For More Future Chapters: -
My Patreon: -
https://www.patreon.com/c/Kynstra
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Please Donate Power Stones and Join My Patreon.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In the world of sports, there are rivalries. The Ashes in cricket. El Clásico in football. Yankees versus Red Sox in baseball.
And then, sitting on an entirely different stratosphere, governed by the heartbeat of nearly a fifth of the human population, there is India versus Pakistan.
It wasn't just a cricket match; it was a geopolitical and cultural phenomenon. Even though the bitter, toxic hostility of the 90s and early 2000s had cooled into a fiercely competitive cricket between the current crop of players, the tension in the air was palpable. It was a heavyweight title fight, a carnival, and a war of pride rolled into one hundred overs of white-ball cricket.
And for this World Cup, the scale had been magnified to an unprecedented, global level.
The International Cricket Council (ICC), in a historic push to globalize the sport, had unleashed an aggressive, multi-million dollar marketing campaign. They weren't just targeting the subcontinent or the Commonwealth nations anymore; they were targeting the globe.
If you stood in the middle of Times Square in New York City on the Thursday before the match, you couldn't miss it. A massive, towering digital billboard looped a high-octane promo: Rohit Sharma's thunderous pull shot followed by Babar Azam's elegant shots, ending with the bold text: The Biggest Rivalry in World Sport. India vs Pakistan. Watch Live on VEO.
The same promos lit up the massive screens at the Shibuya Crossing in Tokyo, played during commercial breaks of the Sports in the United States, and plastered the walls of the London Underground.
But the real engine behind this global explosion was VEO.
VEO was the undisputed titan of digital streaming for cricket as it has all the cricket digital distribution rights. VEO had swallowed the market whole under the umbrella of Astra, Aarav Pathak's revolutionary tech empire. With 250 million dedicated subscribers in India alone and another 30-40 million spread across the USA, UK, Australia, Japan, and the EU, VEO was turning the World Cup into a planetary event.
Back in India, the epicenter of this global earthquake was the Narendra Modi Stadium in Ahmedabad. With a seating capacity of 132,000, it was the largest sports stadium on the planet.
Forty-eight hours before the first ball was to be bowled, the city was already in gridlock. Hotels were booked out in a 50-kilometer radius. Flights into Ahmedabad were landing every ten minutes, packed with fans clad in the iconic Indian Blue, alongside a brave contingent of traveling supporters draped in Pakistani Green.
Inside the ultra-secure, five-star team hotel, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the global hysteria outside.
The Indian dressing room was quiet. Focused.
Aarav sat in his hotel room, looking out the massive glass window at the city below.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a message from Shubman. Room 402. Video games. Come play FIFA.
Aarav chuckled, tossing the phone onto his bed. The dynamic in the team was exactly what it needed to be. Rohit Sharma had strictly enforced a 'no outside noise' policy. No social media, no reading the news, no looking at the hype.
They were treating it like any other game of cricket. Bat, ball, pitch.
Tomorrow, 132,000 people would scream until their throats bled. Tomorrow, over half a billion people would stream the match on his platform. Tomorrow, the world would stop spinning for eight hours.
The stage was set. The world was watching. The mother of all battles was here.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What is up, guys! Welcome back to the channel. If you look behind me..."
Jake spun his camera around, capturing the chaotic, vibrant, and deafeningly loud arrivals terminal of the Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel International Airport.
"...you will see absolute madness! We have officially touched down in Ahmedabad, India!"
Jake, a 28-year-old YouTuber from Chicago, flipped the camera back to himself and his wife, Sarah, who was waving excitedly beside him. A year ago, Jake didn't know the difference between a cricket bat and a rowing oar. But then, a late-night YouTube rabbit hole had led him to highlights of the Indian Premier League. The vibrant colors, the massive crowds, and the sheer explosive entertainment of the Gujarat Titans had hooked him instantly.
From IPL, the obsession grew. And when VEO dropped the global promos for the World Cup, Jake knew he couldn't just watch it on a screen. He had to be there for the mother of all battles: India versus Pakistan.
"Guys, I cannot even begin to explain the scale of this," Jake said to the lens, walking backward as Sarah pulled their luggage trolley. "The airport is completely taken over. It's a sea of blue!"
He wasn't exaggerating. Every digital billboard, every pillar, and every inch of available wall space was plastered with the ICC CWC 2023 branding. Massive, life-sized cutouts of the Indian squad towered over the arriving passengers. There was Rohit Sharma with his trademark pull-shot pose, Virat Kohli screaming in aggression, Aarav Pathak after hitting a century raising his bat, Jasprit Bumrah mid-action, and Hardik Pandya flexing and gill standing and smiling.
