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The Oval was a dream. A fever dream of glorious drives and swinging deliveries.
We had marched into South London and painted it blue. The victory by 157 runs wasn't just a win; it was a statement. For me, it was a solid, workmanlike performance that cemented my place as the backbone of this team. In the first innings, I scratched out a gritty 44 and chipped in with 2 wickets. In the second, with the game on the line, I accelerated to 66 valuable runs and claimed 4 wickets to help clean up the top order.
But the undisputed star of The Oval was Rohit Sharma. The Hitman finally conquered his final frontier - an overseas Test century. His 127 was pure class, a masterclass in patience and elegance that earned him the Player of the Match.
We left London with a 2-1 lead.
The mood in the camp was electric. We were on the verge of history. Virat Kohli was poised to become the first Indian captain since Rahul Dravid in 2007 to win a Test series on English soil. We weren't just confident; we were hungry.
Destination: Manchester. Old Trafford. The final battleground.
September 10, 2021
The morning of the 5th Test was crisp and cold. The Manchester air bit at our cheeks as we boarded the bus to the ground.
We were ready. I had my headphones on, listening to high-tempo Punjabi tracks, visualizing the pitch. I was mentally rehearsing the lines I would bowl to Joe Root. The System, still running its calibration in the background, hummed quietly.
We reached Old Trafford. We did our warm-ups. We played football. The energy was high.
And then, the whispers started.
It wasn't a shout. It was a sudden, frantic huddle of the medical staff. Nitin Patel, the physio, was running towards Virat and Rohit. The casual banter in the dressing room died instantly.
"Masks on," someone said urgently. "Everyone back to the designated spots."
The news broke like a dam bursting.
It wasn't an injury. It was the virus.
The weekly RT-PCR reports had arrived. Ravi Shastri, our Head Coach—the voice of our aggression—was positive. Bharat Arun, the bowling coach who had engineered our pace revolution, was positive. R. Sridhar, the fielding coach, and Dinesh Karthik (the throwdown specialist, not the keeper) were positive.
The support staff—the engine room of the team—had been compromised.
Panic is a strange thing in a bio-bubble. We had been living in these bubbles for nearly two years. We knew the protocols. But this was different. We had been in close contact with them every single day. In the nets, in the dining room, in the meetings.
90 minutes before the toss the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) and the England and Wales Cricket Board (ECB) were in frantic talks. The phones were ringing off the hook.
Virat walked into the changing room. He looked frustrated, not at the virus, but at the situation. He looked at us—his wolfpack.
"We can't play," he said, his voice heavy. "The risk is too high. If one of us tests positive during the match... the whole team gets stuck here. The World Cup is next month."
It was a heartbreaking decision, but it was the only one. Health and safety concerns were cited. The strict bio-bubble had been breached.
The match was cancelled.
The chance to win the series 3-1 was gone. The trophy would remain shared, the result of the series suspended in limbo.
We packed our kits in silence. The adrenaline that had been building up for the morning session turned into a cold, anxious knot in our stomachs. We weren't cricketers anymore; we were potential carriers.
The Manchester Quarantine (Sept 10-12)
The next 48 hours in the Manchester hotel were a blur of anxiety and nose swabs.
We were confined to our rooms. No hall interaction. No FIFA with Gill. No dining together. Just the four walls and the constant fear that the phone would ring with a positive result.
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The "Super-Human Recovery" body the System gave me felt restless. It wanted to run, to bowl, to exert itself. Instead, I was pacing the length of the room like a caged tiger.
"System," I muttered. "Am I sick?"
[System Check: Viral Load Negative. Host Immunity at 100%.]
I sighed in relief. At least I was safe. But what about the others? What about the older staff?
Fortunately, the news came through in trickles. The playing squad was negative. We had dodged a bullet. But the tour was effectively over. The joyous victory lap we had envisioned at Old Trafford was replaced by a hasty exit strategy.
September 13, 2021.
We didn't fly back to India. There was no time. The Indian Premier League (IPL), suspended earlier in the year due to the delta wave in India, was resuming in the UAE.
The entire Indian contingent—players, remaining support staff, and families—boarded a charter flight from Manchester to Dubai.
