Chapter 42: The Identity Crisis
October 28, 2000
National Stadium, Karachi
21:00 Hours (9:00 PM)
The air in Karachi is usually heavy with salt and humidity. Tonight, it was heavy with something far more volatile: Conflicting Loyalties.
I sat in the President's Box, looking down at a spectacle that defied fifty years of indoctrination.
The stadium was a cauldron of 40,000 screaming souls. But they weren't chanting "Pakistan Zindabad."
They were chanting: "Jeetay ga bhai jeetay ga! Karachi jeetay ga!" (Karachi will win!)
And leading the Karachi Kings onto the field was not a son of the soil. It was Sourav Ganguly.
The "Prince of Calcutta" walked out for the toss, wearing the blue and gold jersey of Karachi. He looked arrogant, aggressive, and utterly at home.
Opposite him stood Wasim Akram. The "Sultan of Swing." The greatest bowler Pakistan had ever produced.
But tonight, Wasim was wearing the red of the Mumbai Sultans.
"This is unnatural, Sir," General Aziz muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Look at the flags. There is a boy waving a Karachi flag... but he is holding a poster of Ganguly. An Indian leading our biggest city against our own national hero?"
"It's not unnatural, Aziz," I said, watching the coin flip. "It's professional."
The Match: The scriptwriter's dream
Mumbai batted first.
The Mumbai Sultans were a juggernaut. With Sachin Tendulkar opening (drafted by Mumbai shareholders who refused to let him go anywhere else) and Wasim Akram coming in as a pinch hitter at the end, they posted a massive 185/6.
Wasim Akram, playing for Mumbai, smashed the Pakistani bowler Shoaib Akhtar (playing for Delhi, but loaned to Karachi for this match? No, let's keep it simple)—Wasim smashed the Karachi bowlers all over the park in the final overs.
Every time Wasim hit a six, the Karachi crowd went silent.
They didn't know whether to cheer their National Hero or boo the Mumbai Captain. The cognitive dissonance was palpable.
The Chase: The Bengal Tiger in Sindh
Karachi came out to chase.
They lost wickets early. 50/3.
The crowd began to get restless. The old instincts flared up.
"These Indians can't play!" someone shouted from the General Enclosure. "Ganguly is a traitor! He is losing on purpose!"
I saw General Mahmood (ISI) check his phone. "Sir, the chatter is starting. If Ganguly loses this, the mob might say he threw the match for India."
"Wait," I said. "The Prince hasn't batted yet."
Sourav Ganguly walked out at number 4.
He adjusted his grip. He glared at the fielders.
He was facing Javagal Srinath, the Indian fast bowler playing for Mumbai.
Indian vs Indian. On Pakistani soil.
Ganguly didn't defend. He stepped out and lofted Srinath over long-on for a massive six.
The crowd roared. The doubt vanished.
Ganguly wasn't playing for India. He was playing for his ego. And right now, his ego demanded that Karachi win.
The Climax: 23:30 Hours
It came down to the last over.
Karachi needed 12 runs to win.
Sourav Ganguly was on strike. He was batting on 88.
Bowling the final over was the Mumbai Captain. Wasim Akram.
The stadium was shaking.
This was the ultimate test. The Pakistani Legend with the ball. The Indian Captain with the bat.
Ball 1: Wasim steamed in. A deadly yorker. Ganguly dug it out. Dot ball.
Ball 2: Wasim bowled a bouncer. Ganguly hooked. Top edge. It flew... over the keeper. Four runs.
(8 runs needed off 4 balls).
Ball 3: Ganguly stepped out. He slashed. The ball raced through the covers. Four runs.
(4 runs needed off 3 balls).
The tension was suffocating.
Wasim Akram walked back to his mark. He looked angry. He wasn't going to let an Indian beat him in his own backyard, franchise or not.
He ran in. Reverse swing.
Ball 4: A perfect inswinging yorker. It crashed into Ganguly's pads.
"HOWZAT!" Wasim screamed.
The umpire shook his head. Going down leg. Wasim kicked the turf in frustration.
Ball 5: Wasim bowled a slower ball. Ganguly swung early. Missed.
The ball thudded into the keeper's gloves.
The Equation: 4 runs needed off 1 ball.
A boundary to win. A three to tie. Anything else, Mumbai wins.
The Moment
The crowd was on its feet.
"Dada! Dada! Dada!"
The chant started in the VIP enclosure and swept through the stands. 40,000 Pakistanis chanting the nickname of the Indian captain.
I looked at General Aziz. He was gripping the railing, his knuckles white. He wasn't acting like a General. He was acting like a fan.
"Hit it, you Bengali tiger," Aziz whispered, unaware he was speaking aloud.
Wasim ran in.
He aimed for the blockhole.
Ganguly anticipated it. He moved leg side, making room.
He didn't slog. He didn't power it.
He played the most exquisite, arrogant shot in cricket.
The Cover Drive.
He caressed the ball through the gap between cover and mid-off.
The timing was surgical. The ball raced across the lush green outfield.
The Mumbai fielder dived. He was too late.
Boundary.
Karachi Wins!