"Look at that," Sarah pointed, nudging Jake. "My guy right there."
"Alright, alright, don't get too excited," Jake laughed, panning the camera to the life-sized cutout of Aarav Pathak. "For those of you who don't know, Sarah is officially an Aarav Pathak fangirl. But me? I'm a Gill guy. All the way. Number 77."
"Aarav is the Vice-Captain and the number one player in the world, Jake. Just accept it," Sarah teased, flashing a peace sign at the camera.
They made their way out of the terminal and into a pre-booked cab. As the car merged onto the bustling highways of Ahmedabad, Jake kept the camera rolling, his jaw dropping at the sights.
"Okay, look out the window right now," Jake said, zooming in.
Stretching across an incredibly long concrete retaining wall along the highway was a jaw-dropping piece of graffiti art. It wasn't just a quick spray-paint job; it was a sprawling, hyper-realistic mural of the entire Indian playing eleven. The artists had captured the intensity in Kohli's eyes and the effortless swagger of Aarav perfectly. Above the players, in massive block letters, read the words: 1.4 Billion VOICES. ONE DREAM.
"That is insane," Jake whispered, panning the camera across the mural. "The passion for this sport here... it makes the Super Bowl feel like a high school game."
Their hotel was situated just a few kilometers from the colossal Narendra Modi Stadium. After a quick check-in to drop off their bags, the jetlag was completely overpowered by adrenaline. They hit the streets.
The atmosphere in Ahmedabad was electric, vibrating with a palpable tension and festivity.
"We are just walking around the stadium district," Jake said to his vlog, panning around the busy intersections. "And I have to say, the organization here is top-tier. Tomorrow, over a hundred and thirty thousand people are going to descend on this area."
He pointed the camera at the pristine sidewalks. "There are dustbins set up every fifty feet. You've got armies of municipal cleaners in neon vests moving everywhere, making sure the streets are absolutely spotless. It's like the whole city is rolling out the red carpet."
Sarah took the camera and pointed it toward the intersections. "And look at the security. There are police officers and Rapid Action Force personnel everywhere. Barricades are already set up to manage the crowd flow. It feels extremely safe, but you can definitely tell that a massive, global event is about to happen here."
Their first major stop of the evening was a towering, three-story official Adidas store in the heart of the city. There was a line just to get inside, filled with fans from England, Australia, and all over India.
Once inside, Jake and Sarah went straight for the premium match-day kits. The deep, vibrant blue with the tricolor stripes on the shoulders looked even better in person.
"Moment of truth," Jake grinned, holding up his jersey to the camera. On the back, in crisp white lettering, it read: GILL 77. "The opening maestro. If he gets going tomorrow, the stadium is going to explode."
Sarah stepped into the frame, turning around to show the back of her jersey. PATHAK 4.
"The Prince," Sarah smiled proudly. "If he bowls like he did against Australia and bat like he generally do, Pakistan is in trouble."
With their gear secured, they spent the rest of the evening soaking in the local culture. They found a highly rated traditional Gujarati restaurant. Jake filmed their reactions to the massive Gujarati Thalia massive silver platter filled with small bowls of curries, dals, farsan, and sweet treats, alongside buttery rotis. (Any Gujarati here??)
"Oh my god," Jake groaned in pure delight, his mouth full of Dhokla. "This is incredible. The spices, the flavors... I don't even know what half of this is called, but it's a ten out of ten."
"I think my mouth is on fire, but I can't stop eating," Sarah laughed, reaching for her glass of sweet Lassi.
By the time they returned to their hotel room, it was past 11 PM. The streets below their window were still buzzing with honking cars and fans waving Indian flags out of sunroofs.
Jake set the camera up on the desk for his final sign-off of the day.
"Alright guys, that's it for day one in India," Jake said, looking exhausted but incredibly happy, wearing his new Gill jersey. "The hype is real. The people are incredibly welcoming, the food is amazing, and the city is absolutely buzzing. Tomorrow, we head to the biggest cricket stadium on the planet. India versus Pakistan. I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep tonight."
He reached out and covered the lens.
Tomorrow, the world would be watching.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The drone camera soared high above the Narendra Modi Stadium in Ahmedabad, beaming a live, high-definition feed to hundreds of millions of screens around the planet.
