chapter 1- The gift that changed everything

The sun was setting over the small town of Sultanganj, painting the sky with hues of pink, orange, and gold. The Ganga River glistened in the distance, and the temple bells chimed softly, filling the air with a serene, spiritual energy. Life in Sultanganj moved at its own gentle pace—slow, predictable, but comfortable. However, for one young boy, life had always seemed like a restless current, yearning for something more.

Sonu Kumar, a 15-year-old with a lean frame, unruly hair, and an unbreakable passion for cricket, sat on the steps of his home, lost in thought. His home, a modest brick structure, sat in the heart of Sultanganj, surrounded by narrow lanes and age-old buildings. Sonu had lived here his entire life, but his dreams reached far beyond the boundaries of this small town.

He ran his fingers through his hair and gazed at the half-empty cricket field in front of him, where some of the local boys were playing an impromptu match. He could hear the thud of the ball against the bat and the cheers of the players. A pang of longing shot through him. Though Sonu had the talent, he didn't have the equipment or the opportunities to play as much as he wanted.

His family struggled to make ends meet. His father, a farmer, had been doing his best to provide for the family, but farming was unpredictable. Sonu's dreams of becoming a professional cricketer felt like chasing the wind—far-fetched and impossible. Every time he expressed his desire to his parents, they reminded him of the harsh realities of life.

"Sonu, dreams are good, but you need something to fall back on," his mother would often say, her voice kind but firm. "Cricket won't feed the family."

And so, Sonu did what he could. He practiced with makeshift equipment—a bat made from an old piece of wood and a tennis ball wrapped in duct tape. He learned from watching others, sometimes sneaking into the town's only TV repair shop to catch glimpses of live matches. His heroes—Virat Kohli, MS Dhoni, and Sachin Tendulkar—seemed like gods, and their achievements motivated him to keep going, even when his hopes were dim.

One evening, as the shadows lengthened and the local cricket game was coming to an end, a motorbike roared into the lane, kicking up dust and causing heads to turn. Sonu glanced up and recognized the familiar figure of Vishal Bhaiya, a man in his mid-thirties, who had once been the pride of Sultanganj's cricket scene. Vishal Bhaiya had moved to Patna years ago but remained connected to his roots.

Sonu stood up as Vishal Bhaiya parked his bike and approached him, a broad smile on his face.

"Sonu!" Vishal Bhaiya called out, his voice full of energy. "What are you doing sitting here? Shouldn't you be on that field?"

Sonu smiled sheepishly. "Just watching today, Bhaiya. No bat, no ball."

Vishal Bhaiya looked at Sonu, his eyes narrowing with understanding. He had heard the boy's name mentioned in cricket circles around Sultanganj—people spoke of Sonu's natural talent, his quick reflexes, and his passion for the game. But talent alone wasn't enough. Equipment, practice, and opportunities were just as important.

"I have something for you," Vishal Bhaiya said, his grin widening. He reached into the side pouch of his motorbike and pulled out a brown paper-wrapped package.

Sonu's heart raced as he eyed the package with curiosity. "What is it?"

Vishal Bhaiya handed it to him. "Open it and see for yourself."

Sonu carefully unwrapped the package, his fingers trembling slightly. Inside, he found an old cricket bat, worn but sturdy, with a grip that had seen its fair share of matches. It wasn't just any bat—it was the bat that Vishal Bhaiya had used during his own cricketing days. The bat carried with it the weight of countless runs, the memory of victory and loss, and the essence of the game itself.

But that wasn't all. Along with the bat, there was a small notebook, its pages filled with handwritten notes and diagrams. Sonu flipped through it and saw cricket strategies, drills, and exercises carefully detailed out. Some pages had illustrations of field placements, while others had tips on improving footwork and shot selection. It was like a personal guidebook, crafted for someone serious about the game.

Sonu looked up at Vishal Bhaiya, speechless. His eyes gleamed with gratitude and disbelief.

"This... this is amazing!" Sonu stammered, running his fingers along the edges of the bat. "Thank you, Bhaiya. But why...?"

Vishal Bhaiya chuckled. "I see the same fire in you that I had when I was your age. The difference is, I didn't have anyone to guide me. I played as much as I could, but life got in the way. You, on the other hand, have something special, Sonu. You're not just talented—you have the heart for the game. And I want to help you reach your potential."

Sonu felt a surge of emotion as he held the bat in his hands. For the first time in a long while, he felt that his dream wasn't entirely out of reach. Someone believed in him—someone who had walked the path he longed to walk.

"There's one more thing," Vishal Bhaiya added, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a sleek, electronic card—something that looked far too advanced for a town like Sultanganj. The card had a small digital screen on it with Sonu's name printed on it in bold letters: Sonu Kumar - VIP Access.

Sonu furrowed his brow. "What's this?"

"This," Vishal Bhaiya said, holding the card up to the light, "is your pass to the new cricket stadium that's being built on the outskirts of town. It's not open to the public yet, but with this, you'll have access to the training facilities, the nets, and the indoor practice areas. The stadium is being equipped with cutting-edge technology, and they're even working on a sign-in system for young cricketers like you. This card will get you in."

Sonu's jaw dropped. He had heard rumors about the new cricket stadium, but he never imagined that he would have the chance to step inside, let alone train there.

"Bhaiya, I don't know what to say..." Sonu's voice wavered as he clutched the card and the bat. "This is... it's too much."

Vishal Bhaiya smiled warmly and placed a hand on Sonu's shoulder. "It's not too much, Sonu. It's exactly what you deserve. But remember, this is just the beginning. The real work starts now. You need to use that bat, that notebook, and this opportunity wisely. The road to becoming a professional cricketer is long and tough, but I believe you can make it if you're willing to put in the effort."

Sonu nodded, his mind already racing with possibilities. He could already see himself at the stadium, working on his batting technique, practicing against fast bowlers, and learning from experienced coaches. For the first time, his dream felt tangible, like he could reach out and touch it.

"Thank you, Bhaiya," Sonu said, his voice filled with determination. "I won't let you down."

Vishal Bhaiya grinned and ruffled Sonu's hair. "I know you won't, kid. Now go, get some rest. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your cricketing life."

As Vishal Bhaiya rode off into the evening, Sonu stood there, clutching the bat and the card, his heart pounding with excitement. The world around him—the familiar streets, the quiet houses, the old cricket field—seemed to blur as a new vision of his future came into focus.

He wasn't just a boy from Sultanganj anymore. He was a cricketer, and his journey had just begun.