The 1999 Kolkata Test: A Clash of Cricket, Controversy, and Chaos

Cricket has long been intertwined with history, politics, and the raw emotions of millions. Nowhere is this truer than in the enduring rivalry between India and Pakistan, where a single game can be both a sporting contest and a geopolitical flashpoint. The events of the Kolkata Test in February 1999—originally intended as the crowning fixture of a highly anticipated series—became a symbol of how sport can both unify and divide, enthral and enrage, captivate and combust.

It was a match that showcased Test cricket in all its dramatic beauty—breathtaking bowling spells, magnificent batting displays, and an ebb and flow that kept both players and spectators on edge. Yet, it was also a match overshadowed by controversy, marred by crowd unrest, and completed in an eerie, near-empty stadium that bore silent witness to the storm unfolding.

A Tour Precariously Balanced on the Edge of Politics

Even before a single ball had been bowled, the 1999 Pakistan tour of India teetered on uncertain ground. The political climate between the two nations was tense, as it often was, with cricket being wielded as both a bridge and a battleground. There were voices—some loud, some insidious—that sought to leverage the tour for nationalist posturing. Ultimately, after much diplomatic manoeuvring, the series was allowed to proceed, but only at the eleventh hour.

The Kolkata Test, initially scheduled as the third and final encounter of the series, was elevated to an even grander status—the inaugural match of the newly conceived Asian Test Championship. If anything, this only heightened the stakes.

The public, undeterred by the political undercurrents, responded with unbridled enthusiasm. Eden Gardens, a coliseum of cricketing passion, was packed to capacity. Over the first four days, 100,000 spectators flooded the stands—a record-breaking figure that eclipsed a six-decade-old milestone. Even on the final day, when India's hopes hanging by a thread, 65,000 loyalists remained, clinging to the belief that their team could script an improbable victory.

But as fate would have it, the battle that played out was not just between bat and ball, but also between raw passion and the very spirit of the game.

An Unraveling Masterpiece

For three days, the contest unfolded like a classic Test match, oscillating between domination and defiance.

India had dramatically seized the early momentum. On the first morning, Pakistan's innings tottered on the brink of collapse at a staggering 26 for 6. Javagal Srinath, a craftsman of seam and swing, was at his devastating best. But amidst the ruins, Moin Khan stood resilient. His counterattacking 70 ensured Pakistan reached 185—a total that still left them gasping but not entirely buried.

The crowd's hunger for an Indian masterclass was palpable, yet it was met with a gut-wrenching moment. Shoaib Akhtar, the Rawalpindi Express, came steaming in, and in an instant, the roar of expectation turned into a stunned silence. A searing yorker, a perfect symphony of speed and precision, rattled Sachin Tendulkar’s stumps first ball. The heartbeat of Indian cricket was gone without scoring. Eden Gardens, a cauldron of deafening support, was momentarily mute.

India eked out a narrow first-innings lead, and then came the counterpunch. In one of the greatest innings played on Indian soil, Saeed Anwar batted with an elegance that defied the carnage around him. He carried his bat for an unbeaten 188, a lone sentinel guiding Pakistan to 316. It was a statement of intent. India now needed 279 for victory—gettable, but by no means easy.

By the fourth afternoon, India seemed well on course. At 143 for 2, with Tendulkar at the crease, the script was aligning for a memorable triumph. And then, the match veered into the realm of the surreal.

The Run-Out That Ignited the Fire

Tendulkar, in full command, worked Wasim Akram to deep midwicket and set off for three runs. It was a routine moment, one among thousands in the game. But then, the extraordinary happened.

As he turned for the third, his path crossed that of Shoaib Akhtar, stationed near the stumps to field a potential return. Tendulkar, his eyes fixed on the ball, collided with Shoaib, momentarily losing balance. Even as he stretched towards the crease, the throw from the deep crashed into the stumps.

The moment hung in the air, pregnant with uncertainty. It was the first series officiated entirely by neutral umpires, and the decision was referred upstairs. After a long, agonizing delay, third umpire KT Francis ruled Tendulkar out.

The reaction was instantaneous, visceral. Boos cascaded down the stands. Chants of "cheat, cheat" reverberated around Eden Gardens. Bottles, plastic cups, and anything within reach were hurled onto the field. Shoaib Akhtar, now the villain in the crowd’s eyes, bore the brunt of the fury.