From the sky, it looked like a colossal, vibrating sapphire. Inside, 132,000 fans had packed the stands to the absolute brim. It was a suffocating, glorious, infinite sea of blue. The noise was a continuous, low-frequency hum that vibrated right through the concrete foundations of the stadium.
Down on the pristine outfield, tucked away near the boundary ropes under a shaded canopy, the VEO broadcast team was live for their pre-match show, Cricket Extra.
"It does not get bigger than this," Harsha Bhogle said, looking into the camera with a smile that barely contained his own excitement. "If you listen closely, you can hear the heartbeat of the subcontinent. One hundred and thirty-two thousand people inside this magnificent cauldron, and nearly a billion watching right now. Welcome to Ahmedabad, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to India versus Pakistan."
Harsha turned to the three legends standing beside him. "I am joined by a panel that knows a thing or two about this pressure. The original Little Master, Sunil Gavaskar, the Sultan of Swing, Wasim Akram, and the man who broke many Indian hearts in World Cups, Ricky Ponting. Gentlemen, the atmosphere today... it's indescribable."
"It's electrifying, Harsha," Sunil Gavaskar beamed, looking around the stands. "I've played in many India-Pakistan games, but the sheer scale of this... Amazing. The boys in that dressing room will be feeling the heat, but they'll also feel the love of a hundred thousand voices backing them."
"It's a cauldron, Sunny," Wasim Akram agreed, though his expression was serious. "For a Pakistani side walking out into this, it's intimidating. But it's also the ultimate stage. You do well here today, and you become a legend overnight in Pakistan."
"Let's talk matchups," Harsha pivoted smoothly, the broadcast graphics appearing on the screen. "Because games like this are won in the first ten overs. Wasim, your boys have the ball. Shaheen Shah Afridi, Haris Rauf, and Hasan Ali up against Rohit Sharma and the young gun, Shubman Gill."
Wasim leaned forward. "Look, Shaheen in the first overs is a different beast altogether. He brings that ball back into the right-hander at genuine pace. If he can get his radar right, he can trouble Rohit. But if he bowls slightly short, Rohit is going to hit him into the second tier. And Gill... he just scored a magnificent hundred in Delhi. He's in the form of his life. Pakistan cannot afford to let them settle."
"I don't think they'll let Shaheen settle, Wasim," Ponting chimed in with a clinical smirk. "Rohit's template in this World Cup is absolute aggression. He wants to destroy the opening bowlers. If Shaheen misses his length by an inch, Rohit will punish him. And that puts immense pressure on Rauf and Hasan Ali."
"Which brings us to the middle order," Harsha said, his tone dropping to a reverent register. "If Pakistan somehow manages to breach the opening pair, they have to face the ultimate final boss of this rivalry. Virat Kohli. Ricky, his record against Pakistan in ICC tournaments is bordering on mythical."
Ponting nodded slowly. "It's purely psychological at this point. Virat Kohli sees that green jersey, and something clicks in his brain. He knows exactly how to pace his innings against them, he knows how to manipulate their spinners, and he thrives under the pressure of this specific rivalry. For Pakistan, getting Kohli early isn't just a wicket; it's a necessity for survival."
"But Ricky, Wasim," Gavaskar interjected, raising a finger. "It's not just Virat anymore. That's the scariest part for the opposition. For the longest time, Pakistan knew if they got Virat, they had a foot in the door. Now? If you get Virat, you have to deal with the Prince."
The broadcast immediately cut to a high-octane montage of Aarav Pathak. Aarav smashing Haris Rauf down the ground. Aarav roaring with pure aggression.
"Let's talk about the Prince of Indian Cricket," Harsha smiled as the stats flashed on the screen. "Aarav Pathak. Since his international debut in 2020, no Indian player has scored more runs against Pakistan. And more terrifyingly for Babar Azam's men, no Indian player has taken more wickets against Pakistan either."
"He's a cheat code," Wasim admitted, shaking his head with a wry smile. "As a former bowler, I look at his seam presentation and I'm in awe. But as a Pakistani? He gives me nightmares. He comes in at number four and bats like a prime Viv Richards and A B Devilliers, and then he opens the bowling at 155 kilometers per hour. He has completely taken the load off from the likes of Virat Kohli and Rohit Sharma in these high-pressure games."
"He's the ultimate three-dimensional threat," Ponting added. "Aarav doesn't just score runs; he breaks partnerships. He fields like a panther. If Babar Azam or Mohammad Rizwan are building a partnership today, Rohit Sharma is just going to throw the ball to Aarav, and Aarav will make something happen. He has that aura."
