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