Play was suspended. As tensions boiled over, it took an appeal from Tendulkar himself—accompanied by ICC President Jagmohan Dalmiya—to pacify the crowd and resume the match. But the equilibrium had been shattered.

When play restarted, India collapsed in a daze. Rahul Dravid, the bedrock of the chase, fell almost immediately. Mohammad Azharuddin and Nayan Mongia followed in quick succession. By stumps, the hosts teetered at 214 for 6, still 65 runs adrift.

A Game Finished in Silence

The final morning promised drama, but what followed was pandemonium. When Sourav Ganguly perished to the ninth ball of the day, the crowd erupted in renewed fury.

Newspapers were set ablaze. Stones, fruit, and bottles rained down. The match halted again. This time, the authorities responded with force. Over the next three hours, police and security personnel cleared the stands, using lathis to drive out the 65,000 spectators. Elderly men, women, children—no one was spared the chaotic exodus.

When play resumed, Eden Gardens, once a pulsating fortress, was now a hollowed-out shell. A mere 200 people remained to watch the final rites. It took Pakistan just 10 balls to wrap up victory, but the atmosphere was unrecognizable. Where there should have been celebration or despair, there was only emptiness.

The Fallout: A Cricketing Tragedy

What should have been a celebration of Test cricket’s finest attributes had instead descended into farce. Dalmiya, initially dismissive of the disturbances, later condemned the events in strong terms, decrying the "unjustified and uncalled for" behaviour of the spectators.

For Pakistan, the triumph was bittersweet. Their captain, Wasim Akram, directed his ire at the Indian media, accusing them of fanning the flames of controversy. "You have said that Shoaib obstructed Sachin from making his ground and that I should have recalled him," he snapped. "Why should I? If a team collapses over one moment, that is our bonus."

For India, the fallout was even harsher. Azharuddin, weary and disillusioned, offered a quiet lament: "We are human beings. We can fail. But every time we cannot win."

Yet, perhaps the most tone-deaf remark came from Dalmiya himself, who, despite the chaos, tried to spin a triumphant conclusion:

"The game was finished, and cricket was the winner."

But was it?

If anything, the Kolkata Test of 1999 exposed the uneasy undercurrents beneath the game’s surface—the delicate balance between passion and provocation, adulation and anarchy. It was a match where the cricket was brilliant, the emotions volatile, and the end unsettling.

A Test match had been played. A spectacle had unfolded. And yet, in the silence of an emptied Eden Gardens, cricket had lost something.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

Saeed Anwar: From Despair to Redemption at Eden Gardens

In cricket, as in life, the line between brilliance and failure is razor-thin. One moment, a batsman is a master of his craft, commanding bowlers with effortless grace; the next, he is a shadow of himself, struggling to reclaim the magic that once came naturally. Saeed Anwar, Pakistan’s most elegant opener of the 1990s, experienced both extremes during the high-voltage India-Pakistan Test series of 1999.

Before the tour, Anwar’s confidence brimmed with the arrogance of a master in form. He openly expressed his desire to notch a triple century, a feat that would cement his dominance over Pakistan’s fiercest rivals. The expectation was not misplaced. Two years earlier, he had tormented India in Chennai with a sublime 194, an innings of such ethereal beauty that it remains etched in cricketing folklore. His overall record against India was staggering, a testament to his penchant for delivering on the grandest stage.

More recently, in 1998, he had further solidified his status as an all-condition batsman. A polished 118 against the formidable South African pace quartet of Allan Donald, Shaun Pollock, Lance Klusener, and Jacques Kallis at Durban underscored his adaptability. Later that year, in a home series against Australia, he amassed 290 runs at an average of 96.66, including two masterful centuries. In the first Test at Rawalpindi, he stitched together a crucial 120-run ninth-wicket partnership with Mushtaq Ahmed, saving Pakistan from complete collapse.

Anwar was in prime form. His class was undisputed. But cricket has a way of humbling even the greatest.

A Series of Self-Doubt: The Collapse of a Titan

As the much-anticipated series against India began, Anwar, the artist with a bat, found his canvas barren. The rhythm that had once defined his game was absent, the fluidity of stroke-making replaced by hesitation. His high hopes of a historic series were quickly dashed as he struggled in the first two Tests, failing to impose himself. Each dismissal chipped away at his confidence, instilling the kind of self-doubt that can cripple even the finest of batsmen.

