“Things did happen and were said in the heat of the moment, but it’s part and parcel of the game and you need to take it in your stride and move on.” – Adarsh Singh
Telford Vice / Mangaung Oval
QUIET reigns on Bloemfontein’s Zola Budd Street on most mornings, and Saturday was no exception. The Kings Park Rose Garden sprawled in splendid silence on the corner and, across the wide expanse of weathered asphalt lined by grassy pavements, there was nothing to be heard from the Advocates’ Chambers.
But the hardcourts of Free State Tennis resounded with the protest of rubber soles cement, along with urgent shouts of “Out!” Punctuation was provided by perhaps the most pleasing sounds in all of sport: plick, plock, thwack, thwump …
Then something else floated into the still fresh air from Mangaung Oval, which abuts the tennis courts. The voices were dulled by the surrounding trees but unmistakable in their electronically rendered clarity: “Jana-gana-mana-adhinayaka … jaya he Bharata-bhagya-vidhata …” It was followed by “Amar sonar Bangla … Ami tomay bhalobashi … Ciradin tomar akas, tomar batas, amar prane …”
Whatever you think about the curious incongruity of national anthems at sporting events — we are, after all, not remembering a war — this time they were appropriate.
A law passed in 1891 barred “an Arab, a Chinaman, a Coolie or any other Asiatic or Coloured person from carrying on business or farming in the Orange Free State”. People called “Indian” — whether their heritage was from somewhere else in south Asia didn’t matter — were not allowed to live in the province, even though most of them were as South African as those who oppressed them.
They couldn’t enter the Free State or travel through it without special permission, and they were not allowed to be there after sunset. These laws prevailed, in some form, until shortly before the end of legislated apartheid in 1994.
It needed canny loophole-spotting and hoop-jumping for Free State to be able to deploy their star signing in the 1984/85 season. Alvin Kallicharran, shut out of the game in West Indies for being part of rebel tours to South Africa in 1982/83 and 1983/84, is Guyanese. But, because of his name, to the Free State authorities he would have been “Indian”. As an “honorary white” — an official designation, believe it or not — he played for the province until March 1988. So to hear the national anthems of India and Bangladesh softly rise over what used to be, not that long ago, a place of subjugation and unfairness put a spring into at least one passer-by’s step.
It wasn’t the first time — various India and Bangladesh sides had played in Bloem 14 times before, though never against each other. Saturday’s occasion was a men’s under-19 World Cup match. Thus a game between the current World Cup and Asia Cup champions at this level. It also reprised the 2020 World Cup final, a rain-affected match in Potchefstroom that Bangladesh won by three wickets. Maybe because of that too-close-for-comfort history, Saturday’s contest bristled with febrility.
Unseemliness came from both sides. Falls of wickets were celebrated with blood-chilling shrieks and followed by unmistakably aggressive send-offs. Maruf Mridha’s celebration — an impersonation of a kneeling sniper — took on more objectionably threatening overtones with each of the five times he was given the excuse to perform it. When a Naman Tiwari bouncer landed a sickening blow on the back of Ashiqur Rahman’s helmet, one of India’s players could be heard cackling with maniacal laughter.
“I enjoy the challenge that comes with such intense games, and the pressure situations,” Adarsh Singh said after the match. “Things did happen and were said in the heat of the moment, but it’s part and parcel of the game and you need to take it in your stride and move on.”
The emotion crossed the boundary, but happily without turning into similar scenes. The match was less than an over old when a Bangladeshi family, dressed in all their finery and eager to find their seats, barrelled out of the lift on the wrong floor and almost rushed into the pressbox before being politely stopped at the door. In the blazing sun that lit up the grass banks, clumps of bussed-in local children were set upon enthusiastically by what can only be called uncles. Whether the kids chanted “India” or “Bangladesh” depended entirely on which flag their particular uncle waved. But the Bengalis had it, not least because the province that once wouldn’t tolerate their presence is now home to a sizeable Bangladeshi community. And what more Bangla thing can there be than spending a day at the cricket?
Some of them took refuge from the building heat by gathering in a pool of shade under the main scoreboard. They were identifiable not only by which events on the field inspired them to cheer, but by the large Bangladesh flag they propped up in front of them. Held above it, in a sign of the times, smaller but twirled with fervour, was the flag of Palestine.
Half-centuries by Adarsh and Uday Saharan — who shared 116 off 144 after Maruf reduced India to 31/2 in the eighth — and middle order nuggets took the Indians to 251/7. Midway through their reply, Bangladesh had lost four of their top five and were 3.52 runs behind the asking rate. Ariful Islam and Shihab James kept them in the game with a stand that grew to 77 off 118 — each of those runs heralded as if it had won the trophy itself — before Musheer Khan had Ariful caught behind to effectively decide the issue. Bangladesh needed 125 off 94 from there, and the required rate reached double figures after 40 overs. They were put out of their misery for 167 in 45.5. Saumy Pandey struck early and late in the innings to take 4/24.
Despite the result, and India’s clear superiority, a cry of “Bangladesh! Bangladesh! Bangladesh!” went up from the grass banks as the players trooped off the field. Soon Zola Budd Street and its surrounds were again as quiet as they usually are, but not in the same way as in the bad old days.
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