Musings of ‘The Balla’

The balla swung again in despair. Shashtri could have commented it as a text book drive if the cherry would have connected perfectly. But no use, the kookaburra hasn’t been friendly this season.

He dared not to look at the scoreboard, but it has already started screaming, “15, this time man!”

The master has already set on the exit course towards pavilion. As usual, his phlegmatic face didn’t surprise him. The touch of the bare sweaty hands of the master and the warm embrace of his body soothed his shaking face. The effort to hide behind those little palms and muscular hands proved futile amidst thousand glaring eyes that seemed to cry in unison “Where is the damn hundred?”

He wanted to race back to the pavilion and to hide behind the zipped corners of the kit bag. No, he can’t face the burden any more. He simply can’t.

But, amidst the crowd of the thousand dejected fans, he felt somewhat guilty. Has he really lost that touch, that flick, that charm, that magic? The pressure of that illusive century is increasing day by day, both upon him and his master, he thought.

The green turf at the Adelaide made the final adieu. Perhaps, it’s the final moment with a longtime friend. That 153, on a tough morning back in 2008 , flashed back in his memory. Those standing ovations, cheers and the sensual touch with the cherries throughout the day, everything seemed as they happened just few days ago. Centuries were cheaper those days, the balla remembered.

Suddenly, something odd caught his attention. Amidst the cries of opponents, he found the master relentlessly walking towards the pavilion. But even within his firm grips, he found uneasiness, a trouble, a weight he is unable to carry; the weight of the expectations of a whole nation which can even sacrifice the result of one series to get that elusive hundred. Mixed feelings came running in from past. The sweetness of that Nagpur night when he muscled the ball to get that 99^th one overwhelmed him at first , but the the bitterness and guilt followed, with the sour memoirs of that Pakistan encounter in semifinal, when he missed the ton by just 15 runs.

21 tests, 7 ODIs afterwards, the wait is still on. The dream to be the ‘bat’ that scored the 100^th one is still a dream.

Will it remain as such?

Isn’t the figure ‘99’ enough to state him as the greatest bat ever possessed?

Several questions confounded his little brain as he made his way back to the kit bag.

Naah, the next match would it be. The balla went to sleep with a final promise to keep.