The flight back from Colombo was a quiet transition from the high of victory to the reality of home. As the plane touched down in Hyderabad, Siddanth felt the familiar pull of the city. It wasn't just a place on the map anymore; it was his fortress.
The reception at the colony was, if anything, even grander than before. The Man of the Series trophy—a massive, gleaming piece of crystal—was passed around like a holy relic.
Mrs. Sharma from next door insisted on performing another aarthi, her eyes wet with tears as she blessed him. The local boys, led by a beaming Arjun, had organised a small street cricket tournament in his honour, though they wisely banned him from bowling fast.
Once the noise died down, the routine returned. And for Siddanth, routine was sacred.
His mind craved structure. His days became a monk-like cycle of gym, nutrition, and nets.
Murugan's Gym at 5 AM. The same rust, the same smell of chalk. Ramesh bhai nodded at him, a silent acknowledgement that fame hadn't softened the boy.
"Heavy legs today, Siddu?"
"Every day is leg day, Ramesh bhai."
He worked on his core, his obliques, the engines that drove the "Javelin" skill. He worked on his wrists, the Sleight of Hand requiring constant fine-tuning. He was building a machine that could withstand the rigours of international cricket for the next decade.
A week after his return, the phone rang. It was Rajesh, the Hyderabad Ranji captain.
"Siddu! Champion! Welcome back!"
"Thanks, Rajesh bhai. Good to be home."
"Listen, the season is starting early this year. The Irani Cup is coming up, and then the Ranji group stages. Are you... Are you available? Or are you too big for us now?" There was a playful note in his voice, but an undercurrent of genuine anxiety.
Siddanth smiled. "I'm a Hyderabad player, bhai. The national team has Tests against Australia in October and November. I'm not in the Test squad yet. So yes, I'm available. Put me down for everything."
"Everything? Even the four-day games?"
"Especially the four-day games. I need overs in my legs."
"Fantastic! The boys will be thrilled. See you at Gymkhana on Monday."
Siddanth hung up. He looked at the calendar. September 2008. The Australians were coming. The "Final Frontier" for them.
He knew he wouldn't be picked for the Tests. Kumble was the captain. Harbhajan and Mishra were the spinners. Zaheer and Ishant were the pacers. The hierarchy was set.
His job was to dominate the domestic circuit so thoroughly that they had to pick him for the next tour.
September 15, 2008.
The day the world changed.
Siddanth was in his room, reading a book on sports psychology, when Arjun burst in. He didn't knock. He looked pale, his eyes wide with shock.
"Sid! Turn on the TV! Now!"
Siddanth calmly placed a bookmark. "What is it?"
"Just turn it on! CNBC!"
Siddanth picked up the remote. He knew what he would see.
The screen was a sea of red. The tickers were scrolling so fast they were a blur.
"LEHMAN BROTHERS FILES FOR BANKRUPTCY."
"WALL STREET CRASHES."
"GLOBAL FINANCIAL MELTDOWN."
"SENSEX PLUNGES 1500 POINTS."
The anchor was speaking in a voice that bordered on panic. "This is unprecedented. The financial system is seizing up. Billions of dollars of wealth have evaporated overnight. The realty sector is in freefall. Unitech is down 40% in opening trade. DLF is locked in lower circuit."
Arjun stared at the screen, then slowly turned his head to look at Siddanth.
"You knew," Arjun whispered. It wasn't a question.
Siddanth looked at the screen, his expression unreadable. "I suspected."
"Suspected? Sid, you made us sell everything two months ago! You sold at the absolute peak! How? How could you possibly know that Lehman Brothers would fall?"
"I didn't know the name," Siddanth said smoothly, his face a mask of calm. "But I knew the pattern. Greed has a smell, Arri. When everyone is buying, when taxi drivers are giving you stock tips, when realty companies are valued higher than they should be... that's the smell of a bubble. And bubbles always burst."
