This month, that miracle

Before the Delhi Daredevils, there were Kapil’s Devils. For cricket fans of a certain generation, June 25, 1983, remains, quite without question, the date of their lives. It was the day India won the Prudential Cup and a bunch of nine journeymen and two all-time greats (one of them, Sunil Gavaskar, a trifle out of form) pulled off the biggest miracle in Indian sport.

India has won much since. Especially in the past decade, after the Sourav Ganguly-John Wright duumvirate took Indian cricket into the 21st century, literally and otherwise, and introduced it to a modern idiom, India has reached an ODI World Cup final, won the Twenty20 World Cup, won Test matches in Australia, Test series in England, Pakistan and the West Indies. Yet, a flurry of success and a hyperactive cricket media environment make remembering dates and landmarks impossible.

It began with a sign from the gods, but few chose to read it. On June 9, India took on the West Indies and helped by a plucky 89 from Yashpal Sharma gave the Goliaths from the Caribbean Islands something to chase. Rain interrupted play that day and the match continued on June 10. Incredibly, despite a never ending last wicket partnership of 71, the West Indies lost. It was their first defeat in three world cups, but critics preferred citing it as an early aberration rather than evidence of a maturing of Indian one-day cricket.

The rest of the story is well-known. There was Kapil Dev’s 175 not out in a victory against Zimbabwe that ultimately proved inconsequential. India still had to beat Australia in the final league game, which it did, with Roger Binny and Madan Lal taking eight wickets between them.

The match that showed the new Indian steel was, however, the second one against the West Indies. With Viv Richards scoring an imperious hundred, the defending champions won. Yet, India battled grittily. Mohinder Amaranth scored 80 ignoring short-pitched bowling and blows on the body. Dilip Vengsarkar was hit in the teeth and had to retire hurt. It was an honourable defeat; there was no surrender.

In a strange, pre-modern media age, Indians got to hear of the early stages of the Prudential Cup on the radio and courtesy BBC commentary, but saw none of it. Only two matches were telecast live – the semi-final against England and the final itself. Even here, telecast was interrupted by that old Doordarshan chestnut: “Satellite link is temporarily not available”.

To anyone who watched those two pulsating, drama-filled matches, almost every ball was etched in memory for years afterwards. The 60-overs a side limited-overs match – what would you call it today: S60? – was far closer to Test cricket than, well, sometimes even contemporary Test cricket is.

In the semi-final, England set India a target of 214 in 60 overs, an asking rate of just about 3.50. Today, it would seem a joke. Then, in the cautious words of one television commentator, it was described as “gettable”. After the openers went, Amarnath and Sharma – India’s unlikely middle order heroes in an entirely unlikely ODI tournament – grafted and defended and built their innings.

Then, just as all of those before their television sets felt it was too late, the Indians opened up. An array of boundaries followed. Sandeep Patil came in and hit a 32-ball 50 – yes, there was fast scoring even before M.S. Dhoni! – and India was in the final.

The final itself is, at least for this cricket fan, not so much a match as a blur of images – Balwinder Sandhu’s banana in-swinger that bowled Gordon Greenidge as he shouldered arms; Jeffrey Dujon slapping the turf on being deceived by a slower one from Amarnath (did he ever bowl a faster one?); Amarnath again ambling in to bowl and hitting Michael Holding high on the pad.

Each of those dismissals was meaningful. Greenidge’s departure meant that the West Indies didn’t get the quick, smooth start they wanted. With Dujon ended the West Indies’ last chance – from 76 for 6, wicketkeeper Dujon and Malcolm Marshall had taken the score to 119. In getting Holding, India got hold of the World Cup. It was all over.

Like Tololing or Tiger Hill in another contest, another time, India eventually won the Prudential Cup inch by inch, besting the West Indies lower order ball by ball, run by run. It was a gripping, low-key but epic final hour.

The morning was sunny. Kris Srikkanth came in and blazed away to 38 – it was an era before Virender Sehwag, remember, Indian openers were only expected to defend and play copybook shots. A rasping square drive on one knee, which sent an Andy Roberts delivery to the boundary, was perhaps the shot of the tournament.

Then, as easily as they had dazzled, the Indians imploded. One hundred and eighty-three seemed no score at all. After the match, Kapil Dev was asked what he had said to his team as he led them out to field. “I told the boys, let’s go and play,” said the prosaic captain, who spoke with deeds rather than words. It was left to Sunil Gavaskar to come up with a more inspirational call: “Chalo jawanon, chal ke ladenge (Onward soldiers, it’s time to fight).”

Greenidge’s lucky dismissal – Sandhu tried to explain later that he had deliberately swung the ball six inches but never mind – only brought in Viv Richards. The King smashed Madan Lal as only he could and the commentary team was speculating on the match being done in 30 overs. It was time for the mother of all miracle moments.

Richards pulled Madan Lal, got it a bit wrong but seemed about to get away with it anyway. The ball climbed, Kapil Dev, running backwards, his eyes only on the ball, grabbed it mid-air. Richards was gone; almost as Richie Benaud was beginning to say: “Richards miscues but it doesn’t matter ... Another boundary for the great man, the West Indies on course for a hat-trick ...”

After Richards walked back, there was a sense of urgency and new energy in the Indians. This wasn’t going to be a walkover, no it wasn’t. This was a team supposed to be split between the Bombay and Delhi/Punjabi camps, between Gavaskar and Kapil. Yet, by the middle of the West Indies innings, the collective brains trust of the Indian team was in business. Gavaskar was pointing to positions, advising Kapil on field placing, while Syed Kirmani and Amarnath watched. When it came to the crunch, the Indians didn’t let each other down. It was a fairy tale; and Cinderella did it with time to spare.

Great events lead to great mythology. Immediately after India’s biggest ODI cricket victory, Dom Moraes wrote another of his incomprehensible essays, attributing the achievement to disagreeable “north Indian nationalism”. I’m still trying to figure out what he meant.

Twenty-five years on, the Prudential Cup has spawned thousands of articles, dozens of self-styled experts and even some anodyne PhD theses – this changed the face of Indian cricket, made it an aspirational calling for young people, introduced money and ODI mania to Indian cricket fans and so on.

Actually, the Prudential Cup of 1983 did little of the sort. True, the winning XIV were feted, met by the prime minister, serenaded by Lata Mangeshkar, a custom-written song (the remarkably unmemorable Bharat vishwa vijeta) and given DDA apartments in Delhi.

Yet, India’s one-day cricket binge was at least four years away, and should correctly be dated to the hosting of the 1987 Reliance Cup. Cricket commerce arrived only in 1993-94, when the Board of Control for Cricket in India sold television rights to private channels and began monetising its key properties.

True, the Reliance Cup would not have happened – India would not have bid for the right to host the 1987 world cup – if Kapil’s Devils had not won. Yet, it is perhaps best to remember June 25, 1983, for what happened that day in London, not for peddling spurious, post facto theories. Every underdog has its day; this month, 25 years ago, we had ours.