"Speaking of Babar Azam," Harsha said, transitioning the graphic to the Pakistani captain. "Wasim, Pakistan's hopes rest heavily on his shoulders, along with Rizwan and Imam-ul-Haq."
"Absolutely," Wasim nodded firmly. "Imam needs to blunt the new ball against Bumrah and Aarav. It is not going to be easy. Bumrah is a genius, and Aarav is bowling rockets. But if Imam can survive the first ten overs, it allows Babar and Rizwan to control the middle overs against Kuldeep and Jadeja. Babar has the class. He has the cover drive, he has the temperament. But today, he needs the mental fortitude to block out 132,000 people screaming against him."
"It's going to be a battle of nerves," Gavaskar concluded. "India has the momentum, the home crowd, and a squad that looks absolutely invincible on paper. But it's India-Pakistan. The form book goes out the window."
"Well said, Sunny," Harsha wrapped up the segment, pressing his earpiece. "The ground staff is off the field. The umpires are making their way to the center, and the two captains are walking down the tunnel. The talking is almost over."
Harsha looked directly into the lens, the roar of the stadium swelling behind him.
"Hold your breath. Fasten your seatbelts. The mother of all battles is about to begin."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The toss in the middle of the Narendra Modi Stadium was a spectacle in itself. The coin flipped high into the sweltering Ahmedabad sky, and Pakistan captain Babar Azam called it right.
"We are going to bowl first," Babar announced, hoping his lethal pace trio could exploit the slight afternoon moisture and quieten the 132,000-strong crowd.
But Rohit Sharma and Shubman Gill had other plans.
Both Indian openers walked out to the middle with a terrifying swagger. Just a few days ago in Delhi, Rohit had smashed a 85-ball 134, and Gill had coasted to a flawless century. Their confidence wasn't just high; it was overflowing.
Shaheen Shah Afridi, the premium left-arm eagle of Pakistan, marked his run-up. The first ball of the mother of all battles was about to be bowled.
Up in the commentary box, a new trio had taken the mics.
"Shaheen to Rohit, left-arm over... and we are underway in Ahmedabad!" Jatin Sapru's energetic voice captured the moment perfectly.
Shaheen pitched it up, looking for that trademark lethal inswinger. But Rohit Sharma was operating on his brutal 2023 World Cup template. He didn't wait to get his eye in. He stepped out on the very second ball, clearing his front leg, and lofted Shaheen straight over mid-off for a one-bounce four.
"Oh, what a statement of intent!" Jatin Sapru roared. "First over of the match, against one of the most dangerous new-ball bowlers in the world, and Rohit Sharma says, 'I am going to play my way!'"
"That is exactly what makes Rohit so dangerous in this tournament," Shane Watson added, analyzing the replay. "He isn't letting Shaheen settle into his rhythm. If you disrupt a swing bowler's length early, you completely neutralize their threat. He did it in Delhi, and he's doing it right here in Ahmedabad."
Hasan Ali came from the other end, hoping to keep things tight. But if Rohit was brute force, Shubman Gill was pure, unadulterated poetry.
When Hasan pitched it slightly full outside off, Gill leaned into it. A magnificent, flowing cover drive pierced the infield, the ball racing across the lightning-fast outfield like it was skating on ice.
"Glorious. Absolutely glorious," Ian Bishop's booming, authoritative voice echoed through the broadcast. "You can put a dozen fielders there, and Shubman Gill will still find the gap. The timing is immaculate. The balance is pristine."
For the first eight overs, it was an absolute masterclass. Rohit mercilessly pulled Haris Rauf into the stands, while Gill stroked gorgeous straight drives past the bowlers. The Pakistani fielders looked rattled under the deafening noise of the blue sea.
But in the 9th over, Babar tossed the ball back to Shaheen.
Gill, batting beautifully on 23, saw a wide, back-of-a-length delivery. He threw his hands at it, executing a ferocious square cut. The ball rocketed off the meat of the bat, looking destined for the boundary.
But Shadab Khan, stationed at point, leaped to his right like a salmon, plucking the ball out of thin air with a stunning two-handed grab.
"Caught! Oh, what a catch at point!" Ian Bishop bellowed. "Shadab Khan pulls off a blinder out of absolutely nowhere! Shubman Gill cut that so hard, but it went straight to the fielder. Afridi gets the breakthrough Pakistan desperately needed!"
India was 61/1.
