The humidity in Dhaka was suffocating, a thick blanket of heat that clung to the skin, but it was nothing compared to the pressure radiating from the stands of the Shere Bangla National Stadium. It was February 19, 2011. The opening match of the ICC Cricket World Cup.
The noise was deafening—a relentless, rhythmic roar of "Bangladesh! Bangladesh!" that shook the concrete foundations of the stadium. It wasn't just a crowd; it was a green-and-red sea, a living organism pulsing with the hope of an upset. The memories of 2007, when Bangladesh had unceremoniously dumped India out of the World Cup in the Caribbean, hung in the air like a ghost.
High above the chaos, in the cool detachment of the commentary box, the voice of Ravi Shastri boomed through the global broadcast feed, cutting through the static of a billion television sets.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the colosseum of cricket here in Mirpur. The wait is finally over. The 2011 ICC Cricket World Cup is live! The atmosphere is electric, the tension is palpable, and the stakes couldn't be higher. It's the co-hosts, Bangladesh, taking on the favorites, India."
Sitting beside him, the legendary Sunil Gavaskar adjusted his microphone. "Absolutely, Ravi. There is a lot of history here. India will be desperate to bury the demons of 2007. But looking at the team sheets today, there is a very different energy in the Indian camp. No Gambhir, but they have brought in firepower that has the world talking."
The Team Sheets
The giant screen flickered, displaying the playing XIs.
INDIA XI:
Virender Sehwag
Sachin Tendulkar
Sidanth Deva
Virat Kohli
Yuvraj Singh
Yusuf Pathan
MS Dhoni (C & WK)
Harbhajan Singh
Zaheer Khan
S. Sreesanth
Munaf Patel
BANGLADESH XI:
Tamim Iqbal
Imrul Kayes
Junaid Siddique
Shakib Al Hasan (C)
Mushfiqur Rahim (WK)
Raqibul Hasan
Naeem Islam
Mahmudullah
Abdur Razzak
Shafiul Islam
Rubel Hossain
---
Out in the middle, match referee Jeff Crowe stood alongside the two captains. MS Dhoni, cool as a cucumber in his blue blazer, spun the coin. It glittered in the afternoon sun before landing in the dust.
"Heads," Shakib called.
"It is heads," Crowe confirmed.
Shakib Al Hasan didn't hesitate. "We will bowl first. The pitch looks a bit damp, might offer something for the spinners and seamers early on. We want to put India under pressure straight away."
Dhoni smiled, that enigmatic half-smile. "We would have batted anyway. It's a good track. We need to put runs on the board and let our bowlers defend it."
Up in the box, Ian Bishop analyzed the decision. "Brave call by Shakib. Bowling first against this Indian batting lineup is like inviting a tiger into your living room. But if they can get early wickets—especially Sehwag or Tendulkar—panic could set in."
---
Shafiul Islam took the new ball. Facing him was Virender Sehwag. No footwork, just hand-eye coordination and pure intent.
The first ball was short and wide. Sehwag didn't respect the occasion; he slashed it over point. FOUR.
"And we are underway!" Shastri roared. "Sehwag starts exactly how Sehwag knows best! No sighters, just boundaries!"
The crowd went silent instantly, a pin-drop moment that lasted only until Shafiul ran in for the second ball. Sehwag defended. The crowd cheered the dot ball as if it were a wicket. It was going to be that kind of day.
---
Sachin Tendulkar took strike in the second over. He looked immaculate. His helmet grill cast a shadow over his eyes, focused and intense. He played a textbook straight drive off Rubel Hossain in the 4th over that raced past the bowler like a tracer bullet. It was pure classical music amidst the heavy metal of the stadium noise.
Meanwhile, Sehwag was living dangerously. An inside edge missed the stumps by inches. A mistimed pull shot landed safely in no-man's land. But the runs were flowing.
India: 32/0 after 4 overs.
"This is a solid start for India," Gavaskar noted. "Sehwag is riding his luck, but that unsettles bowlers. They don't know where to bowl to him. And Sachin... well, he looks like he's continuing from where he left off in the warm-ups."