Then came the Asian Test Championship opener at Eden Gardens—one of the grandest stages in world cricket, a venue soaked in history, where the pressure of a Pakistan-India encounter is magnified by the presence of 85,000 fervent spectators. The cauldron of Kolkata was no place for the uncertain. It demanded resolve, brilliance, and a touch of defiance.

But for Pakistan, the match began in disaster.

Eden Gardens: A Cauldron of Humiliation

Batting first, Pakistan suffered a collapse so dramatic that it seemed destined for the record books. Within the first ten overs, they were reduced to 26 for six, their worst-ever start in a Test innings. The Eden Gardens crowd erupted in joy, relishing every Pakistan wicket that tumbled. The humiliation was compounded by their taunts directed at Javed Miandad, the Pakistani coach, who had recently called for drastic changes to the team in the wake of the ongoing match-fixing scandal.

Amidst the ruins, Anwar walked to the crease, burdened by expectation but devoid of form. Twelve balls later, he trudged back to the pavilion—a duck against his name. Pakistan's innings ended at a paltry 185, their pride shattered, their spirits crushed.

India, in response, looked poised to take a commanding lead. At 147 for two, they were cruising. Then, in a moment of sheer brilliance, the match flipped on its head. Shoaib Akhtar, raw, ferocious, and unstoppable, produced a spell that would be remembered for years. He bowled Rahul Dravid with a searing yorker and, in the very next delivery, shattered Sachin Tendulkar’s stumps with an express in-swinger. The twin strikes stunned the Eden Gardens crowd into silence. India collapsed, folding for 223, managing only a slender 38-run lead.

The game, once lopsided, was now alive.

Anwar’s Redemption: A Masterpiece Amidst Ruins

Pakistan’s second innings began with trepidation. Wajahatullah Wasti, pushed up the order to his natural opening position, departed early. The tension on the field mirrored that in the stands. An altercation between Prasad and nightwatchman Saqlain Mushtaq further fueled the already volatile atmosphere. South African umpire David Orchard was forced to intervene, warning India’s wicketkeeper, Nayan Mongia, for excessive appealing.

Amidst the chaos, Anwar survived a massive stroke of luck. On just two, he edged Srinath to first slip, where Mohammad Azharuddin got both hands to the ball—only to let it slip through. It was a moment of reprieve that would alter the course of the match.

The next morning, a different Anwar emerged. The hesitancy that plagued him earlier dissipated. His bat, once tentative, now met the ball with certainty. The initial movements were precise, the stroke play crisp, the footwork assured. It was vintage Saeed Anwar—fluid, elegant, and composed.

Teaming up with Mohammad Yousuf, he steered Pakistan towards stability. Their fourth-wicket stand of 115 in little over two hours frustrated India, sapped their energy, and pushed the hosts onto the defensive. The once-dominant Kumble, fresh off his historic 10-wicket haul in Delhi, looked ordinary. His final figures of one for 138 were a stark contrast to his previous heroics.

But Pakistan, true to their mercurial nature, found a way to self-destruct. From a promising 262 for three, they crumbled once more, losing their last seven wickets for just 54 runs. Yousuf’s dismissal—hooking Srinath straight to fine leg—triggered another collapse. The fragility of Pakistan’s middle and lower order was exposed yet again.

A Lone Warrior in the Storm

Yet through all the chaos, Saeed Anwar remained unshaken. He played with the fluency and grace that had once defined him. The drives through cover, the effortless cuts, the delicate flicks off his pads—every stroke was a reminder of his class. More than half his runs came behind the wicket, a testament to his immaculate timing and shot selection.

When the innings ended, Anwar stood unbeaten on 188, having carried his bat through—a feat only two Pakistanis before him, Nazar Mohammad and Mudassar Nazar, had achieved. His score accounted for 60% of Pakistan’s total of 316, a staggering individual contribution in a Test match of such intensity.

Though Younis Khan would later surpass this record with a 267 in Bangalore in 2005, Anwar’s innings at Eden Gardens remained one of the finest ever played by a Pakistani batsman on Indian soil. What made it legendary was not just the runs but the circumstances under which they came.

