Balletic, in every sense of the word, great spinners are not typified characters, howsoever mildly they may illuminate the sap-green stage. They are important and often peculiar human beings whose strong realm of individuality is the source of their talents. For a variety of reasons: mental, physical, artistic, or technical, and magical — the four ingredients, which, in turn, catapult their cogent personal charm to light up the playing arena like the supernova. Not with purported force, but with gentle purpose.
Delicate, and crafty, in the exposition of an art which is all rhyme in motion, spinners are like the eternal beating of the waves of the ocean, the insidious blooming of a flower, and the rhythmic tunes of attuned melody. Needless to say, spinners have always transformed their art into a parable of their own existence, visualised in terms of classical imagery. And, they live on in the annals of cricket, and the hearts of a whole new crop of spinners with every succeeding generation.
To generalise, said William Blake, is to be an idiot. Human, he might have just as well said. However, no chronicler, howsoever self-effacing they may be, can escape generalisation by implication. Cricket is no exception. Nor, cricket writers. Because, when one thinks of spin bowling, more so in the Indian context, famous as the idea is, our minds, as if by reflex, tend to dwell on the phenomenal exploits of India’s famed spin quartet: Erapalli Prasanna, Bhagwat Chandrasekhar, Srinivas Venkataraghavan, and Bishen Singh Bedi, who faded into the sunset recently. A combination of diverse talents, unparalleled in cricket history, or perhaps, matched to some extent by the pre-World War I South African combine of Aubrey Faulkner, Ernie Vogler, Reggie Schwarz, and Gordon White.
That the deadly foursome held centre-stage, and shaped some of India’s most famous triumphs ever, tells the story of their class act much more effectively than hundreds of words put together. They are the high notes of classical, or popsical, music.
Not that Indian cricket was devoid of spinners before them. But, what made them ‘extra’ special was their unique orientation of a sublime art — one that was expertly moulded to work in unison and whir into profound activity by automatic orchestration.
Not that they were alike. Their styles were different; besides, their objective of unsettling the nerves of opposing batsmen ranged from one extreme to the other, or something in-between. While the crafty Prasanna, the Bach of spin, would often go on a shopping-spree buying wickets, the prodigal Chandra loved to work his way through unqualified generosity, and produce that unplayable ball from nowhere, and take his reward as if it was his by right.
The quartet’s highpoint emerged under ‘Tiger’ Pataudi’s leadership — a captain who knew his beans, although it was Ajit Wadekar-led India that made history, for the first-time ever, by winning a series each in West Indies and England in 1971. The four could relate to Pataudi even without communicating, and vice versa. In silence — and, its wholesome wisdom. Pataudi also had more than just immense confidence in his match-winning bowlers — the best of their type, according to batting wizards Sir Geoff Boycott, Ian Chappell, Barry Richards et al.
To highlight a parable vis-à-vis Pras’ genius. Not from the pages of Test cricket history, but interestingly from one of his hometown Bangalore’s [now Bengaluru] league cricket matches, several moons ago. It was a perfect spinner’s track. A young offie ran through Pras’ side like knife through butter; he really flummoxed the batsmen with his huge spinning artistry. Pras’ team was shot out for a meagre score; much less than three-figures.
When the opposing team’s turn to bat came, Pras told a friend, “Will show ’em how to bowl on a spinning track.” Miracle of miracles, Pras did not spin the ball at all. He lured the ‘suspicious’ batsmen to play for spin, which just wasn’t there. Result: the team batting second was dismissed for a ‘very low score,’ much less than what Pras’ team had managed. Pras’ parting shot to the young tyro, “Never spin the ball on a spinning wicket; the batsmen will play for spin, and goof it up themselves.” An objective lesson for today’s youngsters — an essential tutorial they just don’t teach you at cricket schools, or academies.
Pras, for one, also led Karnataka with distinction. He helped his State create history too, winning the Ranji Tropy, for the first time. It was an epic win, because the tourney, at one point of time, was Bombay’s [now Mumbai] most exclusive domain.
Venkat’s art was the exact reverse of Pras’ bowling. He would often push the ball flat, without giving it the oxygenated air. Not that he despised flight; but, he wanted to be different. Venkat would go on pegging the batsmen, testing their patience, and forcing them to commit that fatal error.
Bedi was a wily ‘trickster,’ what with his own brand of subtle nuances. His deliveries bordered on accuracy: one that often forced the batsmen to make judgmental errors, thanks to the volatile Sardar’s jugglery.
But, there was something more too: razor-sharp close-in fielding with the likes of Ekanth Solkar, Syed Abid Ali, Wadekar, and Venkat himself, that also contributed to the overall effectiveness of India’s spin bowling. This gave them the stunning edge just as well. A definitive framework; even difference. You know why: India’s fielding composition was as lackadaisical as the dodo during the halcyon days of Vinoo Mankad, Subhash Gupte, and others.
A career-graph of the respective spinners would reveal that it was only when they had someone of their tribe, not necessarily of their own trade, to back, or bank upon, did they realise their full potential. Take Prasanna’s example, the senior spinner in the quartet. Given a break during India’s trip to the West Indies, in 1961-62, Pras, as a young spinner, did nothing to inspire anyone, albeit he did well in patches. So much so, he did not play for the country until 1967, again, in spite of doing well in the domestic circuit. Enter Bedi, in the Calcutta [now Kolkata] Test, against Sir Gary Sobers’ Windies side, Prasanna established an instant rapport. The two spinners became united in their ‘spinning’ souls.
That Pras and Venkat came of age, simultaneously, was nothing short of a tragedy. Their self-imposed musical chairs’ parallel was a quirk of destiny. Cumulatively, they were able to do quite well in a few Tests, when they played together, although the practice proved a mixed bag: a luxury, albeit a necessity.
Bedi’s case was totally different. He was the only left-arm spinner in the side; and, as such, indispensable. He remained undisturbed throughout, notwithstanding his ‘brushes’ with the selectors, till the disastrous tour of Pakistan, in 1978-79, when his and his colleagues’ magic suddenly went dry. A bowler in the Mankad tradition, Bedi left a deep impression on the Indian psyche, in spite of his breezy temperament, all the same.
Chandra was, of course, spin bowling’s genius of a freak till the day he hung his boots. He was, quite truly, the indisputable supremo of an art which was all his own. Not a classical leggie in the fine sense of the term, Chandra was his own personal cursor and scanner. He made his own rules and decisions. His art will remain his own — unsurpassed. A virtual match-winner, Chandra’s art began when imagination no longer existed. For the best part, his polio-affected hand was no less a scourge to batsmen — big and small.
Whenever Chandra took the red cherry in his gifted hands, and walked up briskly to the top of his short bowling mark, and broke into his stride, and gave the final touches to his rhythm — a jerk, and completed his delivery, there would be an air of expectancy, a sense of déjà vu in the batsman’s psyche, and the spectators’ mind. The rest was pure magic.
That the quartet went on to capture 853 wickets — Pras 189, in 49 Tests; Chandra 242, in 58 Tests; Venkat 156, in 57 Tests; and, Bedi 266, in 67 Tests — in toto — is unique in the annals of the game, an unparalleled chapter in pure, parabolic spin bowling.
There won’t be another of its kind, again.
— First published in The Hindu
[Subject Photo: Courtesy: The Hindu]