At 19, Rohit was one of the older members of the U-19 2006 team, and at 17 and a half, Jaddu was the youngest, yet the two of them had somehow been friends right from the beginning of the camp. An almost unlikely friendship, considering how one of them would prefer to sleep all his free time while the other had one of those never-idle brains.

Looking back today, Rohit did realize that compared to what had happened in the period from 2014-19, the U-19 2006 final loss dismally lost in the 'heartbreak-quotient.'

When it had happened however, he had had no idea about what the future held, and it had been absolutely devastating.

The team had returned to the hotel in silence, and went to bed in silence; all of them thought they would never have another opportunity like this, of making their country win against Pakistan in a final—and most of them were right, because how many of them would go on to represent the senior team in the future?

Only a handful.

Jaddu followed Rohit into his room, because he did not relish the thought of being alone with the nightmarish memory, and Rohit did not object. Nor did he particularly encourage him, mostly because he was too numb to care.

"Don't you think, Rohit, that we're blowing this thing out of proportion?" asked Jaddu.

"Which thing exactly?" asked Rohit.

"We're acting like someone died," said Jaddu. "Painfully. Whereas we just lost a match."

"We did not just lose a match," said Rohit, glaring at him. "We lost a final to Pakistan."

"Ah, that's nothing compared to what happened with Korali dadu back in my hometown Jamnagar!"

Rohit stared at him and asked unwittingly, "Why, what happened to him?"

"His son was suffering from some unknown disease few years back," began Jaddu, stretching on the bed comfortably. "And none of the doctors around the region could get his temperature down below 105. So he went to the local temple on horseback to pray and ask for advice."

"On horseback?" said Rohit doubtfully.

"Yeah, maybe that's considered a good luck charm or something. I dunno," said Jaddu.

"Um, ok...continue," said Rohit, growing curious about Korali dadu's fate.

"Well, then, God came down from the pedestal and spoke to him..."

"You're making this up!" said Rohit, frowning.

Jaddu looked at him with such an incredulous expression that Rohit felt compelled to defend himself, "How can God come down and talk to a person?"

"I'm simply telling you the facts," said Jaddu solemnly. "So, God came down and told him to tie his son to the horse and throw them both into the river."

"What?" cried Rohit indignantly. "Why would he say something like that?"

"Yes, I know," said Jaddu gravely. "Korali dadu led his horse home and did just that..."

"You're making it up, Jaddu," said Rohit. But Jaddu looked and sounded so solemn that Rohit could not help second guessing the obvious—that he must be making this up. "Aren't you?" he added uncertainly.

"Why would I, Ro?" said Jaddu.

"Because...I don't know," admitted Rohit. "Continue anyway."

"Yes...and then both his son and his beloved horse drowned and died, naturally," said Jaddu with a funereal expression. "And you know the strangest part of it?" Now his voice was down to a thrilling whisper

"What?" Rohit found himself whispering, too.

"When he returned home, mad with grief, he found a portrait in his hall, that of his son mounted on his horse."

Rohit held his breath.

"He clearly remembered, and his wife did, too, that the horse was rearing with its left hoof raised."

"Oh..."

"And do you know what happened six months later?"

"What?"

"The portrait was still the same—only now the horse had its right hoof raised, and—" Jaddu raised his voice, seeing Rohit opening his mouth to protest. "—since then every six months the horse interchanges its raised hoof. Korali dadu and his wife have tried to get the portrait down several times, but it simply remains stuck to the wall, impossible to remove, continuously reminding them of their loss," he finished dramatically.

Rohit did not know what to believe. Of course his sense said that this was simply a stupid make belief story of Jad's—but he'd said it so convincingly...!

"Didn't I tell you his fate was worse than ours?" said Jaddu.

"Yes," said Rohit reluctantly. "It's kind of creepy, Jad."

"I know," said Jaddu sinisterly. "Jamnagar is a creepy place."

Rohit lay down beside Jaddu, still pondering over the story.

"G'night, then," said Jaddu.

"G'night," said Rohit, and miraculously he went to sleep thinking about Korali dadu and his son rather than the final loss to Pakistan.

*******

For the first time ever, Jaddu was silent. He had listened to Hardik's explosive rant in silence, and listened to Mahi bhai, Virat, Bhuvi, Ash and Rohit's insistence that he shouldn't blame himself, also in silence.

Rohit flung himself down beside Jaddu in the bus that day and said, "Don't you think, Jad, we're blowing this out of proportion?"

Jaddu looked around at him; his eyes were red. He tried to smile a little and said, "Which thing exactly?"

"We're acting like someone died," said Rohit. "Painfully. Whereas we just lost a match."

"We did not just lose a match," mumbled Jaddu. "We lost a final to Pakistan."

Rohit was both pleased and surprised to see that both of them remembered a conversation from 11 years ago.

"Ah, that's nothing compared to what happened with Korali dadu back in your hometown Jamnagar!" And Rohit went on to repeat the entire story to Jaddu, trying to sound as cheerful as he could.

By the time it ended, both of them were undeniably feeling a lot better.

A nice defense mechanism, this, thought Rohit.

**********

When Mahi bhai and Hardik were batting in the semi-final of WC 2019, and Rohit was sitting alone in the front of the team balcony, trying to keep the tears in check, Jaddu slipped into the empty seat beside him.

"Don't you think, Rohit, that we're blowing this thing out of proportion?" asked Jaddu.

There was very long silence.

"Which—which thing exactly?" asked Rohit.

"We're acting like someone died," said Jaddu. "Painfully. Whereas we're just losing a match."

"No we're not," said Rohit, finally losing the battle against holding back his tears. "We're not just losing a match. We're losing our biggest dream—ever."

Jaddu stared at Rohit sobbing, his face hidden in his hands in silence, not having any idea about what he could say to make Rohit feel better. No Jamnagar story would work this time, certainly.

"No, we're not," he said suddenly. "Because we have not lost yet. We will not lose our biggest dream ever."

Rohit looked up at Jaddu through his tears; the latter could tell that he had managed to surprise him.

"I'm still here, Ro. I won't let us lose our dream that easily."

Rohit reached out and grasped Jaddu's fingers.

"Tell me that story about Korali dadu from your hometown, Jad..."

"Ah," began Jaddu with fake normalcy, but before he got any further, Hardik threw away his wicket, and Jaddu had to go down.

"All the best, you," said Rohit off-handedly.

"Thanks," said Jaddu, trying to sound off-handed too.

They couldn't let their dream be shattered that easily, thought Jaddu, as he strode down to join Mahi bhai in the centre. He'd do it for his team. His country. But maybe most of all, for his oldest best friend.

He would do it.