---
Shakib brought himself on early. The left-arm spin was dangerous on this track.
Sachin respected him, playing with soft hands, rotating the strike. Sehwag, however, saw the flight and danced down the track. He didn't quite get to the pitch of the ball, but his bat speed compensated. The ball flew over mid-off for a one-bounce four.
The crowd was getting restless. The "Bangladesh! Bangladesh!" chants were becoming more desperate. They needed a breakthrough.
In the 7th over, Abdur Razzak, the other spinner, trapped Sehwag on the pads. Huge appeal! The umpire shook his head. Height was the issue. Sehwag grinned and punched gloves with Sachin.
India: 58/0 after 8 overs.
The Indian openers had weathered the storm. The 50-run partnership was up. They were scoring at over 7 runs an over without taking crazy risks. It felt like the perfect platform.
"This is ominous for Bangladesh," Bishop said. "If these two bat for another 10 overs, India is looking at 350. They need to break this partnership now."
The 11th over was being bowled by the spin of Abdur Razzak. Sachin was on strike. He looked to cut a ball that was too close to his body, chopping it toward point.
It was a tight single. Sachin called "Yes!" instinctively.
Sehwag responded, sprinting from the non-striker's end.
But Sehwag stuttered. He saw the fielder, Shakib, swoop on the ball like a hawk. Sehwag shouted "NO!" and turned back.
Sachin was halfway down the pitch. He tried to turn, his spikes digging into the dry surface, but he slipped slightly.
Shakib picked up the ball and, in one fluid motion, threw down the stumps at the striker's end.
"Direct hit! He's gone! He has to be gone!" The Bangladeshi players erupted. The stadium exploded with a noise so loud it felt physical, vibrating through the chest.
The square leg umpire went upstairs, but Sachin didn't wait. He knew. He had seen the bails fly while he was still feet short. The replay confirmed it.
Sachin Tendulkar run out (Shakib Al Hasan) 28 (29)
"Disaster for India!" Shastri yelled. "A terrible mix-up! The Master Blaster has to go! The crowd is going absolutely berserk! Listen to this noise! Mirpur has come alive!"
Gavaskar added, his voice somber. "It's the one wicket they wanted. Sachin was looking so settled. It's a gift to Bangladesh. A run-out is the worst way to end an innings like that. India 69 for 1."
---
The giant screen showed "OUT" in bright red letters.
Sachin tucked his bat under his arm. He looked disappointed, shaking his head slightly, but he didn't glare at Sehwag. He simply began the long walk back to the pavilion.
The camera tracked him, the hero of a billion, walking into the shadows.
Then, the camera cut to the boundary rope.
Stepping out onto the grass was Sidanth Deva.
He didn't walk; he prowled. He adjusted his gloves, his helmet visor dark. There was a swagger in his stride that was distinctly different from the humble grace of Tendulkar. He swung his bat loosely, the heavy willow looking like a toothpick in his hands.
Ravi Shastri leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave, sensing the theatricality of the moment.
"And look who is walking out at Number 3. It is the man everyone is talking about. The man who can change the game in an instant."
Shastri paused for effect as the two batsmen crossed paths near the 30-yard circle.
"The God exits... and the Devil enters the stage."
The noise was a wall of sound, but in the middle of the pitch, a bubble of silence formed as Sachin and Deva crossed.
Sachin stopped. He looked up at the younger man. Deva halted, showing respect, lifting his visor slightly.
Sachin placed a gloved hand on Deva's shoulder. The torch was being passed, not in a relay, but in a battle.
"The pitch is holding up a bit, Sidanth," Sachin said, his voice calm amidst the chaos. "Don't rush at the ball. Let it come to you. Once you are in... punish them."
Deva nodded, his eyes steely. "I got it, Paaji. Bad luck with the run-out."
"Forget it," Sachin said, already walking away. "Finish it."
Deva watched him go for a split second, then turned his gaze to the pitch. He walked to the crease, marking his guard. 'Leg stump.'
He looked around the field. Shakib was moving a fielder to deep square leg. Deva smirked. They think I'm going to sweep?
