Date: September 21, 2008 Time: 6:00 AM Location: Gymkhana Grounds (The Probables Camp).
Thirty boys stood in a line. The cream of the North Zone. Most of them were 13 or 14 years old—teenagers with cracking voices and developing muscles. Among the gleaming white Nike caps and branded jerseys, Sai stood in his faded school PT uniform. He was 10, turning 11 next month. He barely reached the shoulders of the boy standing next to him.
Mr. Baig (Head Selector) walked in with a whistle. "This week, we cut 15 names. Only the best 15 go to the Zonal Tournament. If you are lazy, you go home. If you are scared, you go home."
He pointed to the boundary line. "10 Laps. Now."
The Physical Gap
The boys took off. Vihan Reddy (the rich kid with the Honda City) sprinted to the front. He was 14, athletic, and trained by private coaches. He ran with long, powerful strides.
Sai started at the back. It wasn't a lack of effort; it was simple biology. His legs were short. For every one stride Vihan took, Sai had to take two and a half.
Lap 3: Sai was breathing hard. The "System" wasn't giving him magic energy; it was just warning him that his heart rate was spiking. Lap 6: Vihan lapped him. "Move it, Turtle," Vihan muttered, breezing past without breaking a sweat.
Sai gritted his teeth. Just don't stop. He fell into a rhythm. Inhale-2-3, Exhale-2-3.
By Lap 9, three chubby kids (who likely lied about their age) had vomited and walked off. Sai kept jogging. Plod. Plod. Plod.
He finished last. Dead last. But he didn't walk. He crossed the line jogging.
Baig Sir noted it on his clipboard. "Slow. Very slow. But stubborn."
Time: 10:30 AM The Simulation Match
The 30 boys were divided into Team A and Team B. Vihan was Captain of Team A. Sai was in Team B.
The pitch was a used, dusty track. Perfect for spin.
Team A batted first. Vihan scored a classy 40 runs. He bullied the smaller bowlers, using his reach to smash anything loose. Team A scored 125 in 20 overs.
Team B Chase. Sai walked in at Number 4. The score was 30/2. The spin bowlers were on.
And not just any spinner. The bowler was Kaushik, a lanky 14-year-old from Arshad Ayub Academy. Kaushik was special. In 2008, the world was just learning about Ajantha Mendis. Most kids had no idea what a "Carrom Ball" was. Kaushik did.
The Mystery
Sai took his guard. Vihan was standing at Silly Point (right next to the batsman), wearing a shin guard and a helmet. He was chirping. "This bowler eats kids for breakfast, Sai. Watch your knuckles."
Sai tapped the pitch. He looked at Kaushik.
Ball 1: Kaushik ran in. He held the ball like a standard off-spinner. He released it. Sai stepped forward to block. The ball pitched and zipped the other way (Leg Spin). It beat Sai's outside edge by a mile.
"Oooooh!" Vihan clapped, creating noise. "Magic ball! You can't pick it, kid!"
Sai stepped back, adjusting his helmet. Analysis: That was the Carrom Ball. It spun away.
In 2008, a 10-year-old would be confused. But Sai had the memory of a 20-year-old cricket nerd. He knew the biomechanics. To bowl a Carrom ball, you have to flick it with the middle finger. To do that, you have to tuck the thumb under or hold it differently.
Ball 2: Kaushik ran in. Sai focused entirely on the hand. He didn't have zoom vision. He just knew what to look for. Grip: Index finger and Thumb spread wide on the seam. Deduction: Off-Spin.
Sai planted his foot. He knew it would turn in. He played with the spin, flicking it softly to square leg. Single.
Vihan frowned. "Fluke."
Ball 3: Sai was back on strike. Kaushik wanted a wicket. He loaded up his special delivery. He ran in.
Sai watched the hand at the point of release. The Tell: Kaushik's thumb wasn't on the ball. His middle finger was bent behind the seam, ready to snap.
Deduction: Carrom Ball (Leg Break).
A normal batsman sees the off-spin action and closes the bat face. Sai waited. He didn't commit forward. He stayed back, watching the ball pitch. It turned away, just as he predicted.
Because he waited, he had time. He opened the face of the bat.
[CLICK]
He guided the ball past Vihan at Silly Point. It raced to the Third Man boundary. FOUR.
Kaushik stopped in his follow-through, mouth open. He picked it?
