeper's head, where any fielder could not do much except watch the ball crash into the boundary. It was obvious, Asif was targeting the safe
Yorkers, and he had almost got it right the very first delivery, he had bowled.

The very next delivery, the bowler came up with an interesting reply with a well-disguised, slower delivery that deceived Rahul, who was in attack mode; he could just manage to check his shot at the last moment and prevent himself from playing the aerial lofted shot early and into the hands of a waiting hawk at mid-off. The dot ball was cheered with much excitement from the stand to the left of Rahul, who did not raise his head to check the source of the noise.

Another pitched up delivery, saw Rahul drive it in the gap between cover and extra cover and it was just stopped inches away from the boundary. Rahul refused the third run although it was on, and wondered whether he should have taken it, just in case they lost and the deciding blame also fell on him. He dreaded losing the game from here and wondered how he would face others. He gave support to himself saying that they had at least reached near such a mammoth score and that should keep his housemates shut but he knew losing by 100 runs or 1 run, losing was losing. Failure was something unknown to him and he wished it would remain that way, not wanting to remind himself of the quiz competition.

Rahul reprimanded himself for thinking about the result when the task was still unfinished but evidently that did affect his square cut, as his bat could not find the ball and it passed unscathed into the keeper's gloves. Rahul kicked himself mentally, 12 runs of two deliveries was a distant dream. He knew then the burden he had taken on his shoulders, he kicked himself for actually playing so cautiously earlier on. Maybe just two more deliveries from those innumerable dot balls could have made a difference. His mind recollected the old adage of Pride going before a fall. But alas, what was gone was gone, and there was no use repenting it; he was still trying to clear his mind of all the jumbling when the next ball came up as a daring bouncer that Rahul tried to pull but it took the edge and stayed put. It was collected by the bowler even before Rahul could think of a single.

Rahul hated himself further, the game was gone and his reputation of being the winner would go to ashes, in no time now. A huge roar erupted from the Green house stand whereas the people who were on their feet in the Blue house stand, sat down in disappointment. The game was over; the next ball would be a mere formality.

Rahul concentrated on himself, collecting his thoughts. Walking off from the crease for a few steps, he tried to gather his broken self-esteem. With lowered eyes, he did not realise himself looking towards his left and meeting the eyes of the one his heart was expecting to. Seema was not yet rejoicing like the others around her, she was not jumping around like those behind her, she was right in front, watching Rahul intently with compassionate eyes.

Perhaps she understood how he felt at that time, what he was going through, and suddenly he was aware of the warmth in his chest that gave him a senseless hope that made him quiver and strengthen his grip on his bat for balance. Rahul closed his eyes; he saw the contrast of the scene he had just witnessed. He loves me, he loves me not; He loves me, he loves me not; He loves me, he loves me not.

Rahul realised that the game could never be lost until the last ball was bowled. He called upon for all his reserve strength to face the ball that would be just an official ritual for all but him. Asif ran at him smiling in his usual Cheshire cat manner. It was a low full toss but it soon became a high one as it disappeared in the top most stands over long on. Rahul walked ahead with a dejected face to congratulate Asif, but froze as he looked up hesitantly because the sudden noise had ceased; the reason being the left hand of
Godfrey Sir was sticking out horizontally, signifying one more extra delivery. That meant they still had a chance of a no-ball, a faint glimmer of hope.

The ground was filled with all kinds of noises, some thanking
God, some abusing the bowler, while others hailing the boy with the bat.

Rahul now weighed the options, he could try and win the game, repeating this kind of a similar shot but he knew Asif would be more careful now or he could try and look for a boundary and tie the game and share the cup. There was a quick team meeting between the fielders and almost all dispersed near the boundary apart from the mandatory four that remained in the circle.

“What are you going to do?” Vishal asked, walking upto him.

“I don't know. I'll decide when I see the ball,” Rahul said softly.

Rahul did not finalise anything; he left it to the Almighty. All he knew was that he would play this delivery to the best of his abilities. For a reason not known to him, he looked to his left again. It was like she was waiting for that precise moment, Rahul could just make out her right hand thumb jutting out to the upper side, and he read her lips saying ‘Good luck.'

His eyes still disbelieving, he shook himself literally. His eyes grew wide and he almost strangulated his bat, as he took strike for the last delivery. Every nerve on his bone throbbed with pressure but only pleasant, every hair on his body stood up alert in attention, his aura oozed confidence, his stride unnerved the wicketkeeper, who was up to the stumps to try the same on him. There was absolute silence around the ground; the umpire's head was bent a bit more than expected. All eyes were no doubt on the place of the origin of the tension. All fingers were crossed in unrefined anxiousness.

Asif took a shorter run up, perhaps to ensure that this ball didn't end up as an extra. His footsteps were measured. Thwack, Thwack, Rahul's bat twice struck the ground, readying itself.

As Asif jumped over the ground to release the ball, Rahul knew in that instant second that he would never settle for a tie much less a loss, it was going to be victory all the way.

Asif let out a moan, out of the pressure of the run up and perhaps to unnerve the batsman, but the ball came in slower than everyone expected. It bounced and climbed on Rahul, who was quickly onto the backfoot and pulled it over deep mid-wicket over the fielder and into the very stand which was the source of the energy that he had found for the last two deliveries. There was a resounding roar as the ball bounced right in front of Seema, who jumped back, seemingly unnerved by her house's imminent loss.

The next thing Rahul remembered was being swept of his feet for his feat and lifted in the air as his housemates cheered for him and chanted his name as if it was the new school anthem. But then the house-cup still hung on the outcome of the debate competition which was delayed till a week before his preliminary exams. There was still an unfinished task and Rahul would see to it that he would achieve what he had set out to achieve.

***

It is said that success gets to your head and Rahul forgot the climatic emotions that he went through while facing the last delivery. He found other ways to look at things, none of which were positive, none of which could melt his misinformed anger.

Just because Seema was not in the huge crowd that came to shake hands with him, he thought it was obvious that she was envying him now. His pessimism reached its pinnacle when he thought that her good luck sign would have actually being a mockery to test his limits. The inter-house debate competition was just the perfect setting to show her what he was made of.

***

DEBATING THE VENGEANCE

After dinner, the guys wanted to play a game of Monopoly but Rahul looked at the watch and softly declined. Within five minutes of finishing a delicious dinner, Rahul wanted to be back at the hostel.

“Why are you leaving so late? Stay back. It's already dark,” Sahil said, as Rahul stepped towards the door.