Date: May 28, 2013
Location: The Deva Farmhouse, Shamshabad, Hyderabad
The heavy iron gates of the Shamshabad farmhouse closed with a solid, reassuring clank, shutting out the noise of the city.
Siddanth Deva dropped his duffel bag in the hallway and let out a long, slow exhale. The grueling two-month campaign of the Indian Premier League was finally behind him.
The spot-fixing scandal was now firmly in the hands of the police and the anti-corruption bureau. For the next forty-eight hours, Siddanth was completely off the clock.
He walked into the living room. The television was on, displaying the post-match celebrations from the Eden Gardens in Kolkata.
The Mumbai Indians had just defeated the Chennai Super Kings in the final to lift the 2013 IPL trophy. Rohit Sharma was on the screen, hoisted onto the shoulders of Kieron Pollard and Harbhajan Singh, holding the golden cup high.
Siddanth pulled out his phone and quickly typed a message: Congratulations on the first of many, Ro. Well deserved.
The broadcast transitioned to the individual awards. Because the Sunrisers Hyderabad had been knocked out in the Eliminator, Siddanth hadn't played the last two matches of the tournament. Taking full advantage of the extra games, Chennai's veteran opener, Mike Hussey, had successfully surpassed Siddanth's run tally to claim the Orange Cap. On the bowling side, CSK's young pacer, Mohit Sharma, had executed a brilliant campaign to secure the Purple Cap.
"These boys have brought shame to the entire country," Vikram Deva's voice rumbled with disgust.
Siddanth turned around. His father was sitting in his usual armchair, lowering the front page of his newspaper, which displayed the glaring headlines of the IPL spot-fixing arrests. As a proud, principled man, Vikram looked visibly sickened by the betrayal of the sport's integrity.
"Selling their pride for a few lakhs," Vikram shook his head, looking up at his son. "Is your national squad flying to England clean, Siddu? Because the fans cannot take another heartbreak like this."
"They are completely clean, Nanna," Siddanth replied firmly, walking over to touch his father's feet, his tone offering absolute reassurance. "Mahi bhai and I have spoken to every single player. The boys going to England are entirely focused on the cricket. There are no distractions."
Vikram nodded slowly, the tension in his jaw relaxing slightly. "Good. See that you keep them that way. By the way... are you upset about the Orange Cap?"
"Not at all, Nanna," Siddanth smiled. "Hussey played a brilliant tournament, and Mohit bowled incredibly well on those slow Chennai pitches. They earned it. Besides, franchise cricket is over. My focus is on the 50-over format now."
His mother, Sesikala, emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on a towel. She immediately walked up and pinched his cheek.
He read down the list:
MS Dhoni (Captain & Wicket-keeper)
Siddanth Deva (Vice-Captain & All-rounder)
Shikhar Dhawan (Opening Batter)
Rohit Sharma (Top-order Batter)
Virat Kohli (Top-order Batter)
Suresh Raina (Middle-order Batter)
Dinesh Karthik (Wicket-keeper Batter)
Murali Vijay (Opening Batter)
Ravindra Jadeja (All-rounder)
Ravichandran Ashwin (Bowling All-rounder)
Irfan Pathan (All-rounder)
Bhuvneshwar Kumar (Bowler)
Ishant Sharma (Bowler)
Umesh Yadav (Bowler)
Amit Mishra (Bowler)
Siddanth analyzed the names. It was a massive transition phase for Indian cricket. The veterans of the 2011 World Cup—Virender Sehwag, Yuvraj Singh, and Zaheer Khan—were all missing. MS Dhoni and the selectors had completely committed to a young, athletic, fielding-heavy squad.
Pace and swing, Siddanth thought to himself, noting the inclusion of Bhuvneshwar, Umesh, Ishant, and Irfan. The English conditions in June would be cold, overcast, and the white Duke balls would swing heavily. The squad was perfectly balanced for it.
---
The next afternoon, the quiet of the farmhouse was interrupted by the sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway.
Siddanth walked out onto the porch to find Arjun, Sameer, and Feroz getting out of a car.
"Look who is finally back in the city!" Sameer shouted, walking up the steps and pulling Siddanth into a loud hug. "I was getting tired of only seeing your face on TV commercials."
"Good to see you, Sam," Siddanth laughed, greeting Feroz and Arjun. "Come inside. Amma made enough food to feed an entire cricket team."