From the humiliation of a first-innings duck to the artistry of his second innings, Anwar’s performance was a tale of redemption, resilience, and sheer class. It was the story of a batsman who, when faced with doubt and adversity, rediscovered his greatness and answered his critics with his bat.

In the grand narrative of India-Pakistan cricket, where emotions run high and history is written in moments of brilliance, Anwar’s 188* stands as a testament to the power of perseverance. It was poetry in motion, a symphony of batsmanship that turned despair into triumph.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

The Dawn of a New Storm: Shoaib Akhtar’s Arrival on the Grand Stage

The year 1998 was one of transformation for Pakistan cricket. The golden generation of fast bowlers—Wasim Akram and Waqar Younis—was no longer at its devastating best as injuries, age, and off-field distractions took their toll. Wasim, Pakistan’s premier left-arm magician, had endured a difficult period marred by injuries and external controversies. Waqar, the other half of the legendary “Two Ws,” found himself burdened with leading the pace attack, a responsibility that had once been equally shared.

Though Waqar remained a formidable bowler, he was not the same force of nature that had terrorized batsmen in the early 1990s. His searing pace had diminished, and his pinpoint accuracy—once his hallmark—became inconsistent. As the 1998 season progressed, Pakistan cricket found itself at a crossroads, seeking the right balance between experience and renewal.

When Wasim Akram was reinstated as Pakistan’s captain in late 1998, replacing Aamir Sohail, he inherited not just a team but an era in transition. His first major challenge was a historic series in India, a contest brimming with political, emotional, and sporting intensity.

For the first time, Indian crowds would witness the fabled “Two Ws” in their own backyard, as they prepared to take on the great Sachin Tendulkar. Wasim, rejuvenated, met expectations with his spellbinding swing and tactical brilliance. But Waqar struggled. Apart from one fiery spell in the second innings of the Chennai Test, his impact was minimal. His speed had dropped, his radar was inconsistent, and his aura of intimidation had begun to fade.

As the teams moved to Kolkata for the inaugural Asian Test Championship, Wasim Akram faced a defining moment. Sentiment and loyalty pointed towards persisting with Waqar. But Pakistan cricket had always been ruthless in its pursuit of success. And so, a bold decision was made—Waqar Younis, one of Pakistan’s greatest fast bowlers, was dropped.

In his place, a raw, untested force was unleashed upon the world: Shoaib Akhtar.

The Wild Card Enters the Arena

At the time, Shoaib Akhtar was an enigma—a talent largely unknown to the wider cricketing world but a name whispered among Pakistan cricket circles. His reputation, however, extended beyond his cricketing ability. He was a free spirit, a restless maverick who had already gained notoriety for his off-field antics.

During Pakistan A’s 1997 tour of England and South Africa, Shoaib had made headlines for breaking curfews and indulging in the night-time thrills of the Western world. He spent the previous summer playing club cricket in Ireland, returning with a passable Dublin accent and an endless stream of stories from O’Connell Street’s pubs.

But beyond the theatrics, Shoaib possessed something extraordinary—raw, untamed pace.

The cricketing world had caught glimpses of his ability during Pakistan’s Test series in South Africa earlier in 1998. In the second Test at Durban, Shoaib delivered a match-winning spell, helping Pakistan secure a rare victory. His thunderbolts drew comparisons with Allan Donald, South Africa’s premier fast bowler. Wasim Akram, who had faced both, made an emphatic declaration:

"Waqar was as fast in his heyday, but Shoaib’s bouncer is much quicker."

Yet, despite these promising flashes, Shoaib remained untested on the biggest stage. That was about to change.

Kolkata’s Eden Gardens, one of cricket’s most electrifying venues, was about to witness the birth of a new phenomenon.

Setting the Stage for an Earthquake

Day 1 of the Kolkata Test provided an early hint of what was to come. As the evening light faded, Shoaib steamed in and shattered VVS Laxman’s stumps with a searing inswinging delivery. A warning shot had been fired.

But the true storm was yet to arrive.

As Day 2 dawned, India was in control. Rahul Dravid and Sadagoppan Ramesh were methodically grinding down Pakistan’s modest first-innings total of 185. With the score at 147 for 2, drinks were taken.

Session breaks can be deceptive. Batsmen, even those well-set, can lose their rhythm in the brief pause. Wasim Akram, ever the astute leader, sensed an opening. He tossed the ball to Shoaib Akhtar, hoping the young speedster could break the deadlock.