Vihan glared at Sai. "You guessed."
Sai looked at Vihan. "He hides his thumb for the Carrom ball. Tell him to hide it better."
The Bouncer and The Loose Strap
Kaushik was taken off. Vihan tossed the ball to a fast bowler, Zeeshan. Zeeshan was 14, nearly 5'10", and had a patchy beard. He was fast. "Bowl short," Vihan whispered. "He's too small. Scare him."
Zeeshan nodded. He moved the fielder to deep square leg.
Ball 1: Zeeshan steamed in. He banged it short. On this dusty pitch, the ball didn't bounce true. It skidded low and fast.
Sai saw the length. He tried to duck. But his reaction speed (limited by his 10-year-old muscles) was a fraction too slow for Zeeshan's pace.
CRACK.
The ball smashed into the side of Sai's helmet. Because the helmet was a borrowed, oversized club helmet, the strap was loose. The impact spun the helmet violently on Sai's head. The steel grill jammed into the bridge of his nose.
Sai collapsed to his knees. A sharp, blinding pain shot through his face. Warm blood instantly dripped onto the pitch.
"Stop!" The umpire yelled.
Baig Sir ran onto the field from the boundary. Vihan looked genuinely worried for a second. "I... I told him to bowl short, not aim for the head."
Reddy Sir ran in with a water bottle and a towel. "Sai! Sai!"
Sai sat up. His head was spinning. His nose felt like it was on fire. He touched his face. His hand came away red.
"Broken?" Reddy Sir asked, checking the nose. "No... just a cut. But it's bleeding a lot."
"Retire hurt," Baig Sir said firmly. "Go off. Next batsman."
Sai looked at the scoreboard. Team B: 85/4. Equation: 40 runs needed.
If he walked off now, he was the "brave kid who got hurt." He wouldn't be the "kid who got selected." Selectors don't pick victims. They pick survivors.
"No," Sai mumbled. His voice sounded nasally because of the blood.
"Don't be stupid," Baig Sir said. "You are bleeding."
Sai grabbed his helmet. The strap had snapped. "I want to bat."
He stood up, swaying slightly. He took the broken strap ends and tied them together in a crude, tight knot right under his chin. It was choking him slightly, but the helmet wouldn't move now.
He wiped the blood from his nose onto his white sleeve, leaving a dark crimson smear. He looked at Zeeshan. He looked at Vihan.
"Ready," Sai said.
The Counter-Attack
The pain was throbbing, pulsing with every heartbeat. But the fear was gone. I'm 10 years old fighting giants. If I play nice, I lose.
[SYSTEM STATUS] Adrenaline: High. Focus: Sharp. Technique: Survival Mode.
Ball 2: Zeeshan was rattled. He didn't want to hit the kid again. He overcompensated and bowled a full, floaty half-volley.
Sai didn't try to smash it. He didn't have the power. He leaned into it, using the "Perfect Rep" timing. [CLICK] He punched it straight past the bowler. The timing was so pure that the ball raced across the outfield. FOUR.
Ball 3: Zeeshan got angry again. He went back to the short ball. Wide outside off. Sai didn't duck this time. He knew he couldn't hook it (too weak). He waited. He jumped on his toes. He used the pace of the ball. The Upper Cut.
He just ramped the ball over the slip cordon. It flew to the vacant third-man boundary. FOUR.
Sai wasn't powering the ball. He was deflecting the giant's strength against him.
Vihan stood at point, hands on his hips. He wasn't chirping anymore. He was watching a 4-foot-tall kid with a bloody nose dismantle his fast bowler.
Sai batted for another 6 overs. He scored 32 Runs. mostly in singles, edges, and timed pushes (3-4 fours also). He got out eventually—caught at mid-on trying to clear the infield—but the damage was done.
As Sai walked off the field, holding his bloody nose, the dugout was silent.
Baig Sir didn't say "Well played." He just wrote a name on his list in permanent ink. 1. Sai Krishna.
Vihan walked past Sai as the teams switched sides. He looked at the knotted helmet strap. "Your helmet is trash," Vihan said, his voice flat.
Sai looked up. "It works."
"Tell your dad to buy a new one," Vihan said, looking away. "Or next time Zeeshan will actually kill you."
It was a warning. But coming from Vihan, it was practically a compliment.