It was a surreal flight. Usually, a charter flight is a party. This one was quiet. Everyone was masked up, face shields on, sanitizing their hands every twenty minutes. We were tired. The mental fatigue of the Test series, combined with the COVID scare, had drained us.
I sat next to Rohit bhai. He looked out the window at the clouds below.
"We deserved to win that series, Aarav," Rohit murmured, adjusting his mask. "2-1 doesn't feel like a finish."
"We know we won, bhai," I said. "The world knows. We conquered the fortress."
September 15, 2021.
We landed in Dubai. The blast of desert heat as we stepped off the plane was a shock to the system after the English autumn.
But there was no freedom yet.
Per the IPL bio-bubble rules, transferring from one bubble to another required a mandatory 6-day hard quarantine.
We were bussed to a luxury hotel in Dubai, given our keys, and locked in.
The Glass Cage: Dubai Quarantine (Sept 15-20)
A "Hard Quarantine" is exactly what it sounds like. You do not open your door. You do not see another human being. Food is left outside on a tray. You knock on the door only to put out the trash.
For a normal person, it's boring. For an elite athlete accustomed to moving, running, and playing, it is torture.
My room was luxurious—a suite with a view of the Dubai skyline and the Burj Khalifa shimmering in the distance. But a golden cage is still a cage.
Day 1: I did 500 pushups. I watched three movies. I slept for 12 hours. Day 2: I tried to juggle socks with a cricket bat. I organized my kit bag three times. I analyzed my bowling action in the mirror for two hours.
By Day 3, the silence was deafening.
This is where the phone became my lifeline.
The Parents
"Aarav, beta, did you eat?" Mom's voice crackled over the WhatsApp video call. She was in the kitchen back home, the familiar sound of a pressure cooker whistling in the background.
"Yes, Ma. Hotel food. It's fancy, but it has no taste," I complained, lying on the carpet.
"I saw the news," Dad (Rajat Pathak) said, peering into the camera. "Ravi Shastri is positive? Were you near him?"
"I'm fine, Dad. Tested negative three times. The System... I mean, my immunity is strong."
"Be careful," Mom said, her eyes filled with that perpetual motherly worry. "This disease is bad. Don't go out."
"Ma, I literally cannot go out. If I open the door, the security guard will tackle me."
They laughed. It was good to see them. It grounded me.
Then there were the calls to the Tendulkars.
Sachin Sir called to check on my cricket mindset. "Switching from Test to T20 in a week is hard, Aarav. Use the quarantine to visualize the white ball. The lengths are different."
Anjali Ma'am was more concerned about my mental health. "Are you talking to people? Don't isolate yourself mentally. We are all here."
Arjun just wanted to know if I had brought him the signed shirt from Anderson (I had).
But the person who truly got me through those six days was Shradha.
We developed a routine. Since I had nothing to do and she was studying late at night, we would just... exist together on video call.
I would prop my phone up against a water bottle while I did my core workouts on the floor. She would have her phone on her desk while she highlighted notes for her anatomy exams.
We didn't always talk. Sometimes, it was just the sound of her turning a page or the sound of my breathing.
"You're staring," she said one evening, not looking up from her book.
"I have nothing else to look at," I replied, wiping sweat from my forehead. "The Burj Khalifa doesn't smile back at me."
She looked up then, adjusting her glasses. "You're bored out of your mind, aren't you?"
"I have counted the threads in the carpet, Shradha. There are 4,502 threads in the square patch near the bed."
She giggled. "You're losing it."
"Maybe. Tell me something. Tell me about your day. Tell me about the traffic in Mumbai. Anything."
And she would. She would talk for hours—about a difficult patient, about a new cafe she wanted to try, about how Arjun was annoying her. It was mundane, trivial stuff, but to me, locked in a silent room in Dubai, it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
One night, around 2 AM Dubai time, we fell asleep on the call.
I woke up a few hours later. The screen was still active. I could see the ceiling of her room and hear her soft breathing. I watched the screen for a moment, feeling a profound sense of peace.
The celebrity, the fame, the billions of dollars, the hat-tricks—none of it mattered in that quiet moment. Just the connection.
September 20, 2021: Freedom
The knock on the door on the morning of Day 6 was the sweetest sound I had ever heard.