The stadium momentarily went quiet, but the silence lasted only five seconds.
Walking down the pavilion steps, spinning his bat, was the undisputed King. Virat Kohli. The roar that greeted him was so loud it registered on the local seismographs.
Kohli and Rohit consolidated. Kohli milked the singles, dropping the ball with soft hands and running like a hare, while Rohit continued his assault whenever the Pakistani pacers missed their lengths. Rohit brought up a sensational half-century, his bat raised to all corners of the ground.
But the aggressive template inherently came with risks.
In the 13th over, 12.3 overs to be exact, Rohit tried to whip a skiddy length ball from Haris Rauf over mid-wicket. The ball hurried onto him, taking the leading edge and looping softly to mid-on.
"In the air... and taken!" Jatin Sapru shouted. "Haris Rauf strikes! The Indian captain falls after a phenomenal blitz! 56 off just 44 deliveries! He has done his job, he has set the platform, but Pakistan are fighting back in Ahmedabad!"
Score: 86/2.
Up in the Indian dressing room, a figure stood up from the bench. He stretched his arms, rotating his shoulders. Because the chase in Delhi was so dominant, he hadn't even needed to bat. He was fresh, he was hungry, and this was his favorite opposition.
Aarav Pathak strapped on his gloves and picked up his bat.
He didn't walk out to the middle. He jogged down the steps, his spikes clicking against the concrete, right into the bright Gujarat sun.
"Well, listen to this crowd," Shane Watson marveled, taking off his headset slightly to hear the raw noise. "I've played in front of some massive crowds, but this... this is deafening. They revere this young man."
"And why shouldn't they, Shane?" Ian Bishop's voice rose, vibrating with the sheer weight of the moment as the camera tracked Aarav jogging to the crease. "He didn't get to bat in Delhi. He's been waiting in the wings. And now, the stage is set. 132,000 people in the stadium. Over a billion watching on VEO. The Prince of Indian Cricket arrives at the crease against the arch-rivals!"
Aarav reached the pitch and tapped gloves with Kohli. The King smiled, nodding at his Vice-Captain.
"Let's have some fun," Kohli grinned.
Aarav took his guard, marking the crease with his spikes. He looked up, his eyes locking onto Haris Rauf. One of the world's fastest bowler against the world's best batsman.
"The Prince is here," Bishop concluded, his voice dropping to an intense whisper on the broadcast. "Buckle up, Ahmedabad."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The roar inside the Narendra Modi Stadium was a living, breathing entity. It was a tangible force that vibrated through the concrete foundations, rippled across the 132,000 seats, and swallowed the Ahmedabad sky whole.
At the epicenter of this colossal amphitheater stood Aarav Pathak.
He didn't just walk to the crease; he glided, carrying the weight of a billion expectations as if it were a feather. He reached the pitch, tapped gloves with Virat Kohli, and smiled. It wasn't a smile of arrogance, but of chilling inevitability. The King and the Prince, standing together in the middle of a battlefield painted completely in Indian blue.
Aarav took his guard. He dragged his spikes across the pitch, perfectly aligning himself. He rolled his shoulders, the muscles beneath the crisp blue jersey expanding, and looked up. His dark eyes locked onto Haris Rauf.
The Pakistani speedster was stationed at the top of his mark, the ball clutched fiercely in his right hand. Rauf was breathing heavily, riding the absolute pinnacle of an adrenaline high. He had just dismissed the Indian captain, Rohit Sharma, ending a brutal onslaught. Rauf felt fast. He felt dangerous.
"Look at the intensity in those eyes," Ricky Ponting's voice sliced through the VEO broadcast, analytical and sharp. "Haris Rauf has just picked up a massive wicket. He's steaming, he's bowling upwards of 150 clicks. And walking in is a twenty-three-year-old kid. But this isn't just any kid. This is Aarav Pathak. Rauf will want to test him immediately. I'm expecting raw pace. Back of a length. Welcome to the crease, young man."
"It's the ultimate test of fire, Ricky," Ravi Shastri boomed, his baritone voice dripping with theatrical weight. "The mother of all battles, a packed house, and you have a fast bowler with his tail up! Let's see what the Prince is made of!"
Haris Rauf began his run-up for the fourth ball of the 13th over (12.4). His strides were long, powerful, and aggressive. The crowd's roar swelled, a rising crescendo of anticipation.
Rauf hit the crease hard, his arm whirring over like a catapult. The ball exploded out of his hand at 153.4 kmph.