He tapped the bat on the crease. He looked at Sehwag at the other end, who looked apologetic about the run-out. Deva just winked at him.
"This is a massive moment in this youngster's career," Ian Bishop observed. "Walking in at 69 for 1 in a World Cup opener, replacing Sachin Tendulkar, with 25,000 people screaming for your blood. If Deva has nerves, he isn't showing them. He looks ready to tear the cover off the ball."
The umpire signaled play. Razzak tossed the ball up.
Deva didn't defend. He didn't sighter.
He pressed forward, eyes locked on the spinning ball.
The Devil had arrived.
---
Deva tapped the pitch. He looked at Abdur Razzak, the left-arm spinner who had just removed the God of Cricket.
Over 11:
10.6: Razzak floated one up, looking for a turn. It was a good ball, dipping on off stump.
Deva didn't defend. He didn't drive. He simply cleared his front leg and smashed it inside out over extra cover.
SIX.
The sound of the bat meeting the ball was like a gunshot in a library.
Commentary Box:
"Goodness gracious!" Ravi Shastri bellowed. "First ball! He has hit that into the orbit! No sighters for Sidanth Deva. He has announced his arrival with a bang!"
Over 13
Shakib, sensing the danger, took off the spinners immediately. He threw the ball to Shafiul Islam. Pace. Aggression. Back your strength.
13.1: Shafiul ran in hard, digging it short.
Deva swiveled. He didn't just pull it; he swatted it like a fly. The ball flew over square leg and landed in the second tier. SIX.
13.2: Shafiul overcorrected, pitching it full.
Deva stayed in his crease and lofted it straight back over the bowler's head. FOUR.
13.3: Length ball.
Deva stepped out, converting it into a half-volley, and flayed it through point. FOUR.
Sehwag, at the non-striker's end, leaned on his bat. He was grinning. He had the best seat in the house. He walked over as the fielders scrambled.
"Leave some for me, yaar," Sehwag laughed, punching Deva's glove.
"They are bowling in my slot, Viru pa," Deva replied, his eyes cold, focused.
Over 16
The score was racing. India was 110/1. The run rate had jumped from 6 to 8.5 in the blink of an eye.
Rubel Hossain came into the attack. He was Bangladesh's fastest bowler, a man who relied on raw speed and yorkers.
16.1: Rubel steamed in. 145 kmph. A toe-crushing yorker aimed right at the base of off-stump.
Most batsmen would dig it out. Some might squeeze a single.
Deva did neither.
As Rubel released the ball, Deva shuffled outrageously across his stumps. He exposed all three stumps, stepping almost to the wide line on the offside.
He took the yorker on the full, on the leg side of his body now, and scooped it over his left shoulder, over fine leg.
SIX. The 'Dil-scoop' on steroids.
Commentary Box:
"I don't believe what I'm seeing!" Ian Bishop gasped. "That is a 145-click yorker! And he has shoveled it over fine leg like he's playing with a tennis ball in his backyard! This is disrespectful! This is a dismantling!"
---
By the 18th over, the stadium was eerily quiet. The "Bangladesh! Bangladesh!" chants had died in the throats of the locals. The only sound was the sharp crack of leather on willow, followed by a roar from the small, isolated pockets of Indian fans waving the tricolor. They were dancing in the aisles, surrounded by a sea of stunned silence.
Over 19
Shakib brought himself back on. The captain had to stop the bleeding.
19.2: Shakib flighted it.
Deva reverse-swept him for FOUR.
19.3: Shakib fired it in flat.
Deva switched his grip—left-handed now—and slog-swept him over mid-wicket. SIX.
19.4: Shakib bowled wide.
Deva stretched, fetched it from outside off, and dragged it to cow corner. FOUR.
Shakib stood with his hands on his hips, looking at his fielders. They were all on the boundary. It didn't matter. Deva was finding gaps that didn't exist.
Over 21
Rubel Hossain was brought back for one last desperate burst. He looked furious. He wanted to hurt the batsman.
He marked a long run-up. He signaled the fielders—fine leg back, third man back. He was going to bowl fast and straight.
