The Dressing Room Of Eden Gardens

And Our Hearts Burn Out

"No wickets,".

That was the only thought he was being able to hold on to anymore. In Laxi's soft voice, the words kept repeating like a mantra that was holding him up. His heart was trying to beat itself out of his chest. Sometimes he would get aware of his breath stuttering terribly as he struggled to pace himself even in the safety of their dressing room. His limbs were weak, his head was spinning. He couldn't eat anything. He couldn't drink too much without throwing up. But all this was not registering. Not truly. The only thing resonating in him, like his very heartbeat were just those two words.

No wickets.

He watches his onscreen self punch the bat in the air with stormy eyes and a darkened face during the tea break. The world was already swimming infront of his eyes. His shirt is off because there is a bruise on his abdomen, courtesy of one Jason Gillespie. He is in shorts, because both his legs are cramping like their rent is due and they need to hurt him to pay. In short, he is essentially almost naked, being tended to by no less than three people while they watch the highlights of the session.

"Looks like you have spent too much time with Dadi, Jam," Sachin murmurs as he rubs feeling back into his foot.

His blood pressure is too overworked for any of it to be spared for a blush but he automatically avoids gaze anyway, "Look stupid," he murmurs.

He can vaguely make out Sachin's grin. A hand ruffles his hair roughly, but Rahul is too weak to actually keep his head up at the touch so instead it swings, making him turn towards his right where Laxi was lying face down, being worked through more stretches. They were terribly worried about Laxi, his spine was tilting in an effort to protect his back causing his shoulders and hips to disalign. The pain was starting to wear him down.

"No wickets," Laxman had kept repeating through the pain. He was the only one with the energy to speak. Rahul had nodded and then proceeded to hog strike.

Somebody taps his shoulder making him tiredly turn. It was Sourav. He was holding another pair of whites for him to wear, Rahul had sweated through the first two pairs. It was time to go back. Another two hours.

It is a Herculean effort to slip into his clothes. It is a much easier task to march down the steps ready to face the Australians again.

"No wickets," he hears Laxman's voice echo loudly again in his head as they walk to the middle though the man himself is silent.

"My call," he says out loud.

Laxman turns to him startled. There is a frown on his face. Not of worry. Of pain. It is beginning to show. The voice in his head becomes louder, making it difficult to hear anything else.

"Are you sure?"

Rahul nods watching the Australians walk in from the other end. Gone was their endless chirping, their smug smirks. He wasn't able to see their faces, too dizzy to concentrate on them but their gait speaks of hunters done playing with their prey.

"My call," he repeats and walks to his end.

No wickets. Not his. Not Laxman's.