HANUMANT SINGH

             Hanumant Singh has a unique place in the hearts of the players who played with or against him. In independent India he was the first to introduce batting as an art form. A picture of perfection that took one to ethereal heights.

 

Grace and graciousness marked him out as an individual. A true cricket ambassador. Far beyond the confines of boundary, of creed, of class. A cricketer whom Mother Teresa would have taken to heart.

 

His love for cricket extended to cricketers of all hues and abilities. And without hesitation he would freely share his vast and incisive knowledge with whoever evinced any interest. Cool and composed, his languid movement had all the aura of a man at peace with himself.

 

Hanumant Singh was born a prince in the erstwhile royal State of Banswara in Rajputana. But never, never was he to show any semblance of princely arrogance or misdemeanour. Rather his aristocratic bearing manifested in the charm of his manner and speech as much as it did in his graceful elegance at the crease.

 

His bat was like a violinist's bow, playing soft melodious tunes to the ripples of applause of the connoisseurs. He combined the best of attributes of Rajput gharana with those of his missionary school background and very quietly implanted the old world values among the men he played with. In his time Rajasthan was the best behaved State team in Indian cricket and in their relaxed manner had the measure of oppositions who thought killer-instinct meant foul language and ugly gestures.

 

 Hanumant, of course, never led India but let it not be forgotten that it was under his leadership that in 1967 the extremely strong West Indies team lost by an innings to the Central and East Zone combined team. That West Indies team, apart from skipper Gary Sobers included Kanhai, Hunte, Butcher, Nurse, Gibbs, Hall and Griffith. He motivated his mates not by words but by gestures and acts. His magnificent innings inspired Chuni Goswami and Subroto Guha to bowl splendid spells in that overwhelming victory.  

 

 An incident in that match is worth recollecting. Chuni Goswami held a superlative catch at mid wicket running about 30 yards as the ball spiralled high and wide. After holding the catch one-handed Goswami, typical of his footballing spirit, ran round the ground holding the ball high as the crowd bellowed its approval for the soccer legend. Skipper Hanumant tried his best to restrain the indomitable Goswami, “Chuni, Chuni, this is cricket, not football. Please stop running.” But finding his appeal fall into deaf ears, Hanumant broke into a broad smile and joined in the general applause.

 

Hanumant was born to be a diplomat. Aware, intelligent, tactful, he injected the essence of diplomacy to his batting and leadership. No violence erupted as he caressed the ball to the railings. No bravado exhibited as the innings unfolded and the match won. Sheer artistry of form delineated the canvas. He used the willow as a painter would use his brush: contemplation giving way to colour and conception.

 

But in no way should this mean that Hanumant lacked purpose or resolve, grit or sense of adventure. Quite the contrary. During his short Test career and his long Ranji Trophy innings, he exhibited rare courage, strong determination and a steel-will. But he was very lenient when he judged others. Very liberal in explaining their apparent weaknesses. And, above all, he possessed a sterling quality of praising and motivating youngsters, even of opposing teams.

 

At a time when princes frittered away their time in frivolous pursuits or joined private sector organizations under fancy designations or made attempts to toe the political establishment to gain ambassadorial postings abroad, Hanumant Singh did something quite extraordinary. He joined a public sector commercial organisation! For a prince this was actually unique.

 

For even the public school upstart at the time would have regarded this appointment as distinctly low-brow. But to us, the '60s generation’, this act was a revelation. Revealed to us the true blue-blooded prince. We marvelled at this non-conventional decision, at his pioneering zeal. We thought if a real prince could join an unfashionable public sector organization, why not we? By his action, he helped a whole generation to open its eyes and to disregard false values.

 

Hanumant Singh’s grace and simplicity permeated deep into his batting. At the crease he – ‘Hanu’ or ‘Chotu’ to his peers – made batting appear easy, too easy. This was artistry at its height: effective without apparent effort; graceful without trying to be grand. He would dance down the pitch and gently drive the ball. There was no force or violence apparent. When it suited him, his late-cut would be a soft, deft touch to help the ball on its way to the fence.