21.1: Rubel sprinted in. He grunted with effort. The ball was a perfect yorker, tailing into the middle stump.
Deva saw it early.
He didn't scoop this time. He didn't block.
He performed a movement that defied physics. He stepped away from the stumps, creating room where there was none. With the ball millimetres from the ground, he opened the face of the bat and sliced under it.
The ball didn't go to third man. It didn't go to point.
It rocketed, flat and hard, over deep cover.
SIX.
The crowd gasped. It was the shot of a genius. To hit a yorker on middle stump over deep cover for six required wrists of steel and the eye of a hawk.
Rubel kicked the turf. He bowled the next ball—a bouncer. Deva hooked it for FOUR.
Next ball—full toss. Deva drove it through covers for FOUR.
Every ball they threw, Deva hit to the boundary. He wasn't just scoring; he was breaking their spirit.
Over 22:
Deva was on 88 off 32 balls.
Sehwag had barely faced a ball in the last twenty minutes. He was just watching, clapping, and shaking his head in disbelief.
22.1: Shafiul to Deva. Slower ball.
Deva waited. Waited. Waited. Then unleashed a forehand smash down the ground. FOUR. (92)
22.2: Length ball on legs.
Flicked over square leg. The ball landed on the roof. SIX. (98)
The Indian dressing room was on its feet. Dhoni, usually calm, was leaning over the balcony railing. Gary Kirsten, the coach, was smiling in awe.
22.3: Shafiul went wide outside off.
Deva reached out and slashed. The ball flew over point.
FOUR.
THE CENTURY.
102 runs. 35 balls.
The fastest World Cup century in history.
Deva didn't jump. He didn't scream. He simply raised his bat to the dressing room, took off his helmet, and soaked in the applause from the Indian contingent. His face was flushed, sweat dripping, but his eyes were still burning.
"History in Mirpur!" Shastri's voice cracked. "Take a bow, Sidanth Deva! He has absolutely annihilated the bowling attack! 35 balls! It is the fastest century we have ever witnessed on this stage! The boy from Hyderabad has turned this stadium into his personal playground!"
Gavaskar: "He hasn't just scored runs, Ravi. He has demoralized the opposition. Look at Shakib's face. He doesn't know where to look. This is batting of the highest, most destructive order."
Over 23: The End of the Storm
The score was 215/1. Deva had taken India from a precarious start to a commanding position in under 13 overs.
23.2: Mahmudullah came into the attack. A gentle off-spinner.
Deva looked to launch him over long-on for another six.
He didn't quite get to the pitch of the ball. The bat turned in his hand.
The ball skewered off the toe end of the bat and went high into the Dhaka sky.
Tamim Iqbal, at long-on, settled under it. He waited for what seemed like an eternity.
He took the catch.
The stadium erupted—not in joy, but in sheer relief. The demon was gone.
WICKET: Sidanth Deva c Tamim b Mahmudullah 102 (36 balls, 10x4, 8x6)
India: 215/2 (23.2 Overs)
As the umpire raised his finger, Deva stood for a moment, catching his breath. He tucked his bat under his arm and began the walk back.
Sehwag ran over from the non-striker's end to high-five him before he left the field. "Well played, boss. Well played," Sehwag shouted.
MS Dhoni, Sachin Tendulkar, Yuvraj Singh, Suresh Raina—the entire squad was lined up at the balcony, clapping for him. As Deva crossed the boundary rope.
"And that is the end of the hurricane," Ravi Shastri said, his voice unusually soft now. "102 from 36 balls. He walked in when India was in trouble. He leaves India in total command. Look at that reception from the team. Even Sachin Tendulkar is clapping. The 'Devil Factor' is real, and the World Cup has just found its new superstar."
Ian Bishop: "I feel for the bowlers. I really do. But today, cricket was secondary to the spectacle of Sidanth Deva. Virat Kohli is the next man in. But frankly, who can follow that?"
As Deva climbed the stairs to the pavilion, he looked up at the scoreboard. India 215/2.
