“HOW’S that!” shouted the wicket-keeper, holding the ball up in his gloves.
“How’s that!” echoed the slip-fielders.
“How?” growled the fast bowler, glaring at the umpire.
“Out!” said the umpire.
And Suraj, the captain of the Pipalnagar School team, was slowly walking back to the “pavilion” — which was really a tool-shed at the end of the field. The score stood at 53 for 4 wickets. Another 60 runs had to be made for victory and only one good batsman remained. All the rest were bowlers who couldn’t be expected to make many runs.
It was Ranji’s turn to bat. He was the youngest member of the team, only 11, but sturdy and full of pluck. As he walked briskly to the wicket,
his unruly black hair was blown about by a cool breeze that came down from the hills.
Ranji had a good eye and strong wrists; he had made lots of runs in the minor matches. But in the last two inter-school games, his scores had been poor, the highest being 12 runs. Now he was determined to make enough runs to take his side to victory. Ranji took his guard and prepared to face the bowler. The fielders moved closer, in anticipation of another catch. The tall fast bowler scowled and began his long run. His arm whirled over, and the hard shiny red ball came hurtling towards Ranji. Ranji was going to play forward, but at the last moment he stepped back, intending to push the ball through the ring of fielders, on his right. The ball swung in the air, shot off the grass, and came through sharply to strike Ranji on the pad.
“How’s that!” screamed the bowler, hopping about like a kangaroo. “How’s that!” shouted the wicket-keeper and all the fielders.
The umpire slowly raised his finger. And it was Ranji’s turn to walk back to the tool-shed. The match was won by the visiting team.
“Never mind,” said Suraj, patting .Ranji on the back. “You’re a bit out of form just now. Better luck next time.”
But their cricket coach was sterner. “You’ll have to make more runs in the next game,” he said, “or you’ll lose your place in the side!”
Avoiding the other players, Ranji walked slowly homewards head down, hands in his pockets. He was quite upset. He had been trying so hard and practising so regularly, but when an important game came along he failed to make a big score. It seemed there was nothing he could do about it. But he loved playing cricket, and he couldn’t bear the thought of being out of the school team.
On his way home he had to pass the clock tower, where he often stopped at Mr. Kumar’s Sports Shop, to chat with Mr. Kumar or look at all the things on the shelves: footballs, cricket balls, badminton racquets, hockey sticks, cricket bats. But today he did not feel like stopping. He looked the other way and was about to cross the road when Mr. Kumar’s voice stopped him.
“Hello, Ranji! in a hurry today? And why are you looking so sad?” said Mr. Kumar. Who had been so kind and helpful, always giving him advice on how to play different kinds of bowling. Mr. Kumar had been a Test player once, and had scored a century in a one-day game at Sharjah. Now he had retired from first-class cricket, but he liked encouraging players and he thought Ranji would make a good cricketer.
“What’s the trouble?” he asked, as Ranji stepped into the shop. “Lost the game today?” Ranji felt better as soon as he was inside the shop. Because Mr. Kumar was so friendly, the sports goods also seemed friendly. Bats, balls and shuttlecocks all appeared to want to be helpful.
“We lost the match,” said Ranji. “Never mind,” said Mr. Kumar. “Where would we be without losers? How many runs did you make?”
“None. I got a duck.”
“Never mind,” said Mr. Kumar. “All players have bad days. ”
“But I haven’t had a good score in the last three games,” said Ranji. I’ll be dropped from the team if I don’t do something in the next game.... I’m unlucky, that’s it.”
“In that case, it’s time your luck changed. Now, you just come with me to the back of my shop and I’ll see if I can do something about your luck.”
Puzzled, Ranji followed Mr. Kumar through the curtained partition at the back of the shop. He found himself in a badly-lit room stacked to the ceiling with all kinds of old and second-hand sporting goods.
Mr. Kumar began examining a number of old cricket bats and after a few minutes he said, “Ah!” and picked up one of the bats and held it out to Ranji.
“Is it really the bat you made a century with?” he asked.
“It is,” said Mr. Kumar. “And it may get you a hundred runs too!”
“This is it!” he said. “This is the luckiest of all my old bats.” This is the bat I made a century with!” And he gave it a twirl and started hitting an imaginary ball to all corners of the room.
“Of course it’s an old bat, but it hasn’t lost any of its magic,” said Mr. Kumar, pausing in his stroke-making to recover his breath. He held it out to Ranji.
“Here, take it! I’ll lend it to you for the rest of the cricket season. You can’t fail with it!”
