The Barbados drama : Nawab Pataudi

(Nawab Pataudi - 5 January 1941, Bhopal – 22 September 2011, New Delhi)

March 16, 1962, will be remembered as a black day in the annals of Indian cricket; though not, I trust because its events precipitated my appointment to that title, which then stood at the summit of my ambitions, captain of India.

I am not normally, I think, a nervous batsman, but will admit to feeling a certain apprehension that day as I crouched in front of the stumps at Bridgetown, Barbados, ready to receive my first delivery from Charlie Griffith.

It was a typically hot afternoon, with some 10,000 shirt-sleeved fans jam-packed into the small, open-roofed Kensington park arena, and many more perched like hobgoblins on the branches of palm trees and other vantage points outside. The hubbub of chatter and laughter I remembered from a previous ‘friendly’ tour seemed now to have given way to a more positive sound. Hot on the scent of victory, the west Indians were screaming for our blood.

I hope my apprehension did not show, I don’t believe in showing emotion in public, like joy, or tears, any sign of fear is best confined to one’s private room. It certainly does not belong on the cricket field. However, as you will see, the circumstances were unusual.

We had reached the second afternoon of India’s match against Barbados, undeniably the strongest team in the world outside a test team and strong enough to defeat most test teams.

In our task of trying to match the colony’s first innings total of 394 we had lost three wickets for 15 runs and , as the young vice captain , I was acutely aware of the need for someone to introduce stability into the batting.

As I watched Griffith walk back to his marker I found it, difficult to erase from my mind all that had gone before.

So far on this tour, the Indian side had failed to live up to a reputation, enhanced be recent victories over the M.C.C. side led by Ted Dexter, yet we were by no means innocents abroad.

For this match our card had been emphatically marked. Cricketers who had visited Barbados recently had warned us to expect trouble from Charlie Griffith, a giant Barbadian fast bowler with a freak bowling action. This apparently, enabled him to make a ball rise off the pitch at an unexpected angle and at alarming pace.

Right from the start of play every Indian eye had been glued in Griffith. We had a good view of his action from the pavilion balcony, which is situated behind the bowler’s arm, and it did not take us long to decide that those warnings did not exaggerate the danger to s batsman of Griffith’s deliveries, some of which looked distinctly odd.

Early on our captain, Nari Contractor , received a ball from Griffith  which was short of a length, and it rose very abruptly. Nari had no time to play any sort of shot, but at the last moment hunched his shoulders. Even from the distance of the dressing-room we could hear the sickening thud as the ball struck his head.

It was a delivery which has since been the subject of much discussion. One suggestion is that the ball did not, in fact, rise above stump height. As an eye witness from reasonably close range I can dismiss this as completely inaccurate.

Contractor is about five feet nine in height, and when hit was clearly standing upright without having attempted any stroke. In fact, he did not move a muscle until the very last second when he appeared to pick up the ball for the first time, then he hunched his head into his right shoulder in a protective gesture. Had he not done this ball would have struck him in the neck instead of on the head.

It should also be remembered that contractor was already an extremely competent and experienced Test batsman, not easily deceived and still less likely to be scared, by the very best fast bowling.

I can remember turning to my friend Jaisimha, and there was shock in my voice as I exclaimed: ‘My god, Jai, that was a really bad blow.’

We watched our captain sink to the ground. The Barbadian players rushed to help, and a few of them escorted him towards the dressing-room. Halfway there, several of our own players had arrived on the field to give their support.

At first no one realized just how badly Nari had been hurt. Later, as he sat in a corner of the dressing-room, someone saw bleeding start from his ears and nose. At once manager Ghulam Ahmed telephoned the hospital. ‘Send an ambulance!’ we heard him demand.

Play continued. A little later Manjrekar who, technically, I have always considered the best Indian batsman of my time, and who was certainly our best hooker, received a delivery from Griffith almost identical to the one with which Contractor was felled.

By moving his head at the last moment, Manjrekar took the impact of the ball on the bridge of his nose. It was at once obvious that he, like Nari, must retire. Slowly he made his way back to the dressing-room, and on entering announced quite calmly: ‘I’ve been blinded, I cannot see a thing. The atmosphere was so tense; waiting to bat was almost like waiting for the executioner’s axe.

However, twenty minutes later to everyone’s relief, Manjrekar found he could see again. He wished me luck as I went over the top or rather out of the pavilion to join Jaisimha in the middle.

Less than twelve months earlier I had been involved in a car accident which cost me of this sight in my right eye, but my good one provided a vivid picture of Charlie Griffith charging towards me as if meaning business.

I saw him land at the crease at a wide angle, his chest square and left foot splayed outwards. Down came his arm – them nothing. I completely failed to pick up the ball at any point in its flight, though I could sense that this time it wasn’t a bumper. Fortunately, the delivery was off target.

I also failed to pick up Griffith’s next two deliveries, but caught just a glimpse of his fourth. It seemed to come towards me from mid off, and I could do nothing in time to prevent the ball from shattering my stumps.

At close of play the scoreboard showed we had scored 80 for six. But for a brave stand by Jaisimha and (Farookh) Engineer  we would have been in even worse trouble.

We returned to our hotel to await news of the captain. Since none came, the whole team decide to visit the hospital. You cannot see him now, he is in the operating theatre and under anaesthetic, we were told. We were allowed to wait in a room immediately below the operating theatre. Soon sitting there quietly, we could hear Nari’s voice quite clearly. He was cursing fluently in Gujerati, a language which, fortunately perhaps, few West Indians can understand.

Then everything went quiet again. Through the silence Chandra Borde heard an owl hooting outside. In our country the presence of an owl is regarded with grave concern because it is said to be a harbinger of ill fortune. Most of us feared the worst when a doctor entered the waiting-room to announce: ‘I’m afraid I have bad news for you….

But after a pause, the doctor continued: we want you to give your blood for the captain-it will help him through this grave operation.

Borde, Umrigar and Nadkarni, senior players who were of the appropriate blood group duly volunteered to give blood, together with Sir Frank Worrell, the West Indian Captain, who had made a special journey to be present Another visitor, Charlie Griffith, was obviously very concerned.

Contractor had sustained a fractured skull. The first treatment he received was an emergency brain operation, and this undoubtedly saved his life. Another critical operation that followed, this time performed be a specialist flown in from Trinidad, was to relieve a blood clot which had formed from the fracture, and which was pressing on Nari’s brain.

Happily Nari contractor survived and is still around to tell the whole tale, if he wishes. But he has a plate in his head as a remember of that near-fatal accident, and needless to say he has not been able to play test cricket again.

Manjrekar, however, recovered to such a remark able extent that in the second innings of the match he completed a magnificent century, as a fighting gesture, this must rate as one of the greatest I have ever been privileged to witness on the cricket field.

 (These are the excerpts of Nawab Pataudi’s autobiography ‘Tiger’s Tale’ published by Hind Pocket Books, New Delhi being reproduced here as a mark of  respect to the departed legendry player of the cricket who led the Indian team from a casual play team to a professional one.)