He had done his job. He had brought the fire. Now, it was up to the rest to burn the house down.
---
The exit of Sidanth Deva did not bring peace to the Bangladesh bowlers; it merely brought a different kind of pain. With the score at a staggering 215/2 in just 23.2 overs, the platform was not just built—it was fortified with steel.
Virat Kohli walked in, the brash Delhi boy with fire in his eyes, making his World Cup debut. At the other end, Virender Sehwag, who had watched Deva's fireworks with a grin, decided it was time to remind the world who the original destroyer was.
---
While Deva's innings was a hurricane, Sehwag's was a tsunami—unstoppable, all-consuming, and terrifyingly consistent. He didn't run hard; he didn't need to. He stood and delivered.
In the 35th over, facing the left-arm spin of Shakib Al Hasan:
34.1: Sehwag stepped out, inside-out over covers. FOUR.
34.2: Cut shot, late, past point. FOUR.
34.3: A gentle push to long-on. SINGLE.
Kohli, meanwhile, was running like a hare. He pushed Sehwag for twos, rotating the strike, feeding the senior pro.
"This is carnage," Ravi Shastri noted on commentary. "Deva broke their spirit, and now Sehwag is breaking their backs."
---
By the 47th over, Sehwag was visibly tired. He was cramping, limping between wickets. He was on 169.
46.1: Shafiul Islam to Sehwag. Full and wide.
Sehwag slashed. The ball flew over third man for SIX.
175 Runs. A mammoth knock.
46.2: Shafiul went for the yorker. Sehwag tried to squeeze it out but was too slow on the footwork. The ball cannoned into the stumps.
WICKET: Virender Sehwag b Shafiul Islam 175 (140 balls)
The Mirpur crowd stood up to applaud. Even the opposition captain ran over to shake his hand. It was one of the greatest World Cup innings ever played.
---
In the last over, Virat Kohli was on 96.
49.5: Rubel Hossain to Kohli. Full toss.
Kohli whipped it through mid-wicket. The ball raced to the fence.
FOUR.
He punched the air, screaming a profanity of joy. A century on World Cup debut. The Prince had arrived.
INDIA FINISHES AT 433/4.
It was a mountainous total. The highest score in the World Cup so far. The Bangladesh players walked off with their shoulders slumped. They had been hit by a truck, then a train, and finally a steamroller.
The Chase Begins: 434 to Win
The lights were on. The dew was setting in. 434 was a theoretical possibility, but practically impossible. Bangladesh needed a miracle. They needed Tamim Iqbal to play the innings of his life.
---
MS Dhoni gathered his troops in the huddle.
"We have the runs," Dhoni said, his voice calm. "Don't get complacent. Attack the stumps. Make them play shots."
He tossed the new ball to Zaheer Khan.
---
Tamim Iqbal started aggressively. He pulled Zaheer for a six in the 3rd over. He looked dangerous, fueled by anger and pride.
Deva, bowling from the other end, was generating serious pace. He was clocking 140 kmph consistently, banging it in short.
Over 7
Imrul Kayes was on strike. He had been struggling to time the ball against Deva's skiddy pace.
6.1: Deva ran in. Good length, just outside off, moving away slightly.
Kayes shouldered arms.
6.2: Back of a length.
Kayes tried to cut but missed. The ball whizzed past the edge.
6.3: Deva went fuller this time. He angled it in, then got it to straighten off the seam.
Kayes, feet stuck in cement, tried to drive through covers.
EDGED.
The ball flew low to the right of second slip.
Virat Kohli dived—a full-stretch blur—and plucked it inches from the grass.
WICKET: Imrul Kayes c Kohli b Deva 34 (29)
Commentary:
"He can bat, and he can bowl!" Ian Bishop shouted. "Sidanth Deva breaks the opening stand! A beautiful delivery, just enough movement to find the edge. And a blinder of a catch from Kohli!"
The score was 140/2 in the 25th over. Tamim Iqbal was still there, batting on 68. He was playing a lone hand, smashing boundaries to keep the run rate somewhat respectable, though the target was slipping away.
