The transition from Pune to Himachal Pradesh was a change of ends; it was a bouncer to the helmet.
Dharamshala sits in the mountains. The air lacks the smell of traffic or dust. You smell pines, earth, and woodsmoke.
The team arrived in the town riding form. They won games in the tournament, beating Australia, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Bangladesh. The run rate was a boundary. But the schedule was a grind, and the match against New Zealand at the stadium promised to be a doosra.
Before practice and inspections began, management mandated a drinks break.
It was morning. Mist settled over the resort where the team and families stayed.
Deva stepped out of the doors of the lobby, his boots crunching onto the gravel. He wore a coat over a turtleneck, his breath pluming in clouds in front of his face.
He walked with Krithika. She wore a coat and a scarf that covered her nose and mouth. And bouncing between them, looking like marshmallows, were the twins.
Because of the location of the resort on a ridge away from town, there were no paparazzi. There were no barricades, fans, or security.
For the time since the tournament began, they could walk out the door as a family.
"Nana! Look!" Aadhya shouted, her voice echoing in the air.
She wore a coat, a beanie, and boots. She bounded off the path and marched into the grass lining the edge of a forest. She bent down and hoisted a pinecone into the air.
"It is a ball!" Aadhya announced, inspecting the edges of the pinecone. "It has spikes."
"Do not throw it at your brother," Krithika warned, her instincts predicting the line and length of Aadhya's thoughts. She pulled her scarf down to speak.
"I was not going to!" Aadhya protested, though she had been pitching the delivery to Rishi's head. She dropped the pinecone into the grass and continued her march into the trees.
Rishi wore a jacket and a beanie. He ran. The boy surrendered to the magic of the mountains. The air and the space flicked a switch in his mind.
He laughed.
It was a giggle. He sprinted, his boots kicking up puffs of dirt, chasing a squirrel that darted up the trunk of a tree.
"Come back, squirrel!" Rishi yelled, pointing into the branches, his face split into a grin. He turned around, waving his hand at his parents. "Amma! Nana! Look squirrel! Did you see him?"
"I saw him, Rishi!" Krithika called back, warmth filling her chest as she watched her son. She linked her arm through Deva's, pulling herself against his side to share body heat.
"He has energy," Deva murmured, looking at his wife with a smile.
"He is a boy," Krithika smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked down the trail. "Sometimes I worry he grows up with his books and his thinking. But look at him. He has joy."
"It is the air," Deva chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It freezes the thoughts out of his head."
They walked down the trail, enveloped by the trees. The mist hung in the branches, creating a sanctuary. The weight of the tournament, the spin traps, and the roar of the stadiums evaporated, leaving the peace of a walk in the woods.
A pinecone sailed through the mist, bouncing off Deva's shoulder.
Deva stopped. He turned his head.
Standing away, hidden behind the trunk of a tree, was Aadhya. She had a pinecone loaded in her mitten, a smirk plastered across her face.
"You missed, monster," Deva called out, narrowing his eyes in anger, dropping his voice into a growl.
"I was testing!" Aadhya shouted, winding up her arm. "This one will hit your nose!"
"Oh?" Deva challenged, unlinking his arm from Krithika's. He bent down, scooped up a handful of needles, and stood up, adopting the stance of a beast. "The bear will get you!"
Aadhya shrieked—a squeal of joy—and turned and sprinted away through the trees.
Deva jogged after her, making noises, his boots crunching through the underbrush. Rishi, seeing his father chasing his sister, let out a laugh and joined the pursuit, sprinting after Deva and grabbing onto the tail of his coat to slow him down.
"I got him, Aadhya! Run!" Rishi giggled, dragging his feet in the dirt as Deva pretended to be trapped by the boy's strength.
"The cub has captured me!" Deva laughed, scooping Rishi into his arms and spinning him in a circle, causing the boy to erupt into a fit of laughter.
Krithika stood on the path, her hands tucked into her pockets, watching her husband wrestle with their children amidst the pines.
They spent the hour exploring the trail. They threw pinecones, they played hide-and-seek behind the boulders, and they breathed in the air until their noses gained redness and their fingers gained numbness through their mittens.
As the morning progressed, the sky gained darkness. The mist condensed into clouds, and a drizzle began to fall over the range.
"Explorers, time to head back," Krithika announced, pulling her scarf up as the rain began to patter against their coats. "Before we turn into ice."