It was a statement ball. Short, fast, and directed straight at Aarav's chest. It was the kind of delivery that made seasoned veterans duck for their lives.
Aarav didn't flinch. Time, to him, seemed to dilate. In the fraction of a second it took for the leather to travel twenty-two yards, Aarav's footwork shifted with the fluid grace of a dancer and the lethal precision of an assassin. He planted his back foot, swiveled his hips, and brought the bat around in a devastating arc.
CRACK.
The sound of the willow meeting the leather sounded like a sniper rifle echoing through a canyon.
"OH, HE HAS OBLITERATED THAT!" Ian Bishop's voice completely shattered the commentary box. "WHAT A SHOT! WHAT A MAGNIFICENT, BRUTAL SHOT FROM AARAV PATHAK!"
The camera whipped upward, frantically trying to track the white sphere as it soared into the sweltering Gujarat sky. It kept going. Higher, further, clearing the boundary ropes, clearing the first tier, and finally crashing deep into the second tier of the stands among a sea of delirious fans in blue.
"First ball!" Jatin Sapru screamed. "Pehli hi gend par chhakka! (A six on the very first ball!) He has treated a 153-kilometer-per-hour bouncer like a tennis ball! The Prince has arrived in Ahmedabad!"
Down on the pitch, Aarav didn't even hold the pose. He lazily completed his follow-through, rested the bat on his shoulder, and walked down the pitch. Virat Kohli marched towards him, a massive grin plastered across his bearded face. The King raised his fist. Aarav bumped it. No words were needed. The psychological warfare had just shifted violently back in India's favor.
Babar Azam, standing at mid-off, wiped sweat from his brow. His eyes darted around the colossal stadium. The noise was physically painful now. He rushed over to Haris Rauf, putting an arm around his fast bowler.
"Listen to me," Babar shouted over the din, gesturing wildly. "He's expecting the short ball now. We go full. Break his toes. Give me a yorker. I'm moving the field."
Babar frantically waved his arms, adjusting his troops. He pushed the deep square leg back, brought third man inside the circle to cut off the dab, and placed a deep point. It was a clear, unmistakable trap for the yorker.
Up in the VEO broadcast center, the global viewership counter ticked past 300 million concurrent viewers. The AI-driven graphic on the screen highlighted Babar's field changes in real-time, outlining the exact trajectory Rauf was expected to bowl.
"Babar has read the situation, and he is changing the field," Shane Watson analyzed, circling the third man fielder on the telecast. "He's brought third man up. He's plugging the gaps on the off-side. He's telling Haris to go for the base of the stumps. It's the right call. You cannot bowl short to Aarav Pathak on this pitch."
Rauf walked back to his mark. He spun the ball in his hands, gritting his teeth. 12.5.
He charged in. The crowd roared in unison with his footsteps. Rauf leaped, snapping his wrist, aiming perfectly for the base of the middle stump. 151 kmph. A tailing, toe-crushing yorker. It was a perfect delivery.
But Aarav was not a normal batsman. He was playing a different game entirely.
Before the ball even pitched, Aarav's hyper-aware brain processed the field change and Rauf's release point. In an instant, Aarav dropped down to one knee. He bent his back impossibly low, extending his arms forward, getting the blade of his bat completely under the 151 kmph missile.
With a simple, elegant flick of his wrists, using the sheer pace of the bowler against him, Aarav scooped the ball straight over his own head.
The ball sailed directly over the wicketkeeper's helmet, clearing the inner ring, and flew all the way over the short third-man boundary for another breathtaking six.
"HE'S A FREAK! HE IS AN ABSOLUTE FREAK OF NATURE!" Ian Smith roared into the microphone, standing up from his chair in pure disbelief. "HOW DO YOU DO THAT? HOW ON EARTH DO YOU DO THAT TO A 151 KILOMETER PER HOUR YORKER?!"
"That is outrageous! That is purely outrageous!" Ravi Shastri added, laughing in shock. "Babar Azam sets a trap, Haris Rauf bowls the perfect delivery, and Aarav Pathak just makes a complete mockery of it! He's scooped him into the stands! The audacity! The pure, unadulterated genius of the Prince!"
Down in the stands, Jake, the American YouTuber, had his camera pointed at the field, his jaw completely unhinged. Sarah was jumping up and down beside him, screaming her lungs out, pointing at the number 4 on her jersey. "I TOLD YOU!" she yelled over the deafening noise. "HE IS A GOD!"