Junaid Siddique had fallen to Harbhajan, and now the captain Shakib was at the crease.
Dhoni signaled Deva to warm up again.
But before Deva bowled, Dhoni walked up to him. He put an arm around the young all-rounder and pointed to the field.
"Tamim is stepping out to the spinners," Dhoni murmured, his glove covering his mouth. "He thinks you are just pace. I want you to bowl a slower bouncer. But first, let's set a trap."
Dhoni moved the fine leg fielder up into the circle. He put a man at deep square leg and a man at deep mid-wicket. It looked like a trap for the pull shot, but with fine leg up, it was inviting the hook.
Over 26
Deva came round the wicket to the left-handed Tamim.
25.1: Short ball, wide outside off.
Tamim slapped it to deep point for a single. (Tamim 69)
25.2: Short ball into the body.
Shakib fended it off awkwardly. Single. (Tamim on strike).
25.3: Deva ran in. He didn't bowl the bouncer. He bowled a full, tempting half-volley on the pads.
Tamim's eyes lit up. He flicked it beautifully through mid-wicket.
The fielder in the deep cut it off. Just a single.
Dhoni clapped. "Cheeku, come in a bit!" He waved Kohli at mid-wicket to come closer.
25.5: Tamim was back on strike after a single from Shakib.
Dhoni shouted, "Bowl to the field, Deva!"
Tamim looked at fine leg. It was open. He expected a yorker or a length ball to tickle.
Deva ran in. He held the ball across the seam. He banged it into the pitch, but rolled his fingers over it. An off-cutter bouncer.
It didn't come on as fast as Tamim expected.
Tamim saw the short ball. He went for the hook shot, aiming to clear the man at fine leg (who was inside the circle).
But because the ball was slow, he was through the shot too early.
The ball took the top edge.
It didn't go fine. It ballooned high—miles up in the air—toward deep square leg.
Zaheer Khan, standing on the boundary, didn't even have to move. He cupped his hands.
The ball dropped safely into them.
WICKET: Tamim Iqbal c Zaheer b Deva 70 (62)
Commentary:
"Got him! The big fish is in the net!" Shastri exclaimed. "That is brilliant captaincy from MS Dhoni and perfect execution from Deva. They teased him, they tempted him, and then they deceived him with the lack of pace. Tamim goes for a well-made 70, but Bangladesh's hopes are walking off with him."
Deva high-fived Dhoni. The skipper just winked. " told you he would be early."
---
After Tamim's wicket, the chase lost its steam. The Bangladesh middle order crumbled under the pressure of the mounting run rate.
Harbhajan Singh spun a web, trapping Shakib LBW.
Yuvraj Singh chipped in with a wicket.
Zaheer Khan returned to clean up the tail with his reverse-swinging yorkers.
However, the Bangladesh lower order showed some fight, dragging the match out to the full 50 overs. Mushfiqur Rahim scored a gritty 40, ensuring they crossed the 250 mark, saving some face in front of their home crowd.
India: 433/4 (50 Overs)
Bangladesh: 252/9 (50 Overs)
Result: India won by 181 runs.
---
The stadium was emptying, but the Indian team stood on the ground, shaking hands. The atmosphere was one of professional satisfaction. They hadn't just won; they had sent a message to the world.
Ravi Shastri stood with the microphone at the post-match presentation.
"A magnificent start to the World Cup for India," Shastri boomed. "A comprehensive victory by 181 runs."
He called up the captains. Shakib looked dejected. Dhoni looked... well, like Dhoni.
Then came the moment for the Player of the Match.
"There were some incredible performances today," Shastri said. "Virat Kohli with a century on debut. Sidanth Deva with a record-breaking 102 off 39 balls and 2 wickets. But for setting the platform with a monumental 175... The Man of the Match is Virender Sehwag!"
Sehwag walked up, collecting the trophy and the cheque. He looked relaxed, wiping sweat from his forehead.
Shastri: "Viru, 175 to start the World Cup. You looked like you were batting in the nets out there."
Sehwag: (Smiling) "Yeah, the wicket was good. The ball was coming onto the bat nicely. I just told myself to bat long. If I bat 50 overs, the team will get a good score."