What followed was not just a breakthrough—it was an earthquake.

Shoaib charged in with his trademark long run-up, his energy still high despite the Kolkata humidity. His first delivery to Dravid, a full-length inswinger, seemed to move with an intelligence of its own. The ball started straight, then suddenly dipped and curled towards the leg stump. Dravid, a master technician, tried to bring his bat down in time—but the ball was too quick, too well-directed.

Leg stump cartwheeled.

Boom.

Dravid, the man who would later become “The Wall,” had been breached. Kolkata’s murmurs of discontent were growing. But the real drama was yet to unfold.

Sachin Tendulkar emerged from the dressing room, greeted by a thunderous ovation. Ninety thousand fans rose in unison, chanting his name. In India, Tendulkar was more than just a cricketer—he was a deity. And now, he stood between Shoaib Akhtar and history.

The crowd roared as Tendulkar took his guard. Shoaib, already in motion, barely waited.

The delivery was full, reversing viciously in the air. Tendulkar, ever composed, adjusted slightly, looking to drive. But the ball swerved late, as if obeying a hidden command, and slipped past his bat.

Middle stump lay uprooted.

For a moment, silence.

A silence so profound it felt unreal in a stadium bursting with life just seconds earlier.

Boom.

Sachin Tendulkar, the greatest batsman of his era, had fallen for a golden duck—the first in his Test career.

Shoaib Akhtar, arms outstretched, tilted his head to the sky, absorbing the moment. He had not just dismissed two of the world’s finest batsmen—he had done it in successive deliveries, in their own backyard, on the grandest stage.

The Changing of the Guard

As if scripted for maximum drama, the next batsman in was India’s captain, Mohammad Azharuddin. If Shoaib’s deliveries to Dravid and Tendulkar had been masterpieces of swing, his delivery to Azharuddin was an exhibition of raw hostility.

A bouncer, fast and steep, crashed into the back of Azhar’s helmet. The message was clear—this was a different breed of fast bowler.

By the time Shoaib’s spell ended, his figures read 4 for 71, his final victim being Venkatesh Prasad, beaten by yet another scorching yorker. But numbers only tell part of the story.

In the stands, Waqar Younis watched. He had built his career terrorizing batsmen with toe-crushing yorkers, reverse swing, and sheer pace. And now, before his eyes, a successor had emerged.

Shoaib Akhtar was not just another fast bowler. He was a force of nature, a whirlwind of pace and personality. His career would be marked by brilliance and controversy, by breathtaking spells and moments of recklessness. But on this day in Kolkata, none of that mattered.

Cricket had found its next great fast bowler.

And Pakistan had found its new storm.

Thank You 

Faisal Caesar 

India vs. Pakistan: Passion and Pandemonium: The Paradox of Kolkata 1999

The Asian Test Championship, conceived by the Asian Cricket Council in the late 1990s, was an ambitious attempt to capitalize on the growing popularity of cricket in the region. With India, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka as the primary contenders—Bangladesh still two years away from Test status—the tournament promised both financial gain and a new platform for regional cricketing rivalries. The resumption of cricketing ties between India and Pakistan removed the final obstacle, paving the way for the championship’s debut.

The inaugural match, held at Eden Gardens in February 1999, was originally scheduled as the third and final Test of the India-Pakistan series. Instead, it became the opening act of the new tournament. The enthusiasm for the event was palpable; crowds flooded the iconic Calcutta ground, with approximately 100,000 spectators attending each of the first four days. Even on the final day, with India teetering on the brink of defeat, 65,000 fans filled the stands. This remarkable turnout shattered a 63-year-old record for aggregate attendance at a Test match, highlighting the fervour of cricket in the subcontinent.

However, the match was marred by chaos and controversy, overshadowing its historic attendance. The first major disruption occurred on the penultimate day, sparked by the controversial run-out of Sachin Tendulkar, India’s talismanic batsman. The dismissal incited outrage among the crowd, culminating in a riot. The following morning, with India languishing at 231 for nine, the tension boiled over. Frustrated spectators burned newspapers and hurled stones, fruit, and plastic bottles onto the field. The situation escalated to the point where play was suspended for over three hours, and the police forcibly evacuated approximately 65,000 fans from the stadium. The eerie silence that followed was reminiscent of the World Cup semi-final at the same venue in 1996 when a similar riot had forced officials to award the match to Sri Lanka by default. This time, however, play eventually resumed, and Pakistan swiftly claimed the final wicket to secure a comprehensive victory.

