Abhimanyu knew that the Board of Control of Cricket in India, or BCCI as it was called, was not a true representation of Indian cricket. It was an uncomfortable alliance of a handful of royals, barely coming together to be legitimized by the International council. A player from a lower caste would be included in the team every now and then, but the game remained one for people with money.

It didn’t take a lot for Abhimanyu to convince Ranjit Singh. After all, the batsman knew the scene inside out from being a part of the national team. He knew that half the players on the team were there to gain social prominence rather than win a game of cricket. They threw money to travel across the globe in their cricket whites to compensate for their lack of talent. And sadly, that was enough to sustain them. But Abhimanyu felt that it was time to make a real team – the team of free India. According to him, it was a natural course the game had to take if India was to enter the big international leagues. From the Europeans to their Indian Army counterparts to the Parsis to the royals – now was the time to bring it to everyone, he argued. The question was, how?

Armed with Abhimanyu’s black diary, the two friends found themselves on a journey once again. Through the western desert to the northern plains and the Deccan plateau, they tracked down players whose exploits had been recorded in the small print of the back pages of local newspapers. It took nearly two years, but they were finally able to form an all-India team – an alternative to the status quo that Abhimanyu had envisioned on paper. At the Orient Club, he designed a rigorous training camp and brought in international coaches who embarked on a journey with the new team to smoothen the rough edges of raw talent. The rebel team was ready; all set, but with no one to play against. It was an underground movement built in secrecy, but finally, when it was time to showcase their talent, they hit a dead end.

When the word got out, Ranjit Singh was suspended from the national team, and the de facto national board refused to recognize the team, let alone allowing them play. That’s when Abhimanyu switched to high gear and started making calls. His trial-by-fire experience from the Ranakpour election came in handy, only this time he was ready to play the dirty game.

‘I am leaving for London, wondering if you can join,’ he said to Meera over the phone.

‘When are you leaving?’

‘Tomorrow night.’

‘I’ll ask Kamal to cancel my appointments,’ said Meera. ‘How many days do you think it will take?’

‘As long as it takes for the BCCI to play ball,’ Abhimanyu smiled, reflecting the steely resolve he had gathered back in America, thanks to Meera.

‘What’s your plan, Abhi?’