Shastri: "You had a great view of young Deva's innings. What was that like?"
Sehwag: "Oh, that was dangerous. I was scared he would hit me at the non-striker's end! He took the pressure off me completely. When he hits like that, I can just take singles and watch the show. He is a special player."
Shastri: "Congratulations, Viru. Great start."
As the team posed for the photographs with the 'Winner' board, Deva stood in the back row between Zaheer and Munaf. He held up two fingers for victory. His phone was buzzing in his pocket—hundreds of messages from Hyderabad. But his eyes were on the golden trophy sitting in front of Dhoni.
One down. Eight to go.
---
The Morning After: A Nation Painted Blue
The sun rose over India on Sunday, February 20, 2011, but the country had already been awake for hours. From the tea stalls of Kolkata to the local trains of Mumbai, and specifically in the leafy lanes of Secunderabad, there was only one topic of conversation. The air felt lighter, charged with a collective serotonin boost that only cricket could provide in this part of the world.
The ghosts of 2007—that dark, miserable day in the Caribbean when India crashed out—had been exorcised. They hadn't just beaten Bangladesh; they had dismantled them, piece by piece, with a ruthlessness that bordered on cruel.
In living rooms across the nation, television sets were switched on, volume knobs turned up. The 24-hour news cycle was in overdrive.
The Media Frenzy: "Badla Pura!"
On Star News, the screen was a riot of flashing graphics. Flames animated behind the anchor's head, and the breaking news ticker ran in bold red: "2007 KA BADLA PURA! (Revenge of 2007 Complete!)"
The anchor, breathless and shouting, pointed to a split screen. On the left was the tearful face of Rahul Dravid from 2007. On the right was the roaring face of Virat Kohli from last night.
"India has answered the insult with injury!" the anchor bellowed. "Four years of waiting, and the Men in Blue have destroyed the Tigers in their own den! 433 runs! A mountain of runs! Sehwag the Sultan, and Virat Kohli the Prince, finally Sidanth Deva the Devil, have rewritten history!"
Switch over to Times Now, and the tone was slightly more analytical but equally hyperbolic. The headline read: "THE DEMOLITION MEN."
A montage played on loop: Sehwag slashing over point, Kohli punching the air, and that shot by Deva—the yorker sliced over deep cover.
"Is this the most dangerous batting lineup in history?" the chyron asked.
The Hindu read: "India extract sweet revenge; Sehwag, Deva, Kohli shine."
Deccan Chronicle was more local: "HYDERABAD'S HERO: DEVA DESTROYS DHAKA."
Eenadu carried a full-page picture of Sidanth raising his bat, with the caption: "Mana Deva, Mana Garvam" (Our Deva, Our Pride).
---
On ESPNcricinfo's post-match show, the atmosphere was more scholarly but filled with awe. A panel consisting of Sourav Ganguly, Sanjay Manjrekar, and Ian Chappell sat around a glass table.
Sourav Ganguly: "You know, before the match, everyone was talking about the lack of a left-hander. Gambhir isn't there. Who will disrupt the line? And then Sidanth Deva walks in."
Ganguly leaned forward, tapping his pen on the table. "I have captained many players, but I have never seen a Number 3 walk into a World Cup opener, after Sachin gets run out, and play with that kind of arrogance. It wasn't reckless. It was calculated arrogance."
Sanjay Manjrekar: "That's the key word, Dada. Calculated. Let's look at the pitch map for Deva's 102."
The screen behind them lit up with a wagon wheel. It was a chaotic spiderweb of yellow lines covering every single degree of the field.
"Look at this area," Manjrekar pointed to the deep cover and third man region. "Rubel Hossain was bowling 145 clicks. He bowled a yorker on middle stump. Deva stepped away—exposing all three stumps—and hit it over deep cover for six. That is not a cricket shot. That is geometry. That is physics being bent. When you have a player who can do that, you don't need a left-hander. He is the left-hander, the right-hander, and the scooper all at once."