"Mr. Pathak? Final test results negative. You are cleared to exit."
I packed my bag in record time. I grabbed my mask and stepped out into the hallway.
Down the corridor, doors were opening. Rohit Sharma stepped out, looking groggy. Jasprit Bumrah emerged, stretching his arms. Suryakumar Yadav was already doing a little dance in the hallway.
"FREEDOM!" SKY shouted.
We laughed, bumping elbows (no hugs yet).
[SYSTEM ALERT][Calibration Progress: 15%][T20 World Cup Countdown: 30 Days.]
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The transition from the azure blue of Team India to the bold red and gold of the Royal Challengers Bangalore (RCB) was usually a moment of excitement, a shift from the grueling attrition of Test cricket to the high-octane carnival of T20. This year, however, it felt less like a transfer and more like a coronation.
The first half of the IPL 2021, played on the dust bowls and humid nights of India before the COVID suspension, had been a dream. A fairytale written in bold font.
Played: 8.Won: 8.
We were the "Invincibles." We sat atop the table with 16 points, already qualified for the playoffs before a single ball was bowled in the UAE leg.
I walked into the team hotel in Dubai, my six-day hard quarantine complete. The lobby was decked out in RCB flags, the lion emblem staring back at me from every pillar. The air conditioning hummed with the scent of expensive perfume and anticipation.
Virat Kohli, wearing the RCB training kit that seemed to fit him like a second skin, met me near the elevator. He greeted me with a high-five that echoed in the hallway, a sound of pure confidence. "The Prince returns!" Virat grinned, looking more relaxed than I had seen him during the pressure cooker of the Test series. The furrow in his brow was gone, replaced by the glint of a man who knew he had a winning hand. "We missed you in the first week of camp. But hey, we are qualified. Now we just go out there, break the record for most points, and lift the trophy. Simple."
AB de Villiers—the genius, the alien, the nicest man on earth—was sitting nearby on a plush sofa, chatting with Glenn Maxwell. "Ready to smash some white balls, Aarav?" ABD smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Red ball is too much thinking. Leave, block, leave. T20 is just feeling. See ball, hit ball. You ready for the fun part?"
"Ready as I'll ever be, AB," I replied, forcing a smile that felt tight on my face.
But as I walked to my room, dragging my kit bag behind me, a strange sensation washed over me. It wasn't the usual fatigue of travel or the stiffness of quarantine. It was... lag.
It felt like moving underwater. My hand reached for the door handle, but my fingers grasped it a fraction of a second later than my brain expected.
[SYSTEM ALERT][Calibration in Progress: 18%][WARNING: Physiological and Neurological Rewiring Active.][Status: The Chrysalis Phase.][Side Effects: Delayed Reaction Time (-0.4s), Muscle Stiffness, Focus Instability, Sensory Disconnect.]
I froze in the hallway, the key card hovering over the scanner. "Delayed reaction time? System, are you insane? I'm playing professional cricket against bowlers hurling rockets at 150kmph. 0.4 seconds is the difference between a six into the stands and a clean bowled that humiliates me on global television."
[System]:The integration of the 'Brett Lee Biomechanics' and 'Viv Richards Aura' is not a software patch, Host. It is a biological overhaul. It requires a complete restructuring of your fast-twitch muscle fibers and neural pathways. You wanted to be a God? You have to survive the surgery first. The body must break before it can be rebuilt. Performance dip is not just possible; it is expected.
I swallowed hard, a cold knot forming in my stomach. "How long? How long do I have to play like a glitchy video game?"
[System]:Until the World Cup. Endure it. Adapt. Survive.
I didn't know it then, standing in that plush hotel corridor, but I was walking into a nightmare.
The Collapse: RCB vs KKR (Abu Dhabi)
The nightmare began under the blinding LED lights of the Sheikh Zayed Stadium in Abu Dhabi.
We batted first. The pitch was slightly two-paced, a typical UAE wicket where the ball grabbed the surface, but for a team that had won 8 on the trot, it should have been a walk in the park. The confidence in the dugout was palpable.
It turned into a massacre.
Virat fell early for 5, trapped by a ball that kept low. Devdutt Padikkal followed shortly after, nicking off. I walked out at Number 3. The "Prince of Lord's." The man with 500+ runs in the first leg. The crowd roared, expecting the fireworks to continue exactly where they left off in May.