Arjun sat down on the bed, his legs giving way. "We... we would have lost everything. The 2 Crores... it would be 20 Lakhs today."
"Less," Siddanth said. "Unitech will go to zero eventually."
"Are you a prophet?" Arjun asked, his voice trembling. "Seriously. First the cricket matches, now this. It's scary, Sid."
Siddanth stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the street. "I'm not a prophet, Arjun. I just read between the lines. The world tells you what's going to happen if you listen."
He turned back to his friend. "The crash is bad for the world. But we are safe. That is what matters."
The months rolled on. The cricket field became his refuge from the gloomy financial news gripping the world.
Siddanth played the Ranji Trophy with a terrifying intensity. He wasn't playing against Karnataka or Mumbai; he was playing against the selectors.
In a match against Delhi, he bowled 25 overs on a flat track and took 6 wickets, using reverse swing that bewildered the batsmen. He scored a gritty 140 on a green top in Mohali, proving his technique against the moving ball.
He was making a statement.
But then, November came.
November 26, 2008.
Siddanth was in his hotel room in Jaipur, preparing for a Ranji match against Rajasthan. He had just finished dinner and was icing his shoulder.
The news flashed on the TV.
"TERROR ATTACK IN MUMBAI."
"FIRING AT CST STATION."
"EXPLOSIONS AT TAJ HOTEL AND OBEROI TRIDENT."
Siddanth froze. The ice pack slipped from his shoulder.
He knew this. He lived through this in his first life. The horror, the helplessness, the rage.
He watched the images—the smoke billowing from the Taj dome, the NSG commandos dropping from helicopters, the face of Kasab with his AK-47.
A deep, cold sigh escaped him.
He closed his eyes. I could have... no.
The thought was instantly crushed by his logic.
What could he have done? Called the police? "Hello, terrorists are coming by boat"? He would be in a dark cell in an IB interrogation room within an hour. He would be branded a conspirator. His career, his life, his family—all gone.
He was a System User, not a god. He had power over a cricket ball, not over geopolitics.
He sat there for hours, watching his country bleed, feeling the impotence of a man who knows the future but cannot change the tragedy.
His phone rang. It was his mother, crying.
"Siddu... are you safe? You're in a hotel... is it safe?"
"I'm safe, Amma," he said, his voice hollow. "I'm in Jaipur. It's far away."
"It's everywhere," she wept. "Why do they hate us? Why?"
"I don't know, Amma," he lied. He knew exactly who "they" were. The news would soon confirm it. The Lashkar-e-Taiba. Pakistan.
The cricket stopped. The Ranji match was postponed. The England ODI series was cancelled mid-way. The nation went into mourning.
The anger was palpable. It was in the streets, in the newspapers, in the dressing rooms.
When cricket finally resumed in December, with England bravely agreeing to return for the Tests, the atmosphere was charged.
The first Test in Chennai. Sachin Tendulkar scored an emotional century to win the match, dedicating it to Mumbai.
Siddanth watched it from home. He saw the tears in Sachin's eyes.
He picked up his bat. He gripped the handle until his knuckles turned white.
We fight where we can, he thought. Soldiers fight on the border. We fight on the field.
December 2008.
The squad for the India tour of New Zealand (Feb-Mar 2009) was to be announced.
It was a massive tour. 3 Tests, 5 ODIs, 2 T20s.
Siddanth knew he would be in the ODIs and T20s. But the Test squad? That was the holy grail.
The phone call came from Krishnamachari Srikkanth, the new Chairman of Selectors.
"Siddanth. We've been watching your Ranji season. The 6-fer in Delhi. The 140 in Mohali. You've shown us you have the temperament for the long format."
Siddanth held his breath.
"We are picking you for the ODIs, T20s. Are you ready for the game?"
"Yes, sir," Siddanth said, his voice steady.
"Good. Pack your thermals. It's going to be windy."
Siddanth cut the call and thought, I will make a permanent place for myself in the Indian cricket team with this tour.