by Arunabha Sengupta
May 7, 1991
The score reads 34 for 3 as 35-year-old Dilip Vengsarkar and 18-year-old Sachin Tendulkar walk in after lunch. Haryana seem all set to win the Ranji final on first innings lead. The start to the second innings has been disastrous. All that remain are two and a half hours and 20 mandatory overs. The target, a massive 355, look well beyond impossible.
Only, no one has said that to the duo. The young prodigy does not know the meaning of mortal limits. The battle-scarred veteran does not believe Bombay can ever lose.
A slower ball from Kapil Dev. Tendulkar’s bat comes down straight and traces its full swing. It scatters the crowd beyond the sight screen. Left-arm spinner Jain is dispatched into the swarms.
People start converging to the Wankhede—several hurrying back, braving the Bombay commute all over again after ill-advised, disappointed departures at lunch.
From the North Stand end it is Chetan Sharma. Tendulkar flat-bats him over mid-off and it is still travelling as it sails into a sea of human ecstasy.
Kapil spreads his men along the distant boundary lines. But the fielders need to be some forty feet taller. Tendulkar launches Jain for two more sixes. The target suddenly seems just a few overs away.
Kapil remains calm, knows he can only wait and wish for the young genius to make a mistake. Tendulkar obliges. Off-spinner Bhandari is blasted for three fours in one over. And then the young man rushes down the wicket and hits a full-toss straight to cover.
Tendulkar gone for 96 from 75 balls, 5 sixes, essayed well before the advent of extreme bats and encroaching boundary ropes. The stand has yielded 134.
Vengsarkar, steady and solid, content to rotate the strike, is joined by Tendulkar’s school chum Vinod Kambli.
Kapil has the ball, eager to power through the fresh, Tendulkar-shaped hole. But, he runs headlong into Vengsarkar. The maestro’s waiting game was over. Kapil strays on the pads. Vengsarkar flicks him over midwicket for six.
Kambli sometimes sparkles, sometimes edges. But runs are added briskly.
Then Vengsarkar drives Kapil wide of long on. The stroke is followed by an ear-splitting cry of ‘No’. Kambli, three quarters down the track, sprints back. The veteran batsman is in pain, cramps in his thigh. May in Bombay is not ideal for cricket. Rajput trots out as runner.
Will Vengsarkar’s movements be hampered? Kapil’s delivery is not quite over-pitched, but the front foot reaches down the wicket, the bat swings in a splendid arc. The ball clears long on. Audacious.
20 mandatory overs. 114 required. Six wickets in hand. 18,000 in the stands.
Eight runs later Kambli pushes the innocuous gentle medium pace of Ajay Jadeja back to the bowler. There is experience and depth in the line-up. However, 25 runs later wicketkeeper Pandit snicks Jain. The tail is in.
Kulkarni, Ankola and Patil are all handy with the bat. But by now it is all about nerves. Wickets keep falling. First Kulkarni, then Ankola.
At 305, off the first ball of a Bhandari over, Patil scampers across without calling and is run out at the non-striker’s end. Debutant Kuruvilla walks in, immensely tall and the only real mug with the bat. Still 50 to get. Vengsarkar on 98. Five balls left in the Bhandari over.
The famous Power bat now erupts. The crack is like thunder, and the ball disappears like hasty streaks of red lightening.
The second ball is launched straight over the sight-screen. Hundred for Vengsarkar and a confirmed ticket for the Australian tour. But, this means so much more. No one in Bombay wants the trophy more.
Bhandari shortens the length. The savage strokeplay is now laced with finesse. The late cut is delicate and speeds to the third-man fence.
The fourth ball disappears over long-on. The fifth rebounds off the first ‘T’ of ‘TATA ENTERPRISES’ written across the face of the roof of Wankhede.
Off the last ball, the batsman is perhaps torn between the urge to push for a single and belt another six. The result is a scorching straight drive that crashes into the advertising board in front of the screen. The sequence 6,4,6,6,4. Target more than halved. Bombay need 24 more.
Kuruvilla battles gamely. With nine men stationed on the fence, Vengsarkar opts for a rather controversial ploy. He pushes for singles early in the over, sometimes the very first ball. A lot of faith in the debutant, the C-division cricketer, whose main job is to bowl fast from his great height. To his credit, Kuruvilla does not give his wicket away. A friendly umpiring decision helps. He faces 25 balls, far too many according to some.
The runs are being knocked off. Occasionally Vengsarkar pierces the army of fielders who patrol the boundary. Once Kuruvilla manages to turn the ball to fine leg and scamper two.
3 runs are required from 15 deliveries, Kuruvilla on strike, Chetan Sharma runs in. At square-leg stands Vengsarkar, knowing well that all he needs is one ball.
And then it happens. Kuruvilla manages to get a tiny bit of wood on it. The ball trickles towards short fine-leg. In a flash, Rajput is down the wicket. Unschooled in the basics of running, the rookie watches the ball, still on his heels. Amarjeet Kaypee sprints in. Kuruvilla’s start is too late. Even his long legs cannot beat the throw. The Haryana fielders erupt in a simultaneous roar of joy. Stumps and ball are ransacked as the victors rush out in a sprint of delight.
And slowly eyes turn towards square-leg. Vengsarkar has collapsed, on his knees. The famed, khadoos, valiant cricketer, with 6000-plus Test runs, now sobs helplessly. The magical bat lies prone on the ground.
The 18000 remain hushed, many choking up themselves.
The two umpires AL Narasimhan and RV Ramani approach the batsman, offering their hands, mouthing “Well played” and other meaningless consolations. One offers to carry his bat. A supreme knock, an unbeaten 139 from 137 balls, studded with 9 fours and 5 stunning sixes. All in vain.
Out of the pavilion emerges medium pacer Prasad Desai, a reserve player in the Bombay squad. He runs to the middle of the ground and gently coaxes Vengsarkar to return. The tears continued to flow, with the occasional – and one must say rather unfair – admonitions aimed at young Kuruvilla.
Vengsarkar drags himself on wobbly legs back.
The Haryana dressing room is a picture of celebration, with the players breaking into impromptu dance routines. Kapil announces there is no curfew, they can celebrate as long as they want to.
In complete contrast, the home dressing room is in stunned silence, Vengsarkar sits in a corner, eyes bloodshot, not a team-mate venturing near him.
Perhaps the greatest Ranji Trophy final we will ever see.