Hands of God

Those hands may not have brought down a prison wall but many teams have suffered a similar fate. It’s a blessing those arms only know the language of non-violence. It would have surely made Gandhi proud.

Some wonder why a wax model of those hands haven’t graced the Madame Tussauds museum as yet. Perhaps, they cannot replicate. Certainly not the spectacular ‘rainbow moments’ it has produced for over a decade and a half. Two such moments came in the Kolkata Test. It put the West Indies on a ventilator.

People who watched it unfolding will willingly go to their grave, with a smile. Even Darren Bravo and Carlton Baugh; breathtaking catches don’t hurt as much. Strangely enough, chances are Rahul Dravid, who pulled off those magnificent catches at slip, may have moved on. Past glories don’t hold any attraction for champions; new challenges do. Most of his 209 Test catches (till the Kolkata Test) — a summit no other cricketer has scaled — have come at this position. Dravid owns the first slip position like no other player ever has, but don’t expect him to apply for the geographical copyright. He’s too polite, too grounded.

Bravo was threatening to do what his cousin Brian Lara epitomized during his sparkling career — build a monumental innings. The bowlers had begun to look ordinary. Indian domination had begun to lose its grip. The shoulders had begun to slacken. And then, suddenly, a flash of brilliance illuminates Eden Gardens. As Pragyan Ojha’s ball pitched, Dravid’s hands came off the knees. The body arched further and the hands extended in anticipation. Bravo played for spin, steered to exploit the vacant third man region. Ojha had deceived with a straighter one. The thick edge dared to split the keeper and the lone slip. Dravid’s eyes read the ball’s direction and speed to perfection, his curved torso moved to his right, the two hands beautifully aligned itself and the ball was plucked inches off the ground. Another blinder was made to look ridiculously easy. No sweat, no fuss. Dravid lobbed the ball in the air and merely joined his ecstatic teammates. Bravo, crestfallen, walked back in disbelief.

Dravid had merely warmed up. The West Indies, who had finally exhibited the ‘fearless cricket’ they had promised, in the fourth innings, suddenly looked unsure. Doubt had made a foothold. Keeper Baugh was supposed to carry on from where Bravo had left off. But the Indian bowlers had found that elusive second wind.

Coming from Odisha, a state known for its missile testing site, Ojha knows a thing or two about flight and trajectory. He lured Baugh into frontfoot with a curling, flighted delivery. The pocket-size batsman intended to smother the spin but soon realized he’s been beaten in the flight. It was too late for his committed bat to shoulder arms. The ball spun sharply, took the edge and was ‘traveling’. The ageless slipper, yet again, read the ball’s flight correctly. Like a cheetah in its final flight of chase, Dravid flung himself and scooped the ball with his right hand, just nano-seconds away from the ground. The 38-year-old batting legend had just produced an absolute dazzler. The crowds had frozen in sheer incredulity. Such moments of pure genius are indeed overwhelming. And then it erupted. Baugh had no clue. The umpire’s raised finger ended his misery and he made the lonely journey a batsman so dearly detests.

Dravid had disappeared among his jubilant teammates; so had the West Indian defiance.

What will continue to astound opponents and aficionados alike is how Dravid produces those gorgeous catches. So effortlessly. There’s something about those hands. Something intangible, mystifying. There’s something about Dravid that the Madame Tussauds can only wax but never replicate. Thank God.