Chapter 3: The Trials(1)

The golden sun bathed the cricket field in a warm glow, casting long shadows as Mak stood at the edge of the pitch. His bat rested lightly against his shoulder, the familiar weight giving him a sense of comfort amidst the swirl of nerves. This was the moment he had been waiting for—his chance to claim a place on the team.

The cricket trials.

That morning, Mak had barely touched his breakfast. His parents had noticed his unusual quietness. At the dining table, his father glanced over the newspaper and spoke in his deep, measured voice, "Today's the trial, isn't it? You've prepared well enough. Just keep a clear head."

Mak nodded, not trusting his voice. His mother placed a hand on his shoulder as she set down his plate. "Remember, it's just one step. You've worked hard for this, and whatever happens, you'll always have our support."

Her words were kind, but Mak could feel the pressure lurking beneath them. He knew how important this was, especially for his father, who had always emphasized discipline and achievement. "I'll do my best," Mak finally said, though his mind was already racing ahead to the afternoon's trial.

After a long day at school—classes starting at 8:30 AM and finally ending at 3:00 PM—Mak found himself at the pitch. St. Xavier's High School had always balanced academics and sports, but on days like this, the academic pressure felt like a distant memory compared to the mounting anxiety of the cricket trials.

Now, standing at the pitch after school, Mak took a deep breath and refocused.

His heart pounded as he glanced around at the other boys preparing for the trials. Some were stretching, others practicing their bowling, each one focused on earning one of the few open spots. The competition was fierce this year. Mak's main concern, though, was the wicket-keeping role—now vacant since the senior player had graduated. The substitute from last year was also gunning for the same position, and the pressure of that competition weighed heavily on Mak.

"Hey, you good?" Raghav's voice jolted Mak from his thoughts. His best friend had appeared at his side, already bouncing a cricket ball in his hand, unable to contain his own excitement.

Mak managed a tight smile. "Yeah. Just… there's a lot riding on this."

Raghav grinned, tapping the ball on the ground, its dull thud calming in its repetition. "You'll crush it. You've been playing out of your skin lately."

Mak appreciated Raghav's confidence, but inside, doubt gnawed at him. The vacant wicket-keeping role was up for grabs, and he wasn't the only one aiming for it. Last year's substitute was still in the mix, and he was strong competition. But Mak's mind wasn't just occupied by cricket—there was math, too. His study session with Aisha had been more stressful than helpful, and his father's unspoken expectations loomed large.

The coach, Mr. Ranjan, blew his whistle, calling the boys to gather around. His stern expression was more intense today, his sharp eyes flicking between them like a hawk assessing prey. Yet, Mak could see something in his eyes—something like anticipation.

"Listen up!" Mr. Ranjan's voice broke the murmurs, and silence fell over the group. "Today, we'll be testing everything: fielding, bowling, batting, and wicket-keeping. There are no easy spots on this team. Wicket-keepers—your job is not just catching. You need to field. You need to think."

Mak's fingers flexed on his bat. His heart thudded faster.

As the boys dispersed to their drills, Mak's gaze lingered on the field. It stretched out before him, the grass vibrant in the evening light. The pitch was pristine, its smooth surface promising both opportunity and challenge. A soft murmur of excitement ran through the air, carried by the buzz of anticipation from the other boys—some already stretching, others muttering last-minute strategies to one another.

"Fielding first!" Mr. Ranjan's command cut through the tension, snapping Mak to attention.

Now came the real challenge—the fielding test. The coach blew his whistle sharply, and the players lined up for what would be a grueling examination of their athleticism and reflexes. Mak's heart pounded, but he was ready. He crouched low, his eyes scanning the coach's movements as he tossed the first ball toward the outfield.

The first part of the fielding drill was all about ground fielding. Mak sprinted toward the ball as it zipped along the grass, his legs pumping hard. His body stretched out as he slid, arm extended, scooping the ball cleanly into his hands. Without pausing, he pushed himself up and fired the ball back toward the stumps. His throw sailed straight, hitting the target with a sharp thud. He heard murmurs of approval from his teammates, but Mak didn't let that distract him as hitting the stumps was a lucky coincidence. There were more drills ahead.

Next came the high catches. The coach hit a series of lofted shots, testing the players' ability to judge the flight of the ball and their coordination under pressure. The sun hung bright in the sky, making it harder to track the ball, but Mak was determined not to lose focus. He positioned himself under the first catch, squinting up as the ball soared high above, hands open wide, and as the ball descended, he moved quickly, making the necessary adjustments to get under it. With a satisfying thwack, the ball nestled safely into his hands. One down.

The second high catch was trickier. The wind had picked up, and the ball swerved unpredictably as it came down. Mak's heart raced as he adjusted his position at the last second, diving to his left to make the catch. He landed hard, but the ball was secure in his hands. He quickly got up and threw it back toward the coach. His confidence was building with every successful attempt.

But the coach wasn't done. He moved to the next set of drills—throws from the boundary. This test wasn't just about how well they could catch or stop the ball; it was about arm strength and accuracy. Mak took his position near the boundary line, focusing on the coach's signal. A ball was smashed deep into the outfield, and Mak bolted after it. His feet pounded the ground, breath heavy in his chest, but he reached the ball before it could roll too far. He scooped it up cleanly and, without pausing to gather his breath, wound up his arm and hurled it back toward the stumps in one smooth motion.

The ball sailed through the air, a long, powerful throw, and Mak watched as it rocketed straight toward the target. The wicketkeeper, positioned at the stumps, caught it with ease, signaling a perfect return. Mak allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. His arm had always been one of his strengths, but seeing the ball land so precisely gave him an extra boost of confidence.

The coach blew the whistle again, this time signaling for a relay test. Players would have to field the ball in quick succession, simulating a live match situation where the pressure was on to stop the opposition from running between the wickets. Mak joined his teammates, their eyes focused, bodies tensed. As the ball was hit toward them, Mak sprinted toward it, scooped it up, and passed it off quickly to the next player, keeping the momentum alive. They repeated this drill several times, each pass requiring speed, accuracy, and communication.

Finally, it was time for the agility test. Cones were set up across the field in a zigzag pattern, and the players had to sprint between them while reacting to random balls hit by the coach. Mak gritted his teeth as the whistle blew, racing through the cones, his body twisting and turning to avoid collisions. As he reached the final cone, a ball was hit in his direction, fast and low. Without hesitation, Mak dove, hands outstretched, and snatched it just before it touched the ground. His body hit the dirt hard, but he had done it.

The fielding test was relentless, but Mak had held his own. His body ached, sweat drenched his shirt, but the fatigue was masked by the satisfaction of having completed each drill with precision. As he stood up, dusting off the dirt from his clothes, he caught the coach's eye once again. There was no smile, no overt praise, but nod of approval.

The wicket-keeping test was next, and it wasn't just about reflexes—it was about judgment, focus, and stamina. He had prepared for this moment, and now it was time to prove himself.