Aadhya groaned in protest, but a rumble from her stomach convinced her that returning to the hotel for hot chocolate and food was a compromise.
They hurried up the driveway, seeking the sanctuary of the resort.
---
By afternoon, the rain outside had turned into a downpour, washing out the possibility of practice or sightseeing for the families.
The team bought the resort. It was a corridor lined with carpeting, sconces, and the doors of the suites. Because they were isolated from the guests, the floor had become a compound.
The rain had bred boredom among the athletes. They were trapped inside, full of energy ahead of the clash.
The solution to their boredom arrived in the form of a bat belonging to one of the toddlers, and a ball.
Deva walked out of his suite, holding a mug of coffee, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. He stepped into the hallway and stopped.
The corridor had transformed.
At one end of the hallway, standing in front of plants serving as stumps, was Rohit. The batsman wore socks, shorts, and a shirt. He held the bat, taking his stance with seriousness.
At the end of the hallway, measuring out a run-up, was Hardik.
Standing around the edges of the pitch, leaning against the walls and acting as fielders, were Virat, Suryakumar, Jasprit, and Ravindra.
And running between their legs, immersed in the madness, were the children of the squad. Vamika, Samaira, Agastya, and the twins cheered, treating the hallway like the stage of the tournament.
"What is happening?" Deva asked, taking a sip of his coffee, a smile spreading across his face.
"It is the Corridor Premier League, Sid!" Virat shouted from his position near a cart. "Rohit won the toss and elected to bat. The pitch plays with turn. The carpet offers grip for the spinners."
"The rules exist, skip," Suryakumar chimed in, pointing down the hallway. "Hitting the ceiling is out. One-tip-one-hand off the walls is out. And if you hit the alarm, you pay the fine."
"Understood. Play," Deva laughed, leaning against the doorframe of his suite.
Hardik bounded in. He hurled the ball down the hallway with pace.
Rohit, possessing timing, did not move his feet. He leaned back and swatted the ball with the bat. The ball flew off the plastic, bounced on the carpet, and ricocheted off the wall.
"Run, Ro, run!" Virat yelled, scrambling to chase the ball down the corridor.
Rohit did not run. He leaned on the bat, lacking breath from standing. "It hit the wall, Virat. That is a boundary. I do not run for boundaries in the hallway."
Down the hall, the wives began emerging from their rooms, drawn by the noise. Anushka, Ritika, and Krithika stepped out, holding mugs of coffee and tea, watching their husbands revert to boys playing cricket.
"Are they keeping score?" Krithika asked Ritika, raising an eyebrow as Jadeja argued a bump-ball decision with Bumrah.
"I think Rohit claims he is on forty-two," Ritika sighed, shaking her head. "He has not run a single. He keeps hitting it against the cart."
"My turn! My turn!" Rishi yelled.
Deva looked up in surprise.
Rohit smiled, kneeling and handing the bat to the boy. "Alright, Rishi. Show us. Elevate the elbow."
Rishi took the bat. It possessed height mirroring his height. He took a stance in front of the plants, gripping the handle. He looked down the hallway, his eyes holding excitement.
"I am ready!" Rishi shouted, giggling.
Virat took the ball from Hardik. He walked away from Rishi. He bowled underarm.
Rishi swung the bat with his might.
Smack!
He connected. The ball bounced off the bat and rolled past Virat's knees.
"I hit it!" Rishi shrieked, dropping the bat. He did not wait to see where the ball went. He started running down the hallway, laughing, his arms pumping in the air.
"Run, Rishi! Take runs!" Suryakumar yelled, clapping, stepping out of the way as the boy sprinted past him.
Rishi reached the end of the hallway, slapped the wall with his hand to complete the run, and turned around, lacking breath, his face holding joy. He looked at Deva, pumping his fist. "Nana! I got a run! I scored!"
Deva's heart melted into a puddle on the carpet. He walked over and scooped Rishi up, hugging him. "You did, buddy! That was a shot. A cover drive eclipsing Virat's."
"Hey!" Kohli protested from the pitch, grinning. "That was a spinner's delivery. Do not ruin my figures."
Rishi giggled, squirming out of his father's arms to run back to the group of kids, high-fiving Samaira and Vamika, immersed in the simplicity of childhood.
The game progressed. The noise in the corridor rose as the players traded the bat, hitting the ball off doors, dodging trays, and diving on the carpet to make catches off the walls.
