Mahendra Singh Dhoni promoted the 20-year-old Jadeja in a chase of 154 against England at Lord's. Jadeja was scrawny back then. He tried hard, again and again, but could neither time the ball nor muscle it away. Ask anybody what Jadeja is as a cricketer and they will tell you: fielder first, bowler next and batsman last. Here he was getting exposed in a high-pressure game, trying to come off with his weakest suit. Every dot, every single sent the asking rate soaring. He ended up with 25 off 35, with just one boundary. India, the defending champions, went out of the World T20 before the knockouts. A villain was born for the Indian cricket fan. A villain they would laugh at at every given opportunity.
Over the next year Jadeja would have plenty of time to look at his game. Before the 2010 IPL, Mumbai Indians showed interest in acquiring him; he reciprocated, thus breaking league rules. To demonstrate that he ruled with an iron fist, Lalit Modi banned Jadeja for a year, but the team, run by perhaps the most powerful man in India, Mukesh Ambani, got away.
India, the defending champions, went out of the World T20 before the knockouts. A villain was born for the Indian cricket fan. A villain they would laugh at at every given opportunity
"He would just lie around in the house," remembers Naina of the IPL season Jadeja missed. "His food intake went down. Would remain distracted. Didn't talk to anybody. Wouldn't watch TV. We didn't once put on the channel that showed the IPL. We used to let him be."
When Dhoni's Chennai Super Kings picked him up in the 2012 auction, they got themselves a grown man, stronger-built than the boy who froze at the World T20 at Lord's, but that also laid the base for more ridicule. He was now the most expensive IPL player. Part of a plum IPL franchise, trusted by the national captain and managed by the captain's friend, Arun Pandey, Jadeja was enjoying his cricket and the money that came with it. A farmhouse came up; horses, cars, motorbikes, weapons found their way there; the moustache discovered the Rajput twirl; in his abode away from the public eye, Jadeja was living like a Jadeja. Like a king.
Ask him about this, about where he learnt horse riding and swordsmanship, and he says, "This is in our blood. We don't need to learn it." The truth is, Jadeja always yearned for these things. When he didn't have them, he aspired to get them. He learnt to ride on friends' horses. He got it all and more.
On the field, he knew a different kind of royalty: Dhoni. Jadeja the player was happy to be a foot soldier. A rock star happy to be an opening act. Jadeja was what Dhoni wanted: a selfless cricketer who would do as he was told. Jadeja was still a fielder first, bowler next and batsman last. If Dhoni asked Jadeja to bowl over the wicket, Jadeja would. "Idhar se bhi daal saktay hain" (You can bowl from here too), Dhoni's cry would be the heard on the stump mic. If Dhoni wanted Jadeja to slow it down, Jadeja would. If he wanted darts, darts he would get. If he wanted him to go swing the bat, Jadeja would be like, "Which part of the ground?"
With the ball in hand, Jadeja was cleverer than given credit for. "If the pitch is turning, I want to bowl fast. Not give the batsmen time to adjust to the turn. If the pitch is not helpful, that's when I try to beat them in the air. There is no point showing off your tricks when the pitch is doing it for you." In the recent Delhi Test, in the face of an over-my-dead-bat defensive effort from South Africa on a slow pitch, Jadeja pulled out the tricks: going wide on the crease, letting the arm come down slightly round, and putting all of his shoulder into the delivery. How they fizzed past the outside edge.
Jadeja repaid all of Dhoni's faith. When people were ridiculing Jadeja's first-class triple-hundreds, Dhoni saw a Test bowler in him. Jadeja got Michael Clarke out five times in the home series in 2013. He then won India the Champions Trophy with the ball, in England. With the bat he was a big departure from the past generations of Indian cricket: not for him the 30 not out in a lost cause that would secure his place for the next game.
Long ago Naina asked Jadeja why he bats the way he does. Playing shots, getting out, which is different from how he bats for Saurashtra, as a proper batsman. "He told me one thing," Naina says. "'Should I listen to you or the captain? I have to play for the team.' If you observe, he always plays that way. He will never try to secure a fifty once he has reached 30-35. 'Should I do dhichoon dhichoon when the asking rate is 10?'"
Naina says Jadeja doesn't like talking cricket too much with her, but remembers him saying he wanted to play Test cricket. Dhoni made that happen too.
Ask him about where he learnt horse riding and swordsmanship, and he says, "This is in our blood. We don't need to learn it"
For Jadeja, Dhoni, a practical man, would make exceptions. In England in 2014, Dhoni went out of character to lodge a complaint with the ICC against James Anderson's sledging of Jadeja, which ended in Anderson allegedly pushing Jadeja in the passage between the playing area and the dressing rooms at Trent Bridge. This was a reversal of Monkeygate. India had no evidence to prove the push because the passage was the only place not under camera surveillance. There was no way an England player would testify against Anderson.
Against all advice, Dhoni went ahead with the complaint and fought all the way. The incident hijacked the whole series. All the attention turned to Jadeja. Under siege in the controversy, he took over Lord's, the scene of his downfall five years before, and he did it rudely and chaotically. Coming in at effectively 179 for 6 in the third innings, Jadeja danced at Anderson, swung at almost every ball, and swung like hell. Miss. Miss. Bang. Miss. Bang. Miss. Bang. This was a hare taking on wild dogs if ever there was one. Without a technique to speak of, Jadeja scored 68 off 57 to give India a match-winning lead.
When he reached 50 he brought out that sword celebration. Back home, Naina was stunned he had learnt to wield a sword. "It is very tough," she says. "The sword is so heavy, you can't move your wrist if you carry it. That was the first time I saw him do it. I don't know where he learnt it." He ended the game by running Anderson out. In the stands they sang "Oh Ravi Jadeja" to the tune of The White Stripes' "Seven-Nation Army."
