Many a centuries ago, there dwelt a raging warrior.
He massacred other vicious warlords at will and left trails of battle and
destruction wherever he tread foot on. Epic clashes between him and numerous
powerful titans filled countless history pages; he tormented the Wizard of
‘Aus’, fiddled with the Wizard’s ally, the Pugnacious Pigeon, marooned the Lion
from Lanka and deflated two Sultans and a funny man named after a duck.
But what the world witnessed wasn’t a single
maestro, in fact many- a-times, the warrior was slashed and brutally assaulted,
left to brush himself off the dust. In those moments, up stepped another
vigilante, known for his patient assassinations and silent assaults that left
opponents often bored but surprisingly star-struck. When the former
swashbuckling hero fell rather prematurely on several occasions, it was this
old-school tutored “side-kick” who stood up from the rubble and made the battle
his own. He dealt every hammer, every spell and spin until all his enemies’
arsenals were all but over. He then disposed them off with precise accuracy,
brutal in his own copyrighted manner. His blade dripping of victorious blood,
gleamed in the faint moonlight, sufficient only to catch a glimpse of his
silhouetted figure.
His country held him proud and embracing him with
draping, joyous colours. They built the kingdom’s outer defence walls in his
name, building them higher than any man-made structure, impenetrable from the
outside and one that could withhold any attack. For often when God or the
Prince failed, it was the Wall that stood firm. Till this day, its foundation
stood so strong that when God was omnipresent yet undiscoverable and The
Prince’s reign ended, it was the Wall to whom the Elders turned to, with the
kingdom facing its greatest crisis. Its armies were battered and bruised, but
the magnificent Wall was not to be etched. Three fine Norman commanders with
one ruthless migrated Saxon as general, were left scratching their heads as
boulder upon boulder were made to look like mere pebbles in front of it. So
great was its defense that even the enemy commended it and bowed in respect.
After 15 magnificent summers, Rahul Dravid bids
adieu to coloured clothing and uncoloured leather balls for the final time in
the country where it was began for him. Having fallen for 26 runs short of his
first score in international cricket and a further 31 from what would have been
a fairy-tale end to a wonderful career; Dravid wasn’t greeted with fireworks or
loud drums much in the manner of a certain Mumbaikar or even the flashy
Ganguly. Instead, perhaps fittingly, he was sent off with warm applauses and
chirpy smiles as press cameras clicked away on his trot back to the pavilion.
Known as one of the calmest minds on the field, the Welsh setting sun provided
its final beams of warmth before the inevitable chill of a British winter.
Sofia Gardens looked like a great haven for one of the game’s greatest and
undoubtedly India’s greatest children. He went as he arrived in England; a
century stand and missing out on what would have been a well-deserved hundred,
while his partner went on to complete his personal century.
Rahul Dravid’s aura is that of a true gentleman;
well-dressed, smart orator and handsome in stature and looks. Yet so humble in
person, that one would hardly believe that his family received over a thousand
proposals for marriage and countless days of a mail-box stuffed with
love-letters to “Jammy”. But his one and true hunger remained for
excellence, which he attained on every stage possible.
Till date, he remains the first and only
batsman to score a century against all Test-playing nations away from home; a
feat that has eluded the likes of the Tendulkars, Bradmans and Gavaskars. He
might be tame and harmless looking, but it didn’t take long for his bat to turn
into a whip, which in turn, tamed many ferocious bowlers. He will always be
remember for the sore looks he gave on Shoib Akhtar’s face (where Akhtar having
sprint a 100 yards and bowled a blazing delivery to have clocked 95 miles an
hour, Dravid just defended it with a straight bat and the ball wouldn’t travel
more than a metre from him!), frustrating him ball after ball.
Yes The Wall did quiver once or twice but that was
an occasional blot in a great one-day career. He didn’t have to prove the world
he could bat; he had done that in the summer of ’99. As the coloured curtains
fall one last time, we hope and pray that Rahul’s legacy continues in the
game’s actually format for as long as it can.
PS. I wonder why Sehwag does commercials relating
to walls and cements, when the actual glue of every Indian wall continues to
bat at number 3.
Rahul Dravid: The "Side-kicked" Superhero