While the riots reflected deep disappointment rather than anti-Pakistan sentiment, they were a source of profound embarrassment for the Calcutta authorities. The unrest, though chaotic, lacked the viciousness often associated with such incidents, and miraculously, there were no fatalities. The only reported injury was to a member of the ground staff, struck on the ankle by a stone. Outside the stadium, there were no signs of violence, underscoring the fact that the crowd’s anger was confined to the confines of Eden Gardens.

Despite the disruptions, the match set a record for attendance. Over five days, an estimated 465,000 people witnessed the action—a testament to the enduring allure of cricket in the region. Yet, the stark contrast between the electric atmosphere of the opening days and the desolation of the final moments was striking. When play resumed after the riot, the ground, once teeming with life, was reduced to a ghostly shell. Only around 200 people remained to witness Pakistan’s swift triumph, creating an atmosphere more suited to a provincial county game than an international Test. Among the few holdouts were a well-dressed couple who resisted eviction, asserting their right to stay. Their defiance was short-lived, as a phalanx of police officers forcibly removed them just before play recommenced.

In the end, the inaugural match of the Asian Test Championship was a paradox: a spectacle of unprecedented attendance tarnished by chaos, a celebration of cricket’s unifying power disrupted by the raw emotions it can evoke. It stood as both a triumph and a cautionary tale, highlighting the passion and volatility that define cricket in the subcontinent.

Pakistan: Full of Life and Spirit – Fiery Shoaib Akhtar, Gorgeous Saeed Anwar  

 Pakistan's victory in the opening match of the Asian Test Championship was nothing short of extraordinary, a triumph forged in adversity and defined by individual brilliance. On a seaming Eden Gardens pitch, they elected to bat and were promptly reduced to a shocking 26 for six within nine overs, as Javagal Srinath and Venkatesh Prasad wreaked havoc. Yet, from the ruins, Moin Khan, Salim Malik, and Wasim Akram staged a gritty resistance, pushing the total to 185. It was a modest score but enough to secure a crucial batting point under the tournament’s bonus system. India, at 147 for two in reply, seemed poised to seize control, but cricket’s unpredictable nature had other plans.

Session breaks, with their peculiar ability to disrupt even the most composed batsmen, played a pivotal role. On the second day, Rahul Dravid and Sadagoppan Ramesh appeared unshakeable, steadily eroding Pakistan’s first-innings total. At 147 for two, drinks were called, and the course of the match irrevocably shifted. Enter Shoaib Akhtar, a lean, fiery pacer still carving out his legend. For 92 balls, Dravid had been the embodiment of resilience, meticulously laying the foundation for a formidable innings. But Shoaib’s delivery—a low full-toss that dipped and curved as if guided by a malevolent force—breached his defences and shattered the leg stump.

The dismissal was dramatic, but what followed was seismic. Sachin Tendulkar, India’s crown jewel, strode to the crease amidst a cacophony of cheers. A quick glance around the field, a nudge to his elbow guard, and he took his stance. Shoaib charged in again, delivering another dipping full-toss that seemed even quicker. Tendulkar, uncharacteristically beaten, saw his middle stump cartwheeling. It was only the second golden duck of his illustrious career. Shoaib, arms outstretched and face skyward, celebrated with a theatricality that would become both his hallmark and his burden. This moment announced his arrival as Pakistan’s new pace spearhead, a role left vacant by the ageing Wasim Akram and the waning Waqar Younis.

India’s collapse was swift. From 147 for two, they folded for 223, managing a slim lead of 38 runs and falling short of a second batting point. Ramesh, who had anchored the innings with a composed 79, fell to Wasim Akram, his dissent earning him a suspended one-match ban. The pendulum had swung decisively.

The third day belonged to two men: Saeed Anwar and Javagal Srinath, whose contrasting contributions defined the narrative. Anwar, after a string of failures, returned to sublime form with an innings of ethereal quality. Surviving an early dropped catch, he transformed into an artist at work, painting the Eden Gardens with strokes of genius. His slashing cuts and deft on-side flicks silenced the vociferous crowd, each shot a rebuttal to the millions willing him to fail. As the day wore on, his timing reached a crescendo, and the bat in his hands became a weapon of defiance.