Haris Rauf stood in the middle of the pitch, his hands on his hips, staring at the patch of grass where the ball had pitched. His chest heaved. He looked utterly bewildered. A perfect bouncer had been pulled for six. A perfect yorker had been scooped for six. He had absolutely no idea where to bowl.
"The bowler is shell-shocked," Harsha Bhogle observed softly, his voice cutting through the madness with poetic precision. "Haris Rauf has bowled his two best deliveries, and he has been deposited into the stands twice. This is the aura of Aarav Pathak. He doesn't just score runs; he dismantles the bowler's soul."
The final ball of the over. 12.6.
Rauf's rhythm was completely shattered. The pressure of 132,000 screaming fans, the pressure of a billion eyes, and the terrifying presence of the man at the crease converged on him. He ran in, trying to force a magical delivery out of sheer desperation.
He lost his grip. The ball slipped.
It came out as a waist-high full toss, homing in on off-stump at 148 kmph.
Aarav didn't even shift his feet. He just stood tall, presented the full, broad face of his bat, and swung in a perfect, textbook arc. The timing was so pure it sounded like a musical chord.
The ball rocketed straight down the ground, passing just inches over Rauf's head like a tracer bullet, and slammed into the sightscreen for the third consecutive six of the over.
"STRAIGHT AS AN ARROW! INTO THE SIGHTSCREEN!" Jatin Sapru bellowed, the veins popping in his neck. "HAT-TRICK OF SIXES FOR AARAV PATHAK! EIGHTEEN RUNS OFF THREE BALLS! THIS IS CARNAGE IN AHMEDABAD!"
"Three balls, three sixes, three entirely different zones of the ground," Ricky Ponting noted, shaking his head in absolute awe. "A pull over deep square leg, a scoop over third man, and a straight drive into the sightscreen. You cannot set a field for this. You just pray he makes a mistake. What an unbelievable start to the innings. 104 for 2 at the end of the 13th."
The stadium was in pandemonium. Blue flags waved frantically, the sound of trumpets and dhols echoed through the concourses. India had seized complete control.
Babar Azam convened a frantic huddle with his senior players. They needed to stop the bleeding. The pace of Haris Rauf and Shaheen Afridi was simply being used as fodder by Aarav's immaculate timing. Pace on the ball was suicide.
Babar tossed the ball to his vice-captain. Shadab Khan.
"We have a change in the bowling," Ian Bishop announced as the camera panned to Shadab taking off his cap. "Babar Azam turns to spin. Shadab Khan, the leg-spinner, is brought into the attack. It is a massive risk. If Shadab tosses it up and gets it wrong, he will travel. But Babar has to try something to disrupt this momentum."
Virat Kohli was on strike for the 14th over. The King adjusted his helmet, his eyes narrowed, locked onto the leg-spinner.
13.1: Shadab bowled a beautifully flighted delivery, landing it perfectly on a good length outside off-stump, getting it to turn sharply away. Kohli, respecting the good ball, leaned forward and defended it with a soft thud. Dot ball.
"Good start from Shadab," Gavaskar nodded on commentary. "Found his length immediately. Kohli is smart enough to play him out and not do anything rash."
13.2: Shadab tossed it up again, slightly straighter this time. Kohli stepped out, not to hit, but to smother the spin, elegantly whipping the ball into the massive gap at mid-wicket. The fielders scrambled, and the batsmen ran a lightning-fast single.
The crowd erupted immediately. Not for the single, but for the man who was now walking to the striker's end.
Aarav Pathak tapped his bat. He looked at the field. Shadab had a slip in place, a deep mid-wicket, and a long-on.
"Here we go," Ian Smith whispered. "Spin against the Prince. Shadab Khan to Aarav Pathak. Hold your breath."
13.3: Shadab ran in. Knowing Aarav's devastating power, he tried to be clever. He bowled a flatter, faster delivery, aiming for middle and leg, hoping to cramp Aarav for room and force a defensive shot.
But Aarav's reflexes were supernatural. The moment the ball left Shadab's hand, Aarav's front leg cleared out of the way. He didn't just swing; he launched into a violent, beautifully orchestrated slog sweep.
His bat met the ball just inches off the ground. The connection was savage. The ball was launched into the stratosphere, an absolute missile aimed directly at the deep mid-wicket boundary. It flew over the fielder's head by a margin of thirty meters, crashing into the roof of the stands.