Ian Chappell: "It's intimidating, Sanjay. If I'm an opposition captain—say, Strauss for England next match—I am looking at this scorecard and I'm terrified. You get Sehwag out, you get Kohli. You get Kohli out, you get Yuvraj. And somewhere in between, you have this wild card, Deva, who scores a century in 35 balls. 433 runs? It's absurd. It's a video game score."
Ganguly: "And don't forget Dhoni's captaincy. The way they got Tamim Iqbal out. Everyone focused on the batting, but that slower bouncer trap? That was street smarts. That was Dhoni saying, 'I know your ego is bigger than your patience.'"
---
The Team Hotel: The Morning After
Miles away in Dhaka, the Indian team was packing up. The adrenaline had faded, replaced by the dull ache of sore muscles and the reality of travel.
In the breakfast hall of the hotel, the mood was relaxed but focused.
Virender Sehwag sat with a mountain of fruits, scrolling through his phone. "Arre, look at this," he laughed, showing his phone to Harbhajan. "Someone made a meme. It says 'Bangladesh asked for mercy, Deva gave them a massacre'."
Harbhajan chuckled, buttering his toast. "Where is he?"
"I think in the gym," Dhoni said, walking past with a cup of tea. "He doesn't stop training even if we win the World Cup. The media outside the hotel is double what it was yesterday."
Deva walked in ten minutes later, wearing his team's tracksuit.
"Morning, superstar," Yuvraj called out from the corner table.
Deva groaned, a smile tugging at his lips. "Morning, Yuvi pa. My phone is frozen. I think it crashed."
"Get a new one," Kohli said, mouth full of omelet.
"Focus, boys," Gary Kirsten, the coach, clapped his hands as he entered. "Great win. Enjoy the headlines. But England is next. They have Anderson, Broad, and Swann. It won't be Shafiul and Rubel. We fly to Bangalore in three hours."
---
Back on TV, the dissection of the "Left-Hander" issue was reaching a conclusion.
Harsha Bhogle (Voiceover): "For weeks, the nation panicked. No Gautam Gambhir. No left-hand elegance at the top. We thought the balance was gone. We thought the right-hand heavy lineup would struggle against leg-spin and left-arm angles."
Clips played of Deva stepping out and hitting inside-out shots.
Harsha Bhogle: "But cricket is an evolving game. Sidanth Deva showed us yesterday that 'handedness' is becoming irrelevant. When you have 360-degree access, you dictate the angles, not the bowler. He nullified the left-arm spin of Shakib not by being a left-hander, but by having the footwork of a dancer and the hands of a boxer. India hasn't lost a strategic advantage; they've gained a tactical nuclear weapon."
---
At a bustling Irani Chai cafe near Charminar in Hyderabad, the morning crowd was thick. The TV mounted on the wall showed highlights of the match.
"Did you see the speed?" a college student exclaimed, dunking his Osmania biscuit. "100 in 35 balls! Even Afridi doesn't hit like that consistently."
"It's not just the hitting," an older man, a veteran of many cricket debates, countered. "It's the technique. Did you see the head position? Still. Perfect. He is not a slogger. He is a proper batsman who decides to be a monster."
"Whatever it is," the tea seller laughed, pouring hot tea into cups. "India is winning this Cup. Write it down. If they play like this, who can stop them? Australia? South Africa? No chance."
---
As the Indian team bus pulled out of the Dhaka hotel, heading for the airport, the streets were lined with fans. Some cheered, some just stared.
Deva looked out the window. He saw a young boy, maybe ten years old, holding a handmade poster. It was a crude drawing of a bat and a ball, with the words: "DEVA - BRING THE CUP."
Deva pressed his forehead against the cool glass. The headlines were great. The praise was intoxicating. But he knew, and Dhoni knew, and Sachin certainly knew—the headlines of today become the fish-and-chip paper of tomorrow.
One failure against England, and the same channels shouting "Revenge!" would run headlines asking "Overconfident?"
He closed his eyes, putting on his headphones. The music drowned out the noise of the sirens.
The "Revenge of 2007" was done.
Now, the real World Cup began.