They sat around the large dining table, attacking the massive spread of Hyderabadi biryani and mutton curry. With his friends, the dynamic was completely grounded.
"So, Mike Hussey stole your Orange Cap right at the end," Sameer teased, piling more rice onto his plate. "You couldn't score just twenty more runs in that Eliminator match before getting out?"
"I was given out wrongly, Sam, the bat hit the pitch," Siddanth replied dryly, pouring himself some water. "And Hussey is a legend. I'm not losing sleep over an IPL award."
Feroz nodded in agreement. "Leave him alone, Sam. The real test is the Champions Trophy anyway. England is a tough place to bat."
Arjun, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally looked up from his food. "Sid, before I forget. The Medchal plant numbers are—"
"Stop," Siddanth interrupted firmly, holding up a hand. "I told you on the phone, Arjun. No business talk for forty-eight hours. The company is fine. Today, we just eat and talk rubbish."
Arjun sighed, but a smile broke through. "Fine. But you owe me a full debrief before your flight."
They spent the rest of the afternoon lounging in the backyard under the shade of the mango trees. The conversation drifted from local Hyderabad gossip to the upcoming monsoon season. Siddanth simply listened, enjoying the normalcy. This was his anchor. Surrounded by the people who knew him before the fame and the billions, his mind hit a complete reset.
---
By the second day of his break, the sun had set, casting a cool, comfortable breeze over Hyderabad.
Siddanth walked out to the garage and bypassed the Audi R8, grabbing the keys to the dusty silver Maruti Swift instead.
He drove into the city and parked on a quiet, tree-lined street in Tarnaka. A few minutes later, the passenger door opened. Krithika slid into the seat, wearing a simple cotton kurti and jeans.
But she wasn't alone.
She placed a squirming, hyperactive golden retriever puppy onto her lap. Ronny had grown significantly in the past month, his paws too big for his body, and he immediately tried to climb over the center console to lick Siddanth's face.
"Down, Ronny. Sit," Krithika scolded gently, pulling the puppy back into her lap. She looked over at Siddanth and smiled. "Hi, Mama's Boy."
"Hi, Headache," Siddanth smiled back, reaching over to scratch Ronny behind the ears. "You brought the menace along?"
"He has separation anxiety," Krithika reasoned, buckling her seatbelt around herself and keeping a firm grip on the dog. "Plus, he missed you. Where are we going?"
"Outer Ring Road," Siddanth said, shifting the car into gear. "I just want to drive."
They navigated through the city traffic and merged onto the massive, eight-lane expanse of the Nehru Outer Ring Road. The highway was relatively empty, illuminated by the continuous stretch of amber streetlights. Siddanth rolled the windows down halfway, letting the cool night air rush into the cabin.
For a long while, neither of them spoke. The radio played softly in the background. It was a comfortable, easy silence. Ronny eventually tired himself out, curling up into a golden ball on Krithika's lap and falling fast asleep.
"So," Krithika finally broke the silence, looking out at the passing lights. "England."
"Yeah. England," Siddanth nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. "Flight leaves tomorrow morning from Mumbai. The whole squad is assembling there."
"Are you nervous?" she asked, turning her head to look at him. "The news channels are saying the English pitches are going to be a nightmare for the Indian batsmen. Lots of swing and seam."
"It's not just the pitches, Krithi. It's the new ODI rules," Siddanth explained, his tone analytical but calm. "The ICC introduced two new balls, one from each end. That means the ball stays hard and keeps swinging for a much longer time. In England, with the overcast conditions, James Anderson and Stuart Broad are going to make the ball talk."
"That sounds bad for you guys," she noted, frowning slightly.
"It makes opening the batting very difficult," Siddanth agreed. "Mahi bhai wants Shikhar and Rohit to open together. It's a new combination, and they are going to have to survive the first fifteen overs. If they can see off the new balls, the middle order can capitalize."
"And what about your bowling?"
"The two new balls rule helps us in the field," Siddanth said, a confident edge returning to his voice. "Bhuvi and Umesh are going to get a lot of swing. And I'll be operating as the first-change bowler. We have the pace attack to hurt them."
Krithika watched him talk. He wasn't stressed. He was just calculating the variables, solving the problem before he even stepped onto the pitch.
"You know, the media is making a massive deal out of this tournament," Krithika said softly.
Siddanth glanced at her. "They always do."
"And , we have the squad to do it," Siddanth said simply. "We just have to execute."
