Chapter 72: The Lion's Den
If Wankhede was a cauldron of noise, the M.A. Chidambaram Stadium—Chepauk—was a kiln. The heat wasn't just in the air; it radiated from the concrete, the yellow plastic seats, and the dry, dusting pitch.
The Rajasthan Royals had landed in Chennai riding a high that touched the stratosphere. They were unbeaten. Aryan Sharma was the toast of the nation. But as the team bus navigated the streets of Triplicane, surrounded by a sea of yellow jerseys, the mood shifted.
This wasn't Mumbai. Here, there was no split loyalty. Here, there was only one King. And he didn't wear a crown; he wore wicket-keeping gloves.
[RANDOM AUDIENCE REACTION - SARAVANA BHAVAN, CHENNAI]
A group of auto-rickshaw drivers huddled around a small TV, sipping filter coffee.
"This Aryan boy," one driver said, adjusting his khaki uniform. "He hit Sachin in Mumbai. Big deal. Wankhede is a road. Let him come here. Murali will spin him like a top."
