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The buzz from the 5-wicket haul was a clean, high-frequency hum in Siddanth's veins, a pure adrenaline that was far more potent than any post-match energy drink.
By the time the Indian team bus returned to the hotel in Kuala Lumpur, the sun was a dying orange ember, and the Man of the Match trophy, his first in Indian colours, felt heavy and substantial in his lap.
His teammates were a joyous, chaotic wall of sound, reliving every shattered stump and every audacious boundary. But Siddanth's 35-year-old mind was already elsewhere. He had a ritual to perform.
In the quiet of his hotel room, he waited until the clock ticked past 7:00 PM in Hyderabad. He dialed the familiar landline number, the tones beeping a comforting, nostalgic rhythm.
It rang twice.
"Hello?"
It was his mother's voice, high and anxious. She had clearly been sitting by the phone.
"Amma," he said, and the single word was enough.
"SIDDU!" Sesikala's voice exploded with a day's worth of pent-up joy and terror. "Vikram! He's on the line! He's on the line!"
He heard a clatter as his father presumably picked up the parallel receiver in the study. "Son? Siddu? Are you alright?"
This was the question he'd been expecting. Not "congratulations," not "well done," but "are you alright?" To them, he was still the 17-year-old boy, not the 150kph weapon they'd seen on television.
"I'm perfect, Nanna. Just got back to the room. How are you both? Is everything okay in Hyderabad?"
"How are we?" Vikram's voice was incredulous, cracking with a pride he was failing to conceal. "We... son, we... we watched the match. All of it. My god. That bowling... that yorker that broke the stump..."
"I had to close my eyes!" Sesikala cut in, her voice trembling. "Vikram, he was bowling so fast! I was so scared. I think those other boys were also scared! Are you sure you're not hurting yourself, beta?"
Siddanth smiled, a genuine, warm smile. This was the love he'd traveled back in time for. "Amma, I promise you, I'm not hurting myself, and you should have seen the food at the buffet. I ate enough for three people."
This was the magic word. "You ate properly?" Sesikala's anxiety shifted from 100 to 60. "Good. Good boy. You must eat. You looked thin on the television, so thin!"
"Sesi, he looked like a professional athlete," Vikram boomed, reclaiming the line. "That 30 runs... 10 balls, Siddanth! My colleagues at the bar association have been calling me non-stop! They're calling you the 'Hyderabad Hurricane'! That shot over the keeper... what in god's name was that?"
Siddanth said. "Just having a bit of fun. But Amma, Nanna, you saw it all right? The five wickets?"
"We saw it," Sesikala said, her voice soft now, all the anxiety gone, replaced by a deep, maternal pride. "We saw our son, wearing the India blue, holding the ball up for the whole world to see. We are so, so proud of you, Siddu."
He closed his eyes. The man, who had lived a life of quiet failures in another timeline, felt a tear prick his eye. This was the real victory.
"I have to go, Amma. Team meeting. But I'm fine. I'm happy. And we're going to win this thing."
"Win it," Vikram said, his voice a command. "Win it for all of us."
He hung up; the silence of his room filled with the echo of his parents' pride. He slept that night, not as a prodigy, but as a son who had done his duty.
---
The win against PNG was a morale-booster, but Siddanth knew it was just the warm-up. The real tournament has begun now. The next two matches would decide their place in the knockouts, and they were against the two most unpredictable, dangerous, and athletic teams in the tournament: South Africa and the West Indies.
Match vs. South Africa U-19
This was the first true test. The South Africans, as always, were a professional unit. They were big, fast, and they played with a relentless, structured aggression.
India batted first, and for the first time, the top order felt the pressure. Virat Kohli, trying to dominate, was caught at gully for 15. Tanmay Srivastava was trapped LBW. India was 90 for 3, the run rate stagnating.
Siddanth walked in; he has a bad situation to fix.
The South African captain brought on his premier fast bowler, a genuine 145kph quick named Wayne Parnell. He greeted Siddanth with a bouncer that hissed past his helmet.
Siddanth just smiled.
The next ball was a perfect yorker. Siddanth, with his reflexes, didn't just block it. He squeezed it, using the pace, and the ball shot past the keeper for four.
This was his 60-run, 35-ball statement. He didn't just score; he dismantled their plans.
He used the reverse-sweep shot on their star spinner for six, a shot of pure, calculated audacity.
He would run for two that should have been a single, his speed scattering the South African fielders.
He finished his cameo with a one-handed six over cover.
He was out for 60, but he had taken India from a precarious 150/4 to a dominant 280/7.
When he bowled, he was a different beast. He knew the South Africans were technically sound. They wouldn't be beaten by simple pace. They had to be out-thought.
He bowled a 6-over spell, taking 3 crucial wickets.
Wicket 1: The set opener, caught at slip. Siddanth bowled a 135kph wobble-seam that jagged away, catching the edge.
Wicket 2: The hard-hitting #4, clean-bowled. This was the 105kph slower-ball yorker, a delivery that was fast becoming his unplayable trademark.
Wicket 3: The captain, caught by Kohli, a skied pull shot. Siddanth saw the batsman premeditate the pull, and simply bowled it shorter and faster than he expected.
India won by 60 runs. Siddanth was, once again, the man of the match.
Match vs. West Indies U-19
If South Africa was about structure, the West Indies was about pure, joyful chaos. They were all flair, power, and unpredictable brilliance.