They drove for another hour, looping around the outskirts of the city. Eventually, Siddanth pulled the Swift over at a quiet, late-night Irani chai stall near the Gachibowli stretch.
He didn't get out of the car. The vendor recognized the familiar silver Swift and walked over, handing two small, steaming cups of chai through the window. Siddanth handed him a fifty-rupee note, telling him to keep the change.
Krithika blew on her hot tea, taking a careful sip. "I have my final exams starting next week. So don't expect me to be glued to the TV for every single match. I actually have to study."
"I expect nothing less," Siddanth smiled, taking a sip of his own tea. "Focus on the exams. Just check the scorecards when you're done."
"I will," she said. She lowered her cup, resting her free hand on his arm. Her expression turned entirely sincere. "Play well, Sid. Don't worry about the business or the noise back home. Just go do what you do best."
Siddanth looked at her, the warmth in his chest completely overriding the cool night air.
"I'll bring the trophy back, Shorty," he promised quietly.
They finished their tea in silence. Siddanth drove her back to Tarnaka. He parked near her house, keeping the engine running. Ronny was still dead to the world, snoring softly.
Krithika carefully opened the door, trying not to wake the puppy. She leaned back in, placing a soft, lingering kiss on Siddanth's cheek.
"Safe flight tomorrow," she whispered.
"Goodnight, Krithi."
He watched her walk to her gate, unlock it, and disappear inside. The two days of rest were officially over. His mind was clear, his body was rested, and his focus was entirely locked.
---
Date: May 30, 2013
Location: Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport, Mumbai
The VIP terminal at the Mumbai airport was swarming with journalists, photographers, and heavily armed CISF personnel.
But the media wasn't there to wish the Indian Cricket Team a safe flight. They were hostile, aggressive, and desperate for a controversial soundbite. Reporters were practically climbing over the barricades, screaming questions about the Rajasthan Royals, Sreesanth, and the IPL spot-fixing scandal.
Siddanth Deva stepped out of his designated transport vehicle, dressed impeccably in the official BCCI travel attire: a tailored dark blue blazer with the BCCI crest on the pocket, a crisp white shirt, and grey trousers.
He instantly assessed the chaotic, predatory atmosphere. He spotted Bhuvneshwar Kumar and Shikhar Dhawan looking visibly overwhelmed by the screaming reporters shoving microphones toward their faces.
Siddanth didn't hesitate. He walked forward, his towering frame and intimidating 'Devil' aura parting the crowd of journalists almost instantly. MS Dhoni, stepping out of a separate vehicle, read the situation perfectly and mirrored Siddanth's movement from the other flank.
Without a single word, the Captain and Vice-Captain positioned themselves on the absolute outer edges of the squad. They acted as a physical and psychological human shield, taking the brunt of the camera flashes and the shouted questions, completely ignoring the reporters while smoothly funneling the younger, nervous players through the sliding glass doors and into the safety of the terminal.
Once they were inside and away from the noise, Siddanth pushed his trolley bag smoothly, his sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose.
"Good block out there, Sid," Virat Kohli grinned, walking toward him alongside Shikhar Dhawan, all of them wearing the same blue blazers.
"Ready for the cold, boys?" Siddanth asked, shaking their hands.
"I brought three sweaters," Dhawan laughed, adjusting his collar. "Delhi winters are one thing, but English rain is different."
"We'll be fine," Kohli stated confidently. "The practice games against Sri Lanka and Australia will help us acclimatize."
MS Dhoni walked over, holding his travel documents. The captain looked relaxed, completely unfazed by the media circus happening just outside the glass windows.
"Everyone is here," Dhoni announced to the group. "Let's head to the lounge. Boarding starts in twenty minutes."
As they walked toward the private departure lounge, Siddanth fell into step beside his captain.
"How is the shoulder, Sid?" Dhoni asked quietly, referring to the heavy bowling workload from the IPL.
"Hundred percent, Mahi bhai," Siddanth confirmed. "Rested and ready."
Dhoni nodded, looking ahead. "Good. We have a young team this time. You, me, and Virat need to anchor this squad. No panicking if the ball swings early."
"Understood."
They handed their passports to the ground staff and walked down the boarding bridge toward the massive Boeing 777 waiting on the tarmac.
Siddanth found his window seat in the business class cabin. He stowed his bag, sat down, and buckled his seatbelt.