Then, it was Aadhya's turn.
Aadhya did not approach the pitch with the innocence of her brother.
She marched up to the plants, snatched the bat from Ishan's hands, and took her stance. She tapped the bat against the carpet. Her eyes narrowed into slits. She was not here to have fun. She was here to destroy.
"Bowl pace, Virat Uncle" Aadhya demanded, pointing the bat at Virat, who elected himself the bowler for the session.
Kohli, possessing a streak, saw an opportunity for entertainment. He loved winding the kids up, and Aadhya, with her temper, was his target.
"Oh, you want pace?" Kohli teased, bouncing the ball on the carpet, a smirk on his face. "Alright. Here comes the bouncer."
Kohli walked back paces. He ran in, executing an action, complete with a grunt. He tossed the ball in an arc toward her.
Aadhya wound up. She swung the bat with violence, intending to launch the ball out the window.
She swung before the delivery.
The ball dropped, missed the bat, and bounced against the toe of her sneaker.
Kohli threw his hands into the air, screaming an appeal that echoed down the length of the floor.
"HOWZAT?! HOWZAT!" Kohli roared, pointing at her foot. "Plumb! Hitting middle and leg stump! Out! LBW!"
Rohit, acting as the umpire, caught onto the joke. He bit his lip to stop from laughing, raised his finger in the air, and shook his head. "I apologize, Aadhya. You are out. Plumb."
Aadhya froze.
She looked at her shoe. She looked at Rohit's finger. She looked at Virat, who was doing a dance in the middle of the hallway.
The betrayal existed. The injustice existed.
"I AM NOT OUT!" Aadhya shrieked, her voice reaching a pitch that threatened to shatter the fixtures.
"The umpire gave you out," Kohli teased, leaning forward and resting his hands on his knees, offering a grin. "You missed a delivery. Better luck next time. Give the bat to someone."
"IT DID NOT HIT THE STICKS!" Aadhya yelled, pointing her bat at the plants behind her. "You threw it at my shoe! You chuck the ball!"
"I do not chuck the ball, I am a bowler," Kohli laughed, enjoying the meltdown. He crossed his arms. "Accept your defeat, Aadhya."
That was the straw.
The temper of the bloodline snapped.
Aadhya did not argue. She let out a cry. She raised the bat above her head like a broadsword, locked her eyes onto Virat, and charged.
Kohli's grin vanished. His eyes possessed wideness as he saw a girl sprinting at him with a weapon.
"Wait!" Kohli yelled, taking a step back.
Aadhya swung the bat as she closed the distance, aiming for his shins.
Kohli did not wait to get hit. He turned on his heel, his socks slipping on the carpet, and sprinted down the corridor.
"HELP! SID! CONTROL YOUR CHILD!" Kohli screamed, looking over his shoulder, his voice filled with panic as he fled down the hallway.
"COME BACK, YOU CHUCKER!" Aadhya roared, her legs pumping, relentless in her pursuit, swinging the bat in the air as she chased the Virat past the elevators.
The corridor dissolved.
Rohit collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the floor, laughing, sound avoiding his mouth, his face turning to redness. Hardik and Surya were leaning on each other, howling with laughter, pointing at the visual of a batsman running for his life from a toddler.
Deva leaned against his doorframe, his shoulders shaking with laughter, making no effort to rescue his friend. Krithika and Anushka were holding onto each other in the doorway, wiping tears from their eyes.
"Should someone stop her?" Anushka gasped, laughing as Kohli's pleas for mercy echoed from the end of the hallway.
"No," Deva smiled, taking a sip of his coffee. "He provoked the monster. He has to survive the consequences."
Kohli managed to loop around a cart, creating distance to negotiate a surrender. He held his hands up in defeat, panting, as Aadhya stood away, panting, glaring at him with the bat raised.
"Okay! Okay! I take it back!" Kohli wheezed, laughing. "It was missing leg stump! The umpire made an error! You are not out! Put the bat down!"
Aadhya considered his terms. She looked at Rohit, who lowered his finger, nodding in agreement.
"Fine," Aadhya huffed, lowering the bat. She pointed a finger at Kohli. "You bowl this time. No shoes."
"No shoes. Got it," Kohli promised, wiping sweat from his forehead as he walked back to the pitch, keeping distance from her.
The Corridor Premier League resumed, the energy in the hallway buzzing with camaraderie. The rain continued to fall outside, but inside, the team was a family.