 

But the mediocrity mind-set determines that one must give at least the impression of struggle. This hypocrisy Hanumant would never commit. Why should he give an impression of dogged effort when he was perfectly capable of getting the same results with the ease and simplicity that the gifted individuals are endowed with?

 

Ultimately the gifted stroke-maker was eased out after just 14 Tests! At the time he had an average of 31.18 with one century and five 50s. I wonder what the reactions would be if such a fate was handed out to some of our modern-day stars, who have had the luxury of extended run of failures at the crease.

 

Hanumant had a dream debut in Test cricket. At 24 he was brought in at Delhi against Mike Smith's side in 1963-64. An innings of splendid all-round strokes full of culture and character extended to 105. A genuine artist had arrived, reminding old-timers of the grace of Mushtaq Ali and Khandu Rangnekar of pre-independent India.

 

Delectable drives and wristy elegance were the hallmarks that heralded the arrival of the batting prince from the sandy dunes of Rajputana, who had settled down in Bombay. Off-the-toes and off-the-hips, his wrists would glide the red cherry racing to the rails. A typical Hanumant innings bore the stamp of a Mozart symphony at Salzburgh, nothing less.

 

Next year when Simpson's Australians were here in India he played an innings of rare courage and fortitude at Madras. Four wickets had fallen for just 24 runs when Hanumant walked in to join his Rajasthan mentor, Vijay Manjrekar. They proceeded to display a superlative exhibition of batsmanship by adding 93 runs when Manjrekar left at 40. Quickly enough the innings folded for 193 runs but not before Hanumant selflessly threw his wicket away at 94 in trying to shield the tail-enders. That season he played another 6 innings against New Zealand at home at an average of 48.75 including 75 not out and 82.

 

He was an outstanding fieldsman close-to-the-wicket. Never got any mention because he did not make a great show of his catching prowess. The catch that he took at Brabourne Stadium in 1964 off Bobby Simpson is still spoken of with awe by connoisseurs who witnessed it.

 

Evergreen Rusi Surti was bowling left-arm spin at the time. Skipper Simpson played defensive forward to smother but the ball jumped a wee bit, struck the bat-maker’s name and looped in front. From silly mid-off, the agile Hanumant dived on the pitch to bring off a marvellous catch. The Hindu’s ever-agile photographer of Sport & Pastime clicked on time, thankfully. That dismissal led to Australia collapsing against Nadkarni and Chandrasekher helping India to a magnificent victory. Hanumant got no credit for converting a defensive prod into a superlative catch.

 

In 1967-68 against Sobers' side he played 4 innings including a 50 at Chepauk. But it was his 37 on a treacherous Eden Gardens wicket where his twinkling toes danced down the pitch to lift world-class spinners like Gibbs and Sobers that marked him out as a player of rare vintage. This short tenure was indeed a classical innings played on a pitch that had been badly tampered with the previous day by a section of the crowd which had invaded the ground to thrash the cricket administrators who had sold more tickets than space available. 

 

In his only tour abroad, to England in 1967, he batted in 4 Test innings, one of which fetched him 73. This was at Headingley, Leeds, where following-on India put up a brilliant but vain resistance to pile up 510 runs. On this tour he was troubled by a niggling injury to his knee.

 

 Unfortunately he missed the tour of Australia, where on the hard surfaces his stroke-play would have found an ideal platform. But that was not to be and in 1969 after just one failure he was sidelined forever! Despite prolific performances later, the stylish batter was never again asked to don the country's cap. Just one failure ended his Test career! Imagine what would have happened to our current stars if they had to face such a cruel fate. Please do not judge our former players by the statistical yardsticks of today.

 

Even after being permanently sidelined, the Rajput prince Hanumant Singh proved to be a glorious exception. No rancour, no vengeance, no back-biting, the charming gentleman merely said, "To be replaced by Gundappa Viswanath is no sadness.” Truthful and modest till the very end.

 

His like will not be found again. Hanumant would have made an ideal guide for the nation's youngsters. But he was never asked to. Only once he was sent as manager of the Indian team, to West Indies in early 1983. There at Berbice he left his mark. That was the first time when Kapil Dev’s India defeated Clive Lloyd's men in a one-day international. That ‘Berbice-win’ was the occasion which gave Kapil and his men the confidence to pull off that magnificent victory later in the 1983 World Cup final at Lord’s.