I marked my guard. Varun Chakravarthy, the mystery spinner, was bowling.
I watched him run in. I saw the release. In my mind, the projection was clear: Leg spinner. Pitching on middle, turning away. I stepped out, intending to drive through the covers, a shot I had played a thousand times.
But my body... my body moved like it was wading through treacle. My foot didn't plant firmly; it hovered. My hands didn't flow; they jerked. The 'lag' the System warned me about wasn't a metaphor. It was a physical barrier.
The ball didn't spin away. It was the googly. It jagged back in sharply. My brain screamed Adjust!, but my muscles were still buffering. My bat came down, heavy and unresponsive, a fraction of a second too late.
Clack. Pad first. Then bat.
"HOWZAT!"
The appeal was deafening. The umpire's finger went up instantly, almost before the bowler had finished asking. LBW. Plumb in front.
Aarav Pathak lbw b Chakravarthy 1 (2)
I stood there for a second, staring at the pitch, unable to comprehend the disconnect between my intent and my action. I walked back, stunned, the noise of the crowd fading into a dull buzz.
The rest of the team crumbled like a house of cards. AB de Villiers for 0. Maxwell for 10. RCB All Out: 92.
We lost by 9 wickets. The "Invincibles" had been humiliated. The chase was over before the dew even settled.
"Just a blip," Virat said in the dressing room later, clapping his hands loudly, though his eyes were darting around nervously. "Rustiness. We haven't played together in months. We shake it off. Next game."
But we didn't shake it off. The blip became a trend. The trend became a crisis. The crisis became a panic.
Match 10: RCB vs CSK (Sharjah) We played in Sharjah, a ground so small that mis-hits usually went for six. It was supposed to be a graveyard for bowlers, a place where I could swing freely. I came onto bowl first change. The System was rewriting my shoulder mechanics to handle the 'Brett Lee' workload, making my arm feel foreign. Result? I couldn't control the length.
I ran in, trying to hit the 150kmph mark I had hit at Lord's, trying to summon the fire. The ball came out at 134kmph. Short. Wide. Lethargic. Ruturaj Gaikwad saw it early. He rocked back and pulled me for six over mid-wicket. Then Suresh Raina, the veteran, stepped out. He treated me like a net bowler, lofting me effortlessly into the parking lot.
My figures: 4-0-42-0.
When I came out to bat, needing to chase a mammoth total, I scored a scratchy 12 off 18 balls. I was swinging at ghosts, missing slower balls by a foot, before finally being caught at long-on, trying to force a shot that wasn't there. RCB Lost.
Match 11: RCB vs MI (Dubai) My old teammates. Rohit Sharma, Bumrah. I wanted to prove a point. Instead, Jasprit Bumrah schooled me. He bowled a yorker that I saw late. My bat came down after the stumps were already shattered. I took 1 wicket (Pollard), but went for 45 runs again. RCB Lost.
Match 12, 13, 14... Loss. Loss. Loss.
The team that had won 8 out of 8 suddenly couldn't buy a win. We lost 6 matches in a row. The "Golden Boys" had turned into the laughing stock of the tournament. The meme pages were having a field day.
The dressing room, once filled with music and laughter, was now silent. Virat sat in the corner, staring at the floor, biting his nails. AB de Villiers looked old, his magic seemingly evaporated. Maxwell was throwing his gloves in frustration.
And me? I was fighting a war against my own biology.
Every time I tried to access the 'Zone', that hyper-focused state where time slowed down, the System flashed a red warning in my peripheral vision: [CALIBRATION 45%. RESOURCE UNAVAILABLE.] I felt heavy. My timing was off. The 'Viv Richards Swagger' I was promised felt more like arrogance without substance. I was walking out with a chest puffed out, looking the bowler in the eye, only to edge the ball to the keeper like a novice.
The fans turned. The trolls came out of the caves. "One season wonder.""Test match player, can't play T20."
The noise outside was deafening. But nothing stung quite like the betrayal of the "experts."
I sat in my hotel room, icing my shoulder which throbbed not from exertion but from the rewiring process. I flipped through channels, looking for a distraction, but landed on NDTV India. The show was "Cricket Ki Baat".