After everyone had taken a turn batting, they switched roles.
Aadhya decided she wanted to bowl.
Virat, seeking redemption for his retreat, took the bat and stood in front of the plants. He took a stance, tapping the bat on the carpet.
"Alright, Aadhya. Let us see what you have," Kohli encouraged, bouncing on his toes. "Give it a shot."
Aadhya did not do an underarm toss. She backed up paces. She ran, her arm windmilling, and threw the ball with her might.
It was not a delivery. It possessed spin. It bounced on the carpet, hit a wrinkle in the rug, and deviated.
Kohli, expecting a delivery without spin, swung the bat. He missed.
The ball rolled past his shoes and bumped into the base of the plants.
"BOWLED HIM!" Hardik roared from the sidelines, throwing his hands up. "The batsman is gone! Knocked over by a girl!"
When Rohit raised his finger and declared, "Out! Bowled!", Aadhya froze.
Instead of bouncing on her toes like her brother or clapping her hands, she remained perfectly still. Dropping her gaze to the fuzzy green ball resting against the ceramic pot, she then looked up at Kohli, who was staring blankly at the makeshift stumps. Slowly, her small hands curled into fists, crumpling the thick fabric of her coat sleeves. Tucking her chin down, she glared at the stunned batsman from under her eyebrows.
Then, throwing her head back so hard her beanie nearly flew off, she let it out.
It wasn't a chest-rattling roar; it was the definitive battle cry of a five-and-a-half-year-old girl. The sound started as a high-pitched, ear-piercing shriek, cracked violently in the middle into a breathless squeal, and finished as a strained, raspy yelp. Yet, she committed to it entirely. Her tiny chest heaved with the effort.
Mid-scream, she drove her right fist down toward the hotel carpet—once, twice, three times. Though the sheer momentum of the punches threw her off balance, sending her oversized snow boots slipping on the plush rug, she quickly caught herself. Grabbing the collar of her pink coat with her left hand, she jutted her little chin out and locked her unblinking eyes onto Kohli.
For three seconds, the only sound in the corridor was the low hum of the ice machine. The squad stared at the toddler in silence. She was holding the exact, aggressive posture of Virat whenever he was on pitch.
Rohit lost his balance first. Sliding down the patterned wallpaper to the floor, his shoulders shook as he clapped both hands over his mouth to muffle his laughs. Suryakumar slapped the wall, his knees buckling entirely. Anushka leaned heavily against Krithika, gasping for breath as she pointed helplessly at her husband's tiny, pink-coated mirror image.
Deva did not laugh.
Setting his coffee mug down on a passing room-service tray, he strode past a wheezing Rohit and his heavily breathing daughter without a flicker of emotion, stopping squarely in front of Virat.
Kohli, still holding the plastic bat, looked back and forth between Deva and the toddler.
Raising his hand, Deva pressed a single finger firmly into Kohli's chest.
"You," Deva stated, his deep voice carrying over the hysterics of the squad, "are a bad influence on my children."
Blinking rapidly, Kohli looked at Deva's finger, then glanced back at Aadhya. The toddler had finally dropped her fists and was grinning, her chest puffed out in immense pride.
Throwing his hands up, Kohli let the plastic bat clatter to the carpet.
"I didn't teach her that!" Kohli protested, stumbling backward and pointing a finger right back at Deva. "Look at her! I don't teach toddlers how to send off a batsman! That is aggression! Don't put your genetics on me, Sid! You built that! She is yours!"
"I am a Ice cool always," Deva replied without blinking, refusing to drop the act. "I do not scream at the opposition."
"You stared down Jos Buttler until the man forgot how to hold a bat!" Kohli argued, gesturing frantically down the hallway. "You are a menace! Don't stand there and act innocent! She gets it from you!"
As the hallway dissolved into a chorus of echoing laughter, Deva finally broke. A warm smile cracked across his face as he stepped forward, pulling Kohli into a hug, laughing at the absurdity.
Turning around, he scooped Aadhya up, kissing her cheek while she squirmed, reminding him that she was a fast bowler, not a baby.
Rishi ran over, jumping up to high-five his sister for her wicket.
Outside, the rain of Dharamshala continued to wash over the mountains, and the clash against New Zealand loomed on the horizon. But standing in the hallway, surrounded by the laughter of their children, the warmth of their wives, and the brotherhood of the squad, Deva knew they were ready.