Ranji spent a nervous week waiting for Saturday’s match. His school team would be playing a strong side from another town. There was a lot of class work that week, so Ranji did not get much time to practise.
At last Saturday arrived, bright and sunny and just right for cricket. Suraj won the toss for the school and took to batting. The opening batsmen put on 30 runs without being separated. The visiting fast bowlers could not do much.
Ranji took the bat and studied it in awe spin bowlers came on, and immediately there was a change in the game. Two wickets fell in one over, and the score was 33 for 2. Suraj made a few quick runs, then he too was out to one of the spinners, caught by the wicket-keeper.
The next batsman was clean bowled... 46 for 4... and it was Ranji’s turn to bat. . He walked slowly to the wicket. The fielders crowded round. He took his guard and prepared for the first ball. The bowler took a short run and then the ball was twirling towards Ranji, looking as though it would spin away from his bat as he leant forward into his stroke. And then A thrill ran through Ranji s arm as he felt the ball meet the spring willow of the bat. Crack!
The ball streaked past the helpless bowler and sped towards the boundary. Four runs! And that was only the beginning. Now Ranji began to play all the strokes he knew, cutting and driving at will. The rival captain tried all his bowlers, fast and spin, but none of them could remove Ranji. He sent the fielders scampering to all corners of the field. Twenty minutes after lunch break, when Suraj closed the innings, Ranji managed 58 not out. The rival team was bowled out for a poor score and Ranji’s school won the match. On his way home, Ranji stopped at Mr Kumar’s shop.
“We won!” he said. “And I made 58 — my highest score so far. It really is a lucky bat!”
“Well, there you are,” said Mr. Kumar, giving Ranji a warm handshake. “There’ll be bigger scores to come.”
Mr. Kumar was right. It was only the beginning of Ranji’s success with the bat. The games that followed was a two-day match, and Ranji, who was now batting at No. 3, made 45 runs. In the second innings, when the school team needed only 60 runs for victory, he was batting with 25 when the winning run was hit.
Everyone was pleased with him, but he did not tell them about the lucky bat. That was a secret1 between him and Mr. Kumar.
One evening, during a practice game in the park, Ranji’s friend Salim slipped and cut his hand. Ranji took him to a doctor, where the wound was washed and bandaged. It was getting late, so he decided to go straight home. Usually he walked, but that evening he caught a bus. When he got home, his mother brought him a cup of tea, and while he was drinking it, she asked, “Ranji, where’s your bat?”
“Oh, I must have left it in the park. I’d better go back for it, or it will be picked up by someone.”
But his bat was not to be found.
“It’s getting dark,” said his mother
“I’ll take a torch,” said Ranji.
He was worried about the bat. Without it, his luck might desert him. He did not have the patience to wait for a bus, and ran all the way to the park. It was deserted, and there was no sign of the bat. He realised that he might have left it on the bus. Well, he’d never find it now. The bat was gone for ever And on Saturday his school team would be playing their most important match against a team from Delhi
Next day he was at Mr Kumar’s shop feeling very sorry for himself.
“I’ve lost the bat!” said Ranji. Your lucky bat — the one I made all those runs with! Now I’ll be out for a duck, and we’ll lose our chance of being the school champions.’
Mr. Kumar looked a little worried at first. Then he smiled and said, “You can still make all the runs you want.’
“But I don’t have the bat any more,” said Ranji.
“Any bat will do,’ said Mr. Kumar.
‘What do you mean?”
“It’s the batsman and not the bat that matters. Shall I tell you something? That old bat I gave you was no different from any other bat I’ve used. True, I made a lot of runs with it, but I made runs with other bats too. I did not depend on one bat for my scores. A bat has magic only when the batsman has magic! What you needed was confidence, not a bat. And by believing in the bat, you got your confidence back!”
“What confidence?” asked Ranji. It was a new word for him.
“Con-fi--dence,’ said Mr. Kumar slowly. “Confidence is knowing you are good!”
“And I can be good without the bat?”
“Of course. You have always been good. You are good now. You will be good the day after tomorrow. Remember that. If you remember it, you’ll make the runs.”
On Saturday Ranji walked to the wicket with a bat borrowed from Salim. The school team had lost its first wicket with only 2 runs on the board. Ranji went in at this stage. The bowler was sending down some really fast stuff when Ranji faced up to him. The first ball he faced was fast, but it wasn’t on a good length. Ranji hit it to the mid-on boundary. It landed with a crash in a crate full of Cola bottles. A six! Everyone stood up and cheered. And it was only the beginning of Ranji’s wonderful innings.
The match ended in a draw, but Ranji’s century was the talk of the town.
