The Dressing Room Of Eden Gardens

We Will Go Down Fighting

Kolkata, 2001- Day 3- End of Inning 1

Sourav sips his tea. He looks much calmer than what he is feeling on the inside. There is a burn in his chest, he doesn't know if its from the tea or from the pain he is feeling, watching Laxman walk back, heckling Aussies walking him back mockingly. A loss like this, would be a great hit to his pride but a greater hit on India's pride. There is a voice in his subconscious, a nasty nasally voice reminding him that this was his fault, him and his tall talks, his big mouth. But Sourav refuses to listen to that voice, refuses to bow even though it seemed inevitable that they would have to. He refuses to feel embarrassment, refuses to acknowledge that he was going to be proven wrong and because of him, India was going to be the butt of all jokes. Gangulys were made of thick skin and his was the thickest of the lot.

He breaths out slowly and takes another sip, a last one with some of the dregs slipping into his mouth, swirling around his tongue unpleasantly. Then he gets up and walks inside the dressing room just as Laxman begins jogging up the steps. There were things to be done. Lists to be adjusted. And Australians to bite back, because no way in hell was he going to go down without gouging atleast some of their flesh out too.

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Sachin tosses the ball repeatedly to the wall in rythmic thuds, Rahul watching it bounce back and forth dazedly from the bed. The rest of the team sat subdued in the common room. Sachin didn't particularly fancy their company at the moment, which was why he was for the first time willingly in the physio's den. The team was mostly youngsters, the three of them- Sachin, Sourav and Rahul- were amongst the eldest in the team at the ripe old age of twenty eight. Those boys were not used to the crushing practice which was playing for Team India, hence why their energy was so drained. Sachin? Sachin was used to it.

At this point, he was far too used to his heart getting broken, stomped over brutally. Pain, pain and then more pain was the definition of his career thus far. And yet though he complained of this unbearable cycle, he knew he was never going to be able to leave this cruel game behind. Cricket had chosen him before he had chosen cricket, and for that honor alone he was going to suffer as long as he could, in the service of this game.

He pauses, mid throw, hearing footsteps behind him. It was Sourav, their captain, looking serious but not afraid. Sourav never got scared. He quirks his eyebrows at Sachin in greeting before walking straight to Rahul.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, gently feeling his bestfriend's clammy forehead, uncaring of the sweat. And then starts lightly pressing it.

Rahul doesn't bother swatting the offending hand away, a testament to the lack of energy in him but answers, "I'm fine,".

Like always. Rahul was always fine. Sachin shakes his head and goes back to his ball tossing. The force with which the ball bounces back nearly takes him by surprise, inviting a knowing glance from Ganguly, but no comment. Sourav continues conversing with his vice.

"Listen. Exchange places with Laxman," he says softly, "Bat six,".

For a second Sachin thinks Rahul's going to protest, going to get hurt. He was getting dragged left, right and centre already for his batting form. Surely this was a sore spot, even the touch should hurt. He wonders if he should say something, even as a formality. But then decides against it. Rahul deserved more dignity than that and he was never going to question Sourav's authority. For a second, something flashes across Rahul's face. But it is gone before either of them can register it.

Rahul smiles "Of course,".

Ofcourse. Ofcourse when has Rahul ever said no. No to him, no to Sourav, no to the team. Those actions weren't in the book of Rahul Dravid. Sourav smiles down at him, relief not obvious on his face but visible in the way some of the tension in his posture falls away.

Laxman walks in. Well. Hobbles in. Sachin abandons the ball to help him onto the other bed while Minz, their worried, overworked medic flutters about, getting icepacks and ointments, cursing the day cricket was invented. Sachin, for once, could relate.

"Lax?" Sourav calls out, wisely keeping out of the way of their harried doctor.

Laxman looks up, exhausted and sullen, lying face down on the bed while he gets his back treated.

"You are batting three in the second innings,".

Laxman looks a little surprised at the promotion but takes it gracefully, mindful of the man whose place he is taking, and with a serious nod of acknowledgement lies back down. That, that was classic Laxman, nothing betrayed the fact that this man was only twenty six and Sachin, two years his senior, did not understand where he got this maturity from. He wished he could learn even a single bit of the grace and simplicity of VVS Laxman.

On the other bed, Rahul's eyes flutter shut, giving in to Sourav's ministrations at his head. Sachin is about to pick up his ball, to go back to his mindless tossing when Sourav surprises him by walking up to him and bumping their shoulders together.

"You know the match is not over yet right?"

Sachin cocks his head, "What on earth are you yapping now?"

Sourav shrugs, "Don't give yourself too much shit Tendulkar. That job is mine and I am territorial,". He claps his shoulder with a grin and walks out.

Sachin watches him go. He envied the straightness of his spine. Sourav never got scared. Rahul was always fine. Laxman was endlessly graceful. And Sachin? Sachin was forever useless when it mattered. He tosses the ball again.