The headline flashed in bold red, screaming at me: IS THE PRINCE FIT FOR THE WORLD CUP?
The anchor, grave-faced as if reporting a national tragedy, turned to the panel. Kapil Dev, the World Cup-winning captain. Mohammad Kaif, the fielding expert. Saba Karim, the former selector.
Anchor: "India's T20 World Cup squad has been announced. Aarav Pathak is a key member. But looking at his IPL form in the UAE leg—1, 12, 5, 22, 8 with the bat. Economy rate of 10.5 with the ball. Is this a cause for panic?"
Kapil Dev leaned forward, his face stern, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Look, passion is missing. I saw him at Lord's. He was a tiger. He wanted to eat the opposition. Now? He looks like a kitten. Is he tired? Maybe. Or maybe the fame is getting to him.... or whatever money he has... sometimes it makes you soft. You stop running the extra yard. You stop diving. If he is not fit, he should not go to the World Cup. We cannot carry passengers, no matter how big the name."
The words cut deep. Soft? I was playing while my nervous system was being ripped apart and stitched back together. I was in constant pain.
Mohammad Kaif shook his head, using a touchscreen to analyze my dismissal against Bumrah frame-by-frame. "It's technical. Look at his head position. It's falling over. The gap between bat and pad is huge. In England, the ball was moving, he was watchful. Here, on flat tracks, he is trying to hit everything too hard. He has lost his shape. He's playing across the line. If you ask me... relying on him at Number 4 for the World Cup is a huge risk. Ishan Kishan is sitting on the bench. Shreyas Iyer is waiting. Why take a chance on a player who is out of form?"
Saba Karim adjusted his glasses, looking severe. "The selectors have a hard job. They picked him based on the first half of the IPL. But that was six months ago. Current form is everything in T20. If Aarav continues this slide... Chetan Sharma (Chief Selector) needs to make a bold call. You cannot take a player who is out of form and out of confidence to a global tournament. Maybe rest him. Let him play domestic cricket, regain his touch."
Anchor: "So, the consensus is - Aarav Pathak is a liability right now?"
Kapil Dev: "If he doesn't perform in the Playoffs... yes. Liability."
I turned off the TV. The remote hit the wall with a crack, shattering the battery cover. "Liability," I whispered, the word tasting like bile. The System hummed in my ear, indifferent to my anger. [Calibration: 62%. Pain threshold increasing. Neural density optimizing.]
The next morning, the media circus moved to the Indian team management. Even though we were in IPL camps, Ravi Shastri (who had recovered from COVID and was in Dubai supervising the World Cup preparations) gave an interview to Star Sports.
The interviewer tried to bait him, smelling blood.
Interviewer: "Ravi, lots of chatter about Aarav's form. Kapil Paaji said he looks 'soft'. Should India be worried about their star all-rounder?"
Ravi Shastri sat there, wearing his trademark sunglasses indoors, looking utterly unimpressed. He took a sip of water, leaned back in his chair, and unleashed the 'Shastri Spray'.
"Bullshit," Shastri grunted.
The interviewer blinked, taken aback. "Sorry?"
"I said, it's absolute bullshit," Shastri's voice boomed. "You guys have short memories, don't you? Goldfish memories. You forget everything in two weeks."
He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it deliberately.
"Let's look at the stats, shall we? I did my homework. You guys clearly didn't."
Shastri put his reading glasses on, creating a comical contrast with his cool persona.
"Total Runs in IPL 2021: 543 Runs. Average 45. Strike Rate 148." "Total Wickets in IPL 2021: 16 Wickets. Economy 6.4."
He took his glasses off and stared at the camera lens as if challenging the audience.
"You call that a liability? I call that a MVP season. Yes, he has had 5 or 6 bad games in the UAE. So what? Virat has had bad games. Rohit has had bad games. Even Sachin had bad series. It's T20 cricket, not a maths equation. The boy is 21. He just won us a Test match at Lord's single-handedly a month ago. He took a hat-trick to win a Test!"
Shastri leaned forward, pointing a finger.