India, batting first, posted a massive 310, with Kohli smashing a hundred. Siddanth's role was simple: go in and finish.
He came in with 3 overs left. He faced 8 balls. He scored 20 runs. It was a celebratory innings where he and the equally aggressive Saurabh Tiwary put on 50 runs in 18 balls.
His job with the ball was different. The Windies batsmen loved pace. They wanted him to bowl 150kph.
So he didn't.
He bowled cutters. He bowled off-spin. He bowled little leg-cutters, his pace varying from 110kph to 130kph.
The Windies batsmen, set for a hurricane, were completely flummoxed by the gentle, confusing breeze. They kept trying to smash him, and they kept mistiming.
He got 4 wickets in this match.
All of them were caught in the deep, skying balls they had no business hitting.
He finished his spell with 4 for 30, laughing as he walked off.
India was 3-0. They had stormed into the Quarter-Finals. Siddanth Deva was the most terrifying player in the tournament. No one knew what he was going to do next. Was he a 150kph fast bowler? A mystery spinner? A 360-degree maniac? Or a gritty Test-match anchor?
He was all of them.
The Quarter-Final
The opponent was England U-19. They were the most "correct" team in the tournament. They played by the book. They were well-coached, disciplined, and had a deep, county-bred batting lineup.
The Kinrara Oval was buzzing. A knockout match. The pressure was a tangible thing.
Virat Kohli won the toss. The pitch had a slight green tinge, the morning air heavy with humidity.
"We'll bowl," Virat announced, a predatory grin on his face. He looked at Siddanth. "Sid, you're taking the new ball. I want them scared before they even score 10."
"Done," Siddanth said.
He stood at the top of his mark. England's opener, a highly-touted prospect from Surrey. He had been watching videos. He was expecting 150kph.
Siddanth ran in. He didn't bowl 150kph. He bowled a 135kph outswinger. A loosener. The batsman left it.
Then, he bowled another, this time swinging it in. The batsman blocked.
Siddanth was just getting a feel, calibrating his vessel.
Then, the third ball.
He exploded. It was a 152kph missile, starting on the middle stump and swinging late, away. The opener, programmed for a 135kph battle, was in a different timeline. His feet were stuck. He jabbed, a desperate, pathetic prod.
SNICK.
The sound was clean, sharp. Shreevats Goswami, the keeper, took the catch chest-high.
WICKET 1.
The next batsman in was the England captain, a gritty, technically perfect number 3. He was a "blocker," an anchor.
Siddanth went back to his mark. He's a blocker. He's going to play for the swing. He's not going to expect the yorker.
He ran in. 151kph. It was not a bouncer. It was not an outswinger. It was a toe-crushing, in-swinging yorker.
The captain's bat was still at the top of its back-lift when the ball smashed into the base of his middle stump.
WICKET 2.
England was 4 for 2. Siddanth had bowled 4 balls. The English dressing room was in a state of shell-shock.
His first spell was a masterpiece of intimidation: 5 overs, 2 maidens, 2 wickets, 6 runs.
Kohli, ecstatic, gave him a rest. The spinners, Jadeja and Appana, came on to tighten the noose. England, terrified, went into a complete defensive shell, trying to rebuild.
They limped to 80 for 4. Kohli looked at Siddanth. "Sid? Ready?"
Siddanth nodded.
He came back on. The set batsman was on 40, playing the spinners well.
Siddanth saw the batsman's trigger-movement. He was shuffling across, premeditating a flick to the leg side.
Siddanth smiled. He ran in, but instead of his normal action, he came slightly wider on the crease. He bowled a 130kph leg-cutter, specifically aimed at the spot the batsman was vacating.
The batsman shuffled, the ball jagged away, he was forced to play, and the resulting edge was a simple catch for the Goswami.
WICKET 3.
England was now just playing for survival. They were trying to see him off.
The last part of his spell was just pure, raw speed. He was brought back to clean up the tail. He was tired, but the engine was strong.
WICKET 4: A 148kph bouncer. The tail-ender had no chance. He gloved it to gully, his eyes shut.
WICKET 5: The last man. Siddanth didn't mess around. He took a deep breath, pictured that stump in the Hyderabad nets, and unleashed a final, perfect, 150kph yorker.
The stump was obliterated.
England was all out for 175.
Siddanth Deva finished with figures of 9.4 overs, 3 maiden, 25 runs, 5 wickets. His second five-for of the tournament. He walked off the field, holding the ball aloft, a calm, professional smile on his face.
The chase was a formality.
The target was 176. The English bowlers were demoralized. They had seen a ghost.
Siddanth took his pads off. He knew he wasn't batting today.
And he was right.
Tanmay Srivastava and Abhinav Mukund, the two classical openers, came out and played classical, boring, wonderful cricket. They saw off the new ball. They hit the bad balls. They ran their singles.
Kohli came in at number 3 and, seeing no pressure, played a calm, mature innings, a rarity for him. He and Srivastava put on 100.
India chased the total with an almost insulting level of ease, winning by 8 wickets.
Siddanth Deva sat in the pavilion. He hadn't batted. He didn't need to.
He was the tournament's leading wicket-taker. He had an "unbeaten" strike rate of over 250.
India was in the semi-finals. And the entire cricketing world was asking one question: Who is Siddanth Deva?