 Anwar achieved a rare feat, carrying his bat through the innings to score a monumental 188, the highest Test score by a Pakistani on Indian soil. Over seven and a half hours, he struck 23 boundaries and a six, single-handedly propelling Pakistan to 316 and contributing 60% of the team’s total. He joined the elite company of Nazar Mohammad and Mudassar Nazar as the third Pakistani to carry his bat in a Test. His lone ally was Yousuf Youhana, who added 115 with him before falling to Srinath.

Srinath, undeterred by Anwar’s brilliance, produced one of the finest spells of his career. Armed with the new ball, he dismantled Pakistan’s lower order, taking six wickets in nine overs and finishing with eight for 86 in the innings and 13 for 132 in the match. His relentless accuracy and ability to extract movement on a wearing pitch kept India in the hunt.

Ultimately, this match was a testament to the mercurial beauty of Test cricket. It oscillated between moments of brilliance and collapse, of artistry and grit. Pakistan’s victory, built on Shoaib’s fire and Anwar’s finesse, was a masterpiece of resilience, while Srinath’s heroics ensured India’s spirit remained unbroken. This was not just a game; it was a theatre of human endeavour, where greatness emerged from the chaos.

That left India to chase 279. They had a good start when Ramesh and Laxman opened with 108. But after these two had departed, there occurred the incident which wrecked India's chances - and Eden Gardens' reputation.

By the fourth afternoon, India were well placed on 143 for 2 when there came the incident which turned the whole game ugly.

India’s Chaotic Chase

 The dismissal of Sachin Tendulkar in the Kolkata Test against Pakistan was a moment that transcended cricket, igniting passions and controversy in equal measure. The scene was set when Tendulkar, cheered to the heavens by a packed Eden Gardens, reached 5000 Test runs with a couple of well-placed runs off Wasim Akram. On his way back for a third, a moment of chaos unfolded. Substitute fielder Nadeem Khan’s throw from the deep struck the stumps directly. Tendulkar, colliding with Shoaib Akhtar near the crease, was adjudged run out by the third umpire after a prolonged deliberation. The crowd, sensing injustice, erupted into fury.

The incident was a study in perspectives. Shoaib, stationed a few yards behind the stumps to collect the throw, had his back to Tendulkar and seemed oblivious to the batsman’s trajectory. Tendulkar, focused on the ball’s flight, inadvertently veered into Shoaib, leaving him short of his ground. Neutral observers leaned towards the view that it was an unfortunate accident, though some, like Richard Hobson in *The Times*, placed the blame squarely on Tendulkar, remarking, “He kept his eye on the throw instead of his own route to the crease.” Wasim Akram, as captain, upheld the appeal, a decision entirely within his rights but one that deepened the crowd's resentment.

Tendulkar, visibly bewildered, bypassed the dressing room and headed straight to the TV umpire’s room to review the replay. His silence spoke volumes, his slight shake of the head a muted protest against the ruling. On the field, the mood turned ominous. Chants of “cheat, cheat” echoed around the stadium as Shoaib, now the target of the crowd’s wrath, was pelted with bottles and debris. The umpires, sensing the volatility, led the players off for an early tea.

The intervention of Tendulkar and ICC president Jagmohan Dalmiya eventually calmed the storm. Tendulkar’s appeal to the crowd to restore order was as dignified as it was necessary. Dinesh Vajpal, Kolkata’s police chief, acknowledged the cricketer’s role, remarking, “It was good of Sachin to go out and pacify the crowd.” Dalmiya, however, downplayed the gravity of the situation, claiming it had been exaggerated. “The crowd felt an injustice had been done, but there was no violence as such,” he said, a statement that many found overly optimistic.

The 67-minute delay, however, shifted the momentum decisively. When play resumed, Shoaib struck again, dismissing Dravid shortly after. Mohammad Azharuddin and Nayan Mongia fell in quick succession, leaving Pakistan firmly in control. By stumps, India were teetering at 231 for nine, needing 65 runs with only one wicket in hand. Sourav Ganguly, their last beacon of hope, succumbed early on the final day, and when Srinath edged Wasim Akram to the keeper, the match was all but over.

