Prof Deodhar

 Dinkar Balwant Deodhar was born in Pune in1892 and from an early age was exposed to the legendary exploits of Shivaji Chattrapati. A staunch Hindu of impeccable credentials, to Deodhar cricket meant merely another route to attainment of salvation.

 If Pavri and Baloo, primarily by their exploits on tours to England, had fired the imagination of youth in those hoary days, it was left to Deodhar to give the Indians the taste of success first-hand. For the first time ever, a representative team of the colonial masters was subjugated by an Indian on Indian soil in full view of his countrymen. It appeared that Deodhar’s mission was to prove to the ruling Britons that the Indian subjects were capable of surpassing their best players at their own game.

 If any single Indian player can claim to have taken the country to official Test match status, it was most certainly the erudite Sanskrit scholar from Pune. On a winter morning in 1926, the grassy Bombay Gymkhana pitch laden with fresh dew beckoned the great fast-medium bowler Maurice Tate to exhibit his mastery as the India team faced the daunting task of facing Arthur Gilligan’s England (then MCC) team. This was the occasion for which the 34-year old Sanskrit pundit was waiting for years.

 Combining doggedness with exemplary strokes, Deodhar relentlessly went on and on. The imposing MCC total of 362 was passed and only then did the Sanskrit scholar allow his stupendous concentration to flag. He contributed a masterly 148 out of the team’s total of 437, a distinct lead of 75 runs over an England team comprising prominent Test cricketers.

 No longer would the Englishmen in India make fun of Indian cricketers; no longer would there be sniggers; no longer would anyone dare to take the Indians lightly. That day he was not only batting for his team, he was writing the script of self-respect of a people subjugated to indignities and worse. His innings would have made Kautilya proud.

 Skipper Arthur Gilligan, gentleman to the core, was enchanted by Deodhar’s innings of character and skill. Gilligan went back to England and took personal initiative to propose that India deserved to be among the nations playing official Test matches. Thus India came to join the Imperial Cricket Conference as an official Test team and made her debut in 1932 against England at the Lord’s.

 But such is the irony of this game that the man, who was primarily responsible to elevate India to official Test match status, never got a single opportunity to play Test cricket himself. When India went on her inaugural Test tour of England in 1932, the name of Deodhar was missing. An act of sacrilege, if ever there was one. By 1932 the cricket crusaders had given way to cricket conspirators. The new breed of administrators publicised that Deodhar at 40 was too old to play for the country.

 Yes, at 40 a cricketer may have been thought to be old by conventional standards. But Deodhar was not a man to conform to stereotype patterns. He was actually physically fitter than most not only in 1932 but also in 1936 when the second India team went to England. At that time he was a regular player for the Hindu team in the Quadrangular and Pentangular communal cricket tournaments as well as for Maharashtra in the Ranji Trophy. His prolific performance in the first-class cricket in the 1930s was far superior to most of the men who played for India at the time.

 He actually was a victim of conspiracy. This educated man was a free-thinking, liberated soul. He never formed groups. His individual streak and love for his own province forbade him from joining the service of the influential maharajas. Thus his erudition and upright character became a noose around his neck.

 However, it is to Deodhar’s credit that he took his fate in his firm strides. He played for Maharashtra till the age of 54! Even at that age he was prolific in his batting performance. At the age of 48, he scored 246 against Bombay and ultimately led his team to victory over Madras in the Ranji Trophy final.

 As if this was not unique enough, he scored a century in each innings against Nawanagar at the age of 52! Such is the irony of destiny. That a man who was eminently successful in his endeavours, had to remain a silent spectator because of the conspiracy and intrigues of his own countrymen.

 After retiring from the game, Deodhar was a very responsible national selector. Here too he left his imprint. He did not allow Anthony D’Mello, the Board President at the time, any favours. He was firmly opposed to D’Mello for trying to meddle in the selection of the national team. For this courageous approach of his, Deodhar suffered but then he could not be enticed to compromise with his principles. He was responsible for the rise of some of our genuine world-class players like Vinoo Mankad and Vijay Hazare.

 For a man’s of Prof Deodhar’s deep erudition and strong character, it was not the result but the effort that mattered. Rarely, if ever, we have seen such a karma-yogin on the cricket ground.

 Every Indian cricketer, of whatever hue, owes an eternal gratitude to these magnificent pioneers of Indian cricket. They laid the path and paved the way so that others could have a smooth passage. Let us not forget these immortal souls. Our very existence as cricketers and cricket lovers is because of their supreme sacrifices.

                                               I met Prof Deodhar just once. Way back in 1973. Bengal had just been beaten by Maharashtra in a Ranji Trophy quarter-final tie at Pune. That was our skipper Chuni Goswami’s farewell match for Bengal and the last match of my debut season.

 Inside the pavilion sat an elderly man with eyes glued to the match. Chunida asked me, “You always keep blabbering about cricket. Can you identify the gentleman sitting on the cane chair?”

I had a good look and asked, “Will he be Prof Deodhar?”

“Good. Then come I will introduce you to him.”

“But does he know you?” I asked.

Chunida gave a sidelong glance, “Everybody in India knows me.” Typical of Chunida, my captain.

As we went near the man, the elderly gentleman looked at Chunida and said, “Chuni, happy to see that you are still playing.” Chunida nodded and shook hands with him.

 The moment Chunida introduced me, the man said, “Good technique and temperament, but poor physique. Will never play for India.”

I was stunned by his assessment. Had a very successful debut season and played a fairly responsible innings in this match too. Yet the gentleman was so very discouraging. But, to be honest, he was dead correct. My physique was never strong enough. Suffered from a congenital heart ailment.

 Immediately I said, “Sir, I do not crave to be a Test player. I want to be like you.”

“What do you mean? Like me, in which way?”

“Sir, I want to be an academic first and only then a cricketer.”

The elderly gentleman smiled and grasped my hand, “That’s the spirit I like.”

That grasp was not the limp handshake of an 80 year old man. It was the Maratha grip that finished Afzal Khan. Full of steel and rock.

 

 The conversation with the living legend was enlightening. I did not want to let him go. He also seemed to enjoy my company. When I asked him about his cricket career, he merely said, “It is for others to judge. I was happy to have kept my backbone straight throughout.”

I quipped, “Sir, your protégés have answered on your behalf.” Furrowed his eyebrows and nodded.

“Sir, please consider me to be your Ekalavya.”

Did I see the suggestion of a strange smile cross his face? Did not say anything beyond, “In that case you will lose a lot.” When I touched his feet, he was visibly touched. Just said, “If you remain straight, God will always be with you.”

 He got up and strode out. Sturdy and strong. No support. Not even a walking stick. Every inch a philosopher-warrior. I had met my boyhood idol Chhatrapati Shivaji. The silhouette left, leaving behind an ever-lasting impression. He left just as he had spent his life. In splendid isolation.