Unforgettable Chakuda, a heroic jawan

He represented the nation on the war-field. But was most unfairly denied the opportunity to represent the nation on the cricket-field. The heroic Indian jawan by the name of Samar Chakraborty was known around the country’s cricketing fraternity as ‘Chaku’.

His omission from the Indian team for the tour Australia and New Zealand in 1967-68 defies all reasoning. The Services medium-fast bowler representing North Zone in Duleep Trophy and the Rest of India in Irani Trophy had the Indian Test batters in a quandary.

Batsmen of the calibre of Tiger Pataudi, Ajit Wadekar, Chandu Borde, Ashok Mankad, Eknath Solkar, Farokh Engineer and a young man named Sunil Gavaskar, among others, fell victim to the subtleties of his variations. He was in the India camp at Khadakvasla near Pune among the probable 30 initially chosen for the proposed tours under Tiger Pataudi.

But when the final squad was announced the name of Samar Chakraborty, the most successful of all the Indian pacers at the time, was missing! Two pace bowlers who were not even in the original squad of 30 were chosen instead! The selectors included prominent names like Ghulam Ahmed, Madhav Mantri, Hemu Adhikari and M Dutta Ray. Ironically Indian cricket has always suffered at the whims of India’s national selectors!

Highly consistent over the years for Services and North Zone later for Bengal and East Zone, in 1967 he was at his peak. The best of Indian current Test batters had to bow down to his skill and stamina. He was in performance far ahead of any of his contemporaries. But he always maintained a low profile and never received any media support that was his due. He seemed to be a ‘no-where’ man of Indian cricket. He always taken for granted.

I first met Samar Chakraborty (perpetually misnamed Samir) in 1973 in the Bengal team. After rendering his contribution to the Services and the Indian Railways teams, he was already a major influence in a very strong Bengal Ranji Trophy squad. I happened to have made my debut in first-class cricket just the previous season. Chakraborty brought with him the halo of an Indian Army man. Tall and erect, the handsome lithe physique did not have an ounce of excess flesh. His backbone was always straight, both in build and in character. He breathed discipline and impeccable conduct.

He never believed in words. He was a man of action, a distinct legacy of the heroic Indian Army. I admired him for what he was. He would not copy anyone. He would not join any group. He was a singular man with a singular positive approach. I fell for him. It was a case of instant rapport.

Chakuda, as we all called him, was a strong-silent man. As is my habit, I watched him very keenly but from a distance. My first serious conversation with him – believe it or not – was at the crease while batting!  The quarter-final match against Maharashtra was in progress at Eden Gardens in 1974. Pandurang Salgaokar, then the fastest Indian fast bowler who had broken Sunil Gavaskar’s thumb earlier in the season, ran through the cream of Bengal batting. We were tottering at 102 for 9 when Chakuda at number 11 walked out to join me at the centre.

Adhering to the usual convention in cricket, as the specialist batsman I was trying to shield him from the bowling by trying for singles towards the end of every ‘over’. Initially on a few occasions, it happened with ease. Then in a particular ‘over’ I could not do so.  

At the end of the ‘over’ Chakuda walked up to me, “Raju, you play normal cricket. Do not bother about me.” I protested, “No, no. I must try my best to keep you out of the strike.” Chakuda became very serious, “Just look after yourself. Do not change your usual pattern of play for my sake. I am confident of tackling Pandu.” I was honestly aghast. A bowler not known for his batting skills was willing to fight it out against a genuine fast bowler on a grassy Eden Gardens track.

Only a born-fighter can say so and do it. He did it in style and splendor. He actually helped me to cross a personal landmark and showed exemplary courage in the face of odds. Those days the Eden Gardens pitch used to have a coat of green turf. But Chakuda the magnificent fighter had no time for Pandu, pitch or pressure. Chakuda revealed exemplary character to add 40 invaluable runs for the 10^th wicket. Kept his word: no bowler could get him out for more than an hour. Ultimately he was run-out. He had fought in wars to defend India. This was chicken-feed for this brave Indian Army warrior.

Enough has been and will be said and written about his bowling. I shall not repeat except to add that I have never seen any medium pacer with his kind of accuracy. His line and length constantly probed the batter’s defence. His modulation of movement added to his penetrative skills. His vicious off-cutter has deservingly acquired legendary status. Apart from Kapil Dev I have not seen anyone with a more dangerous off-cutter than Chakuda’s.

He was as deadly with the old ball as he was with the new. Even on docile pitches he would not shirk his responsibilities. He would willingly bowl for hours if the captain desired. His never-say-die attitude sent ripples within his team mates. Like all great bowlers, he had mastered the art of wrist-movement at ball-release and the use of the seam. His strong yet flexible wrists added a lethal dose of poison to his deliveries.

Off the field the man was a role model. Impeccably mannered, the erect personality was quick to appreciate the immense contribution of Sumitra-boudi in bringing up two wonderful sons. Chakuda always maintained, “No, no, I would never be able to handle household matters. I am indeed lucky to have a wonderful family to look after me.”

Once at Sambalpur most of the Bengal players found accommodation at a hotel. But no room could be found for the young players, including myself. Typically, conscientious gentleman that Chakuda was, he volunteered to be with the youngsters. This proved to be a blessing as we were taken to the Circuit House to stay and dine.

At the dining table while having a chat with him, the generally strong-silent man was in a voluble mood, “I believe Ambar wants you to bat at number 3 tomorrow. This is a good opportunity for you to play a long innings as you always bat too low at number 6.” I replied, “I shall certainly try my best. Wish me luck.”

Chakuda elaborated, “Mind you, the pitch is a mud-pot. No grass to bind the turf. It will be a rank turner with variable bounce. But I am confident you have the technique and temperament to survive on this pitch.” I had no idea that the quiet man was such a serious student of the game. However, I did bat low again but, as luck would have it, managed a decent score to help Bengal win in that very low-scoring match. What a prophecy!

Within a few years we were playing club cricket together for Mohun Bagan Athletic Club. That season most of the prominent players had left the club for our principal rival. Apart from Chakuda, TJ Banerjee – another gem of a man – and me, the others were youngsters with almost no experience of playing for a club with hundreds of vocal supporters in attendance. Selfless Chakuda sacrificed his captaincy-opportunity and willingly allowed me – 10 years his junior – to lead the club side.

Chakuda – though no longer in his prime – still glowed with confidence. He reassured me, “Raju, I shall bowl whenever you want me to bowl and for as long as you want me. Don’t lose hope.” Almost single-handedly – with TJ Banerjee’s assistance, of course – he helped the young team to win two out of the three championship titles. For an elderly medium pacer, past his prime, this was indeed a lion-hearted effort. Because of Chakuda’s championship-winning bowling performance, the following season his club captain was indeed lucky to be asked to lead Bengal in the Ranji Trophy championship.

Later, much later in 2010 one evening at home I got a phone-call. The confident voice of the man at the other end was unmistakable, “Extremely happy that you have been chosen as a match-referee for international matches by ICC.” I could only mumble, “Chakuda, please bless me.” He signed off by saying, “I always thought knowledge-wise you were far ahead of the rest. I am happy to find that I was not wrong in my assessment.” My voice choked. I could barely say, “Pronam neben.”

The most deserving Indian jawan never represented his nation on the cricket field. Was it his loss or the nation’s? I honestly wonder.