 

Hanumant career as a coach however took him to Nairobi. He was the architect who gave Kenya that outstanding victory over West Indies in the 1996 World Cup in India. Yet, ironically, after the victory Hanumant Singh was relieved of his post! Would it be sadistic on my part to relate that after Hanumant's departure Kenya could not make any distinctive mark even among the bottom rankers of international cricket and was eventually demoted?

 

Hanumant Singh began his first class career with Madhya Pradesh in 1956 but from the following season contributed wholeheartedly for his home-state of Rajasthan and Central Zone for 20 long and fruitful years. He was the first to exhibit to post-independent Indian crowds the concept of charm and artistry in batting and prepared the way for Gundappa Viswanath to follow.

 

Hanumant Singh was one of my boyhood heroes. Saw him at Eden Gardens in Ranji Trophy and Duleep Trophy ties and was charmed by his off-the-field manners and his fluid batting style. In 1972 I was actually playing a Duleep Trophy match against my idol at Eden. I was too shy to speak to him or even to wish him! No one has ever accused me of being tongue-tied! But in front of a most friendly Hanumant Singh, I actually lost my voice!

 

But surprise of surprises, when I was batting very cautiously in the middle of a crisis situation, he actually came forward during a drinks-break to say, “Good going. Don’t lose patience.” I was astounded.

 

In the previous match against North Zone, the opposing captain Bishen Bedi had encouraged the young debutant and now another opposing captain – my idol Hanumant Singh – praising me! I must have been born lucky. Two of cricket’s finest ambassadors were willingly offering encouraging words to an unknown, young man from the obscure East! Amazing indeed.

 

Another very interesting issue highlighted the tremendous influence of Hanumant Singh on me. In 1977 when I was dithering over accepting a probationary officer’s job at a nationalized bank instead of continuing in the corporate sector, one particular thought helped me to solve the problem: if the Banswara prince could accept a SBI appointment, why not me? That was the kind of lesson Hanumant left behind for others of his generation and beyond.

 

Later as a journalist, I met him at Vizag in the mid 1980s when he was one of the national selectors. As the SZ-EZ tie was drenched in pouring rain for days, I was indeed fortunate to have had his company for three full days. He was full of cricket history, literature and the current scenario.

 

When I told him that cricket followers were surprised that he was overlooked as manager to the world cup in 1983 despite his undoubted contribution as manager in the ‘Berbice-win’, Hanumant replied, “As manager Maan Singh did a great job in England in 1983.” Still I persisted, “Yes, Maan Singh was outstanding, but he too was relieved after that. Why do you think you were not reappointed later?”

 

Hanumant thankfully opened up, “In my report to BCCI, I mentioned 3 batters who were unwilling to face the fast bowlers in the West Indies in the island matches. This did not go down well with BCCI as all 3 had very powerful ‘backers’. They are still around. I only hope that they make positive contributions to India’s effort. I would be happy to be proved wrong.”

 

What a visionary Hanumant was. Believe it or not, all the three represented India as specialist batters and ended their careers with a combined total of 24 Tests and respective averages of 26, 18 and 25 without being able to score a single century between them! Specialist batsmen for over a decade! This frank and candid report of a real India well-wisher was put in the waste-paper basket by the powers-that-be.

 

Hanumant was simplicity and sophistication personified. In speech, in manner and in appearance. Accessible, calm and friendly, he continually maintained his distinctive posture throughout both on and off the field. A willing and patient listener, he was. Never spoke much; certainly never a word out of place. Never could admonish anyone with an offensive remark or act. I do not think anyone ever has spoken ill of him.

 

A prince by birth he was; a prince by title he was. But a prince who just refused to be recognized as a prince. He was indeed a genuine member of royalty. The prince who voluntarily sacrificed power and position. A prince who willingly came forward to serve all and sundry without an iota of discrimination. The man’s graceful and gracious demeanour gave shape to an impressionable young mind at Calcutta in the early 1960s.

 

In the pantheon of Indian cricket, he was the Gautama Buddha, the erstwhile prince of Kapilavastu, who sacrificed self-interest to serve humanity.