"Kapil Dev is a legend, and I respect him immensely. But he isn't in the nets seeing what Aarav is doing. The boy is trying things. He is evolving. Form is temporary, class is permanent. Aarav Pathak is the first name on my team sheet for the World Cup even above Kohli and Rohit. And if anyone has a problem with that... they can come talk to me directly."
He mic-dropped the paper on the table. "Next question."
I watched the clip on my phone in the bus on the way to the Eliminator. A lump formed in my throat. Shastri believed. Virat believed. Now, I just needed my body to cooperate.
The Eliminator: The Final Heartbreak
October 11, 2021. Sharjah.Eliminator: RCB vs KKR.
This was it. Do or die. We had lost 6 in a row, but because of our dominant first half and superior Net Run Rate, we had scraped into the playoffs as the 4th seed. KKR was the team on the rise, surfing a wave of momentum. We were the team in freefall, looking for a parachute.
Virat Kohli won the toss. "We'll bat," he said, trying to project confidence. "Put runs on the board in a big game. Pressure does funny things."
Sharjah wasn't the batting paradise it used to be. The pitches were tired, slow, and low. The ball stuck in the surface.
Virat started well, scoring 39, trying to anchor. But when he fell, bowled by Narine, the familiar panic set in.
I walked out at Number 3. The crowd cheered, hoping for a miracle. [System Alert]: Calibration 75%. Critical Phase. Neural Pathways fusing.
I faced Sunil Narine. The ball gripped. It turned. I tried to rotate the strike, to just get off the mark. My feet felt like lead weights. I scratched around for 15 runs off 20 balls. It was painful to watch. I was eating up dot balls, putting immense pressure on Maxwell at the other end.
I tried to break the shackles. Narine tossed one up. I saw it. I went for the slog sweep. The 'Viv Richards' intent was there, the aggression was there, but the 'Viv Richards' power wasn't calibrated yet. The timing was off by a millisecond.
Top edge. The balll ballooned harmlessly to short third man.
Aarav Pathak c Ferguson b Narin 15 (21)
I walked off, heads bowed, dragging my bat. The crowd sighed—a collective sound of disappointment. RCB posted a meager 138/7.
We went out to field. We fought. We fought like wounded animals refusing to die. Yuzvendra Chahal spun a web. Harshal Patel bowled his slower balls with deceptive genius.
I came on to bowl the 15th over. KKR needed 40 runs. My shoulder screamed with every rotation. [System]:Override active. Push through the pain barrier.
I bowled a 145kmph yorker. Nitish a bouncer. Venkatesh Iyer hooked it for four. I conceded 10 runs.
It went down to the last It wasn't enough. over It wasn't enough over. KKR needed 7 runs. Dan Christian bowled it. Shakib Al Hasan scooped the first ball for four. It was over.
KKR won by 4 wickets. RCB was eliminated.
The silence in the stadium was heavy, pressing down on us.
The abuse on social media was peaking. #DropAarav was trending.
System Update Complete.][Calibration: 85%.][Integration of 'Viv Richards Aura': STABLE.][Integration of 'Brett Lee Mechanics': STABLE.]n
I muttered bitterly. "I just cost my team a title."
[System]:Growth is painful, Host. You cannot forge steel without fire. You have taken the criticism. You have felt the failure. You have felt the limitations of a mortal body.
The blue screen pulsed brighter.
[System]:But the calibration is nearly done. The World Cup begins in 7 days.The lag will vanish.The pain will vanish.The doubt will be erased.
I looked at my hands. They were trembling, not from weakness, but from a sudden surge of energy deep in my nerves.
[System]:Kapil Dev called you soft. The world called you a liability. Good. Let them talk. Let them lower their guard.
I stood up. I walked to the mirror. My eyes looked different. There was a sharpness there that hadn't been there yesterday.
"7 days," I whispered.
[System]:7 days until the King arrives. Do you accept the mission?
I clenched my fist. The disappointment of the RCB loss was still a heavy stone in my gut, but it was transforming into something else. Fuel.
"I accept," I said to the empty room.
"I'm going to burn the World Cup down."
[SYSTEM: COUNTDOWN TO T20 WORLD CUP STARTED.][NEXT MATCH: INDIA vs PAKISTAN. DUBAI.]
The nightmare was over. The war was about to begin.
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