Aarav's revelation about his batting, sparked by re-watching the painful 2015 semi-final, didn't diminish his bowling ambition; it refined it. The image of Dhoni and Jadeja isolated, of the lower order crumbling, was a constant reminder: a truly impactful player, even a fast bowler, needed to offer more than just wickets. He needed to be a bulwark, however small, against collapse. His focus wouldn't be on flashy strokes or big hits, but on the unglamorous, yet vital, arts of defense, calmness, and strike rotation.
His college cricket schedule was demanding, with net sessions primarily dedicated to bowling. But Aarav began to carve out extra time, often arriving early or staying late, to work on this new facet of his game. He didn't seek out the big hitters or the aggressive batsmen for advice. Instead, he watched the more watchful players, the ones who could grit it out, soak up pressure, and frustrate bowlers.
He started with the basics of defense. He'd ask a teammate or even the net attendant to throw gentle deliveries, focusing solely on presenting a straight bat, getting his head over the ball, and defending with soft hands. He practiced leaving balls outside off-stump, judging the line and length with an almost meditative focus. It was tedious, unexciting work, far removed from the thrill of sending down a searing bouncer, but Aarav approached it with the same methodical intensity he applied to his bowling research. He told himself that every ball he defended, every over he saw off, was a tiny victory.
The key, he realized, was calmness under pressure. He remembered Dhoni's almost unnerving composure in that fateful chase. While he couldn't replicate Dhoni's immense experience, he could start by cultivating a calm mind. In practice, he'd visualize tight situations, imagining hostile bowlers attacking his stumps, and consciously focus on slowing his breathing, clearing his mind, and trusting his defence. He stopped overthinking, focusing only on the next ball, applying the same mental discipline he'd used to prepare for his engineering exams.
Strike rotation became his second priority. After successfully defending a few balls, he'd consciously look for opportunities to nudge the ball into gaps for singles. It wasn't about power, but placement. He practiced pushing the ball softly into vacant areas on the leg side or clipping it through the covers, constantly calling for quick singles. He worked on quick running between the wickets, anticipating his partner's call, and turning ones into twos. He didn't want to hog the strike or frustrate a set batsman; he wanted to be the reliable partner who kept the scoreboard ticking and allowed the main batsmen to play their natural game.
His teammates, initially surprised by their fast-bowling reserve's sudden interest in steadfast batting, began to notice his quiet persistence. He wasn't hitting boundaries, but he wasn't getting out either. He was becoming surprisingly difficult to dislodge. Coach Reddy, a keen observer, occasionally offered a curt, "Good leave, Aarav," or "That's a smart single." Small validations, but immensely encouraging.
Aarav's cricketing fire now burned with a deeper, more comprehensive glow. He was building himself not just into a bowler who could take wickets, but into a complete lower-order player, a reliable presence who could protect his wicket, absorb pressure, and rotate the strike when his team needed it most. He was preparing to be the unsung hero, the one who wouldn't let his more talented teammates down when the stakes were highest.