"HE IS DEALING ONLY IN SIXES!" Ravi Shastri's voice reached a fever pitch. "THAT HAS GONE INTO ORBIT! THE ROOF OF THE NARENDRA MODI STADIUM TAKES A HIT! AARAV PATHAK IS PUTTING ON A MASTERCLASS!"
"That wasn't even a bad ball," Watson groaned sympathetically. "It was flat, it was fast. Ninety-nine percent of batsmen in the world would have tucked that away for a single. Aarav has just slog-swept it into the upper tier. Shadab Khan looks completely lost."
13.4: Shadab, visibly rattled, bowled the next ball slightly wide outside off, dragging his length back. Aarav calmly rocked onto his back foot and punched it gracefully through the covers. The sweeper came sprinting around to cut it off. Aarav and Kohli ran a comfortable, jogging single.
As Aarav crossed the pitch, the massive VEO digital screens wrapped around the stadium transitioned into a specialized graphic.
THE PRINCE'S CARNAGE flashed on the screen.
The broadcast played a rapid-fire, multi-angle highlight reel of Aarav's four sixes. First, the brutal pull shot off Rauf, complete with the VEO ball-tracking data showing an exit velocity of 148 kmph off the bat. Next, the audacious scoop over third man, freezing the frame exactly when Aarav bent backward. Then, the majestic straight drive, and finally, the colossal slog sweep against Shadab, showing the ball traveling a monstrous 108 meters.
"Just look at this," Harsha Bhogle marveled as the replay looped. "Four balls faced. Four entirely different cricketing shots. Twenty-four runs. It's like he's playing a video game on the easiest difficulty setting. He has completely derailed Pakistan's bowling plans in the span of five deliveries."
With the crowd still buzzing from the replay, Virat Kohli took strike.
13.5: Shadab, still reeling from the assault, flighted the ball a little too full outside off-stump. Kohli's eyes lit up. The King wasn't going to miss out on the party. He lunged forward, the pristine MRF bat coming down with a beautiful flourish, playing a gorgeous inside-out cover drive.
The ball pierced the gap between extra cover and mid-off with laser-like precision, racing across the lush green outfield and crashing into the boundary ropes for four.
"And the King joins the fun!" Jatin Sapru cheered. "What a shot from Virat Kohli! The placement is absolutely sublime! Pakistan is bleeding runs from both ends now!"
13.6: For the final delivery of the over, Shadab bowled a tighter line, pitching it on middle and leg. Kohli securely defended it off the front foot. Dot ball.
The umpire called over.
As the players paused for a quick drinks break, the VEO broadcast brought up the overarching scorecard. The graphic materialized on screens worldwide, a stark, numerical representation of the utter dominance India was currently displaying.
"Let's take a look at the scorecard at the end of the 14th over," Ian Bishop said, his tone turning analytical as the numbers flashed. "And it makes for some spectacular reading if you are an Indian fan."
MATCH SCORECARD - ICC CWC 2023
INDIA - 116/2 (14.0 Overs)(Current Run Rate: 8.28)
BATTERS:
Virat Kohli: 11* (13 balls) | 1x4, 0x6 | SR: 84.61
Aarav Pathak: 25* (5 balls) | 0x4, 4x6 | SR: 500.00
FALL OF WICKETS:
1-61: Shubman Gill - 23 (22 balls) | 4x4, 0x6 | c Shadab Khan b Shaheen Afridi (8.4 ov)
2-86: Rohit Sharma - 56 (44 balls) | 6x4, 3x6 | c Fakhar Zaman b Haris Rauf (12.3 ov)
"Aarav Pathak," Ponting laughed, looking at the screen. "Twenty-five off five deliveries. A strike rate of five hundred. In the highest-pressure game in world cricket, he walks out and decides to play a T10 knock. I genuinely fear for the Pakistani bowlers in the next thirty-six overs."
Down on the pitch, Aarav took off his helmet, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. He looked up at the stands, feeling the vibrations of 132,000 voices chanting his name.
"AARAV! AARAV! AARAV!"
The Prince put his helmet back on, strapped it tight, and looked back at the pitch. He was just getting warmed up.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Donate Power Stone pls and write review to increase the reach of the story!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's Note: - 6400+ Words
For More Future Chapters: -
My Patreon: -
https://www.patreon.com/c/Kynstra
Thank you very much for all the support and donate power stones!!
Do Comment, anything just comments and Donate Power stone!!
If you're enjoying the story, don't forget to leave a ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ rating! Your feedback means so much. And feel free to comment on where you think the story should go next—I'd love to hear your thoughts on the future direction!