The crowd’s disappointment boiled over once more. Newspapers were set alight, and stones, fruit, and bottles rained onto the field. Police, armed with lathis, moved in to clear the stands, forcibly ejecting 65,000 spectators. Wisden noted the lack of malice in the unrest, describing it as “born of disappointment rather than anti-Pakistan feeling.” Yet, *The Guardian* condemned the police’s heavy-handed tactics, describing scenes of elderly men, women, and children being beaten and kicked as they were driven out of the stadium.

In the eerie silence that followed, Pakistan needed just 10 balls to complete their 46-run victory. The din of the previous days was replaced by a surreal stillness, with only 200 spectators scattered across the vast concrete stands. Among them, an elderly couple defiantly remained, asserting their right to witness the game’s conclusion. Their resistance, however, was short-lived; a swarm of security guards descended, forcibly removing them as the players took the field.

Pakistan’s triumph, though monumental, was overshadowed by the chaos and controversy that marred the match. It was a victory achieved in a theatre of passion and pandemonium, where cricket’s ability to inspire both unity and division was laid bare.

The Aftermath

The second and more severe disturbance at Eden Gardens shook Jagmohan Dalmiya to his core, leaving the usually composed ICC president visibly rattled. His earlier attempt to downplay the unrest seemed almost naive in retrospect. This time, his condemnation was sharp and unequivocal. “I exactly don’t find any reason for provocation today,” he fumed. “The action is totally unjustified and uncalled for. The spectators should learn that winning and losing is part of the game.” His frustration was palpable as he rebuked the crowd for what he described as a deliberate effort to prevent Pakistan’s victory. “Today’s gesture was very clear that the last wicket would not be allowed to fall. I condemn today’s action in the strongest possible manner.”

Dalmiya’s tone shifted from reproach to resignation as he grappled with the implications of the crowd’s behaviour. “If that is the only motive of the spectators—that the visiting team shouldn’t win here—I leave it to the future and hope God changes their attitude.” His words reflected both the embarrassment of a host and the disillusionment of a cricketing statesman witnessing the erosion of sportsmanship in the face of nationalistic fervor.

At the post-match press conference, Wasim Akram’s ire was directed not at the crowd but at the Indian media, whom he accused of inflaming tensions. “Whatever has happened today, it is only because of you people and your reports,” he declared, his frustration cutting through the diplomatic veneer. “You have said that Shoaib obstructed Sachin from making his ground and that I should have re-invited him to bat. Why should I do that? If a team fails for only one man, that is our bonus.” Akram defended his team’s actions and dismissed allegations of foul play, calling the media’s narrative both unwise and unfair. “The whole world saw none of them were responsible for the collision. But you have blamed me. Is that wise?” His words underscored the volatile intersection of media influence, public perception, and the high stakes of international cricket.

In stark contrast, Indian captain Mohammad Azharuddin cut a sombre figure, his tone laced with disappointment rather than anger. “I just want them to behave, because every time we cannot win. We are also human beings and any day we can fail,” he said, his words a quiet plea rather than a rebuke. Azharuddin’s reference to the 1996 World Cup semi-final debacle, where crowd unrest had also marred the game, highlighted a recurring pattern of emotional volatility among Indian spectators. “This incident has let us down in the world of cricket,” he lamented, his despair reflective of a deeper cultural malaise.

The great tragedy of the match lay in its paradoxical nature. On the field, it was a glorious advertisement for Test cricket—a contest that ebbed and flowed, showcasing the drama and unpredictability of the longest format. Off the field, however, it descended into chaos, tarnishing the sport’s reputation. The subsequent games in the Asian Test Championship—Sri Lanka versus India in Colombo and Pakistan versus Sri Lanka in Lahore—lacked the intensity and spectacle of the Kolkata Test. The final, a one-sided affair in Dhaka where Pakistan crushed Sri Lanka by an innings and 175 runs, offered little solace to those who had hoped for a fitting climax.

Dalmiya, ever the optimist, attempted to salvage some dignity from the ruins. “The game was finished, and cricket was the winner,” he declared with forced cheerfulness. But his words rang hollow, a reflection of an era when cricket’s administrators appeared increasingly detached from the realities of the sport they governed. For them, the bottom line often seemed to outweigh the spirit of the game, a disheartening trend that would cast a long shadow over cricket’s future.

Thank You

Faisal Caesar