The train to Varanasi rattled through the countryside, its windows fogged with early morning mist. Nikhil sat by the window, Veer resting across his lap, his district jersey folded neatly in his duffel bag. It was his first away match—an inter-district fixture against the Eastern Eagles, a team known for aggressive batting and hostile crowds.
The journey was long, but Nikhil didn't mind. He watched the fields blur past, his thoughts focused on the pitch ahead. Coach Rameshwar had warned them: "Varanasi's ground is tricky. Low bounce, slow outfield, and a crowd that loves drama."
Viraj leaned over from the opposite seat. "They say the Eagles sledge like it's a sport."
Nikhil smiled faintly. "Let them talk. We'll play."
The team arrived at the ground by noon. The stadium was modest—concrete stands, patchy grass, and a pitch that looked more like a dried riverbed than a cricket surface. The local crowd had already gathered, loud and partisan.
Coach Rameshwar called for a quick huddle. "This isn't a friendly. This is a test. Stay sharp. Stay united."
The toss was won by the Eagles. They chose to bat.
Nikhil was placed at point again, his favorite spot. The first few overs were tense. The Eagles' openers were aggressive, swinging hard, running fast. The crowd roared with every boundary.
Then came a moment of brilliance.
A thick edge flew toward Nikhil's right. He dove full stretch, plucked the ball inches from the ground, and rolled over, holding it aloft.
The umpire raised his finger. The crowd fell silent.
Viraj ran over. "That was unreal."
Nikhil dusted his palms. "Just instinct."
The Eagles were bowled out for 154 in 28 overs. A decent total, but chaseable.
During the break, Coach Rameshwar pulled Nikhil aside. "You're batting at three today. I want you to anchor."
Nikhil nodded. "I'll finish."
The chase began poorly. Viraj was bowled in the second over. The crowd erupted. The Eagles' fielders began their verbal assault.
"Back to Chandpur after this?" one sneered.
Nikhil walked in, calm and focused. The pitch was slow. Timing was difficult. But he adjusted—playing late, using soft hands, finding singles.
By the 15th over, the score was 72 for 2. Nikhil had 28 runs. Then came a bouncer that struck his glove and flew to slip. The appeal was loud. The umpire raised his finger.
Nikhil stood still. He hadn't edged it. The ball had brushed his wristband.
Coach Rameshwar signaled from the dugout: "Walk away."
Nikhil did. Silently. No protest. No drama.
Back in the pavilion, Viraj handed him a bottle of water. "That was a bad call."
Nikhil shrugged. "It happens."
Manav and the lower order fought hard. The match went down to the final over. Team UP needed 6 runs off 4 balls. Manav hit a four, then a single. The next batsman edged a two.
Victory.
The team erupted. Coach Rameshwar clapped once. "Grit wins away games."
Later, as the team boarded the train back, Mr. Rajan—who had come to observe—sat beside Nikhil.
"You didn't argue with the umpire," he said.
"I knew it wouldn't change anything."
Mr. Rajan nodded. "That's maturity. You're not just a player. You're a professional."
Nikhil didn't reply. He opened his notebook and wrote:
"Lesson: Silence speaks.
Fix: Accept what you can't control.
Goal: Be the player who endures.
Reminder: Away games reveal character."
He looked out at the night sky, stars flickering above the tracks.
He was no longer just playing matches.
He was building legacy.