The Dressing Room Of Eden Gardens

And Until Goliath Meets His Fated Stone

Rahul feels a little bit like a piece of shit when his first thought at Mongia getting absolutely clocked in the face by the ball comes out to be "Damn it, I have to wicketkeep again,".

Concern is a second thought, much to his shame.

To compensate, he doesn't wait for Sourav to turn with that constipated guilty expression of his to ask him if he can take the gloves. He was willing to after all, it was the only obvious answer, no need to guilt trip the poor guy for it. He doesn't even hate wicketkeeping on most days, it's just that his legs still didn't feel completely attached to his hips and the idea of squatting a few hundred times was making him cringe.

Perhaps that's why he gets so triggered when Steve turns with a teasing grin as Sourav drops a sitter.

"Dropping test matches now mate?"

Ofcourse he understands that it's part of the game, part of the competition, it was fair enough infact. But god it was so easy for Steve to say that with practically nothing on the line. Sourav on the other hand had his short lived captaincy career depending on this series. Just for that, Rahul had been unable to stop this surge of annoyance which otherwise wouldn't have penetrated his usual blank state of mind. Probably because his mind was not so blank. He had been feeling a bit better in the morning but after two full sessions, nobody had to point out that his body temperature was climbing up again. He had infact tried to straight up not acknowledge it, in hopes that his body would get the damn message and shut the hell up. Ofcourse not that it had worked, what with Minz shoving pills down his throat, glaring holes into him if he so much as peeped in protest; but he had atleast tried to be normal.

He must have failed because he finds himself crowing with too much joy when Steve holes one perfectly into Badani's waiting hands.

"Who dropped the match now?!" he can't help but laugh and he knows, he knows that his fucking idol does a double take. But he can't bring himself to care as he high fives a similarly elated Sachin. For the first time since they had started playing, Rahul actually begins to feel the match, because otherwise, the entire match had been a haze of pain, misery, wonder and more pain.

For the first two innings, all he could feel was misery because he wasn't feeling too good and then more misery because they were losing and he wasn't doing anything to stop it. By the time the third innings rolled around, only desperation had remained. Only time he had felt any rush of adrenaline was when he had realized he had crossed the hundred mark.

"Fuck you," he can remember thinking, looking directly at the press box. For a few seconds his vision had cleared and so had the whispers of his mind. They had thought him incapable. Well. Who was laughing now?

And then ofcourse Laxi's gentle hug had grounded him right back to earth where instantly he had realized... maybe he shouldn't have waved his arm like that, it had expended too much energy and he had teetered even closer to the inviting edge labeled, "maybe you should just give up".

Point was, at no point did he actually feel like he was playing a match. The feeling that he was competing, it had been missing. He hadn't actually felt like he had been fighting back for the team score or anything. It was just one thing. He had to make sure their wickets didn't fall. He had to. Why? He had been forgetting why was he even trying so hard? Was there a point? He didn't know. All he knew was that he just had to. He had to bat as long as he could. He had to keep wickets if Mongia fell. He had to catch every ball that came his way.

Why?

Watching Bhajji snap up Ponting immediately in the same over, he can feel an answer forming if somewhat blurred. Sachin snatches up Gilchrist, then Hayden and the handy bat of Shane warne in his next spell; and the words start to clear up some just as the jumble in his head does. They were so close. There were no chances he could afford to give; no excuses he wanted to give. Heat was burning his back each time he crouched, sweat dripping in rivers down his arms into the gloves that sat very uncomfortably on his overly large hands making that simple ball collection that much more annoying. But he had to. He was beginning to remember why.

The scant few word he can recall of the conversation he had had with Sourav, the one in Madras after that terrible defeat; echoes in his ears. He can almost smell terrible tea made in a microwave, so late at night that they had not realised when the new day had started. Rahul had been nearing the long rope he had been given in tests. Sourav had over reached the capacity a captain is given to make BCCI reverse its disciplinary action on Bhajji. Losing was out of question but even a draw would have not been enough to retain the faith of the country and the entire Board. In him. In Sourav. In the team. In cricket.

"We need to win Jam," Sourav had whispered, as they had finally begun to fall asleep at the very sensible hours of eight-nine in the morning, "It's the only option,".

It was the only option. The only option which could collect this scattered team with its scattered faith into a unit. Bhajji bowls, narrowing down on the tailenders who are giving a fight for their lives to eke out a draw. It is Australia after all, they never just bow out. Rahul tries his best to listen to sounds of edges over the buzz in his ears, watching and trying to collect the ball as neatly as possible through gloves that don't fit and eyes that blur with water every few minutes. He has no idea if it is sweat or his eyes tearing up from the heat. He has no idea of anything else anymore except that he had to do his part to help this team win. Why? Because they had to win. It was the only option.