The following is an edited extract from Ramachandra Guha's forthcoming social history of Indian cricket, A Corner of a Foreign Field, which will be published by Picador in August 2002. This piece appeared in the July issue of Wisden Asia Cricket. Towards the end of November 1926 the MCC tourists reached Bombay, having already played in Sind, Rajputana and the Punjab. Cricket in this island city was now over a century old. The Bombay film industry was in its infancy, so, for rich and poor, Hindu, Muslim and Parsi, cricket was still the most widely preferred form of recreation. In the home of Indian cricket the visitors were to play as many as five matches. Weeks before they arrived, potential players began making their preparations. And potential patrons as well. The owner of Gazdar's Health Home in Marine Lines offered to place his expertise and his appliances at the disposal of the local cricketers selected to play against MCC. Equipment and instruction would be free. If the cricketers "go through certain vigorous body-building exercises every day", said Mr Gazdar, "they will be able to make a better stand all-round."

MCC came to Bombay undefeated. Their first opponents in the city were the Hindus. In its pre-match report, a nationalist paper, newly started, captured the feelings of its likely readers: "The tents are pitched and the field set for the reception of the MCC on Monday next, and thousands are in their throes of anticipation. India expects Bombay to do its duty – to check the victorious career of the visitors." Thus far only the Parsis had defeated visiting teams – Vernon's side in 1889-90, Lord Hawke's side three years later, the Oxford Authentics in 1902-03. "Those were the palmy days of Parsi cricket," commented the paper, "but now we depend upon the Hindus to resist the invaders."

Twenty-five thousand people turned out for the first day of the tourists' match against the Hindus. They were well rewarded. Just before the close, the visitors were all out for 363. The Somerset amateur GF Earle hit a rapid 130, with as many as eight sixes. The Hindus were a nervous 16 for 1 when stumps were drawn.

Already the cricket had been exciting enough. The next day, December 1, 1926, was more electrifying still. The Hindus started steadily, but by the time they got to 84 had lost two more wickets, including their captain Palwankar Vithal. CK Nayudu strode in briskly, and lofted his third ball onto the roof of the Gymkhana pavilion. While LP Jai blocked at the other end, Nayudu went berserk. He had hit four sixes and got to 50 not out when play was stopped for lunch.

During the interval, the news of the happenings at the Bombay Gymkhana spread through the city. Office workers headed hastily to the maidan by train. After lunch, writes one chronicler, "every tree was black with human spectators, every roof-top was occupied that commanded even a partial or very distant view of the game." Even if they saw little, the shouts they heard from inside the ground confirmed that Nayudu was continuing where he had left off. Sixes and fours poured off his bat as he reached his hundred, then 150. Two more drives landed on the roof of the Bombay Gymkhana. A high-class attack led by four Test bowlers was completely demolished. Nayudu was eventually out, caught in the deep, for 153. He had batted less than two hours and had hit 13 fours and 11 sixes, the latter a world record.

Each of Nayudu's boundaries was met with a colossal bout of cheering. The roar of the crowd, wrote one observer, was so loud that it must have unnerved the station-master of the Victoria Terminus, half-a-mile away. "The hand-clappings and those hurrahs and those shouts for [Nayudu's] shots were heavier for horizon than the thundering sound of Punjab, Allahabad, Pioneer mails and what not." That the Hindus were seven runs behind on the first innings did not seem to matter in the least. For, as EW Docker has written, the "importance of the day lay in the emotional scene at the finish when outside the pavilion in the quickening dusk people began to gather in little groups craning their necks, straining every muscle to catch a glimpse of their hero, touch him, garland him with flowers, press gifts into his hand. How he had raised them up! What glories he had shown them!"

With Docker we may say that Nayudu's hundred was Indian cricket's moment of arrival. The quality of the opposition and the manner of its conquest were both unprecedented. On the 1911 tour of England, the great left-arm spinner Palwankar Baloo had got the better of accomplished county sides, but apart from his team-mates no Indian had seen it happen. And to the common man (though not necessarily to the connoisseur) aggressive batsmanship is always more exciting than artful slow bowling. Nayudu played the part, and looked it too. He was lithe and handsome, a superb athlete whose dancing footwork and six-hitting were of a piece with his brilliant outfielding and more-than-useful medium-pace bowling.

Thirty years later, someone who had bowled to Nayudu that day recalled that explosive innings of 153. RES Wyatt said that CK's "ability to drive good-length balls back over the bowler's head made it very difficult for bowlers to keep him quiet". The Indian batsman's "perfect poise, high backlift and long, pendulum swing brought beauty to his strokes".

The day after the match ended, a fan who could not even get to a treetop in time wrote a bitter letter to the newspapers. "SSS" of Kalyan pleaded for space within the ground for the thousands of "poor people who cannot check their enthusiasm and whose purse is too lean to bear the price of a seat in rented tents". These "have no other alternative than to climb the trees around them, and if fortune is not on their side, to be a victim of a bad fall for a single glimpse of the game". The tents for the paying public could remain, suggested SSS, but in between the tents open space might be kept for those with no money but plenty of interest, who were willing to stand huddled together to watch the game.

Those who could pay, however, got close to their heroes in their off-duty hours as well. On Sunday, December 5, the Hindu team was honoured at the Bombay Theatre, with the felicitation followed by a concert by Hirabai Barodekar, the "world-renowned popular young songstress of gramophone name". The tickets were priced at rupees 15, 10, five, four, three, two, and one, with a few available for eight annas. An advert placed in the papers appealed to the "CITIZENS OF BOMBAY! ATTEND! ONE AND ALL!! ATTEND!!" This call to all citizens suggests that Muslims and Parsis were likely to share in Nayudu's triumph. Another sign of an inclusive nationalism was that the featured singer, Hirabai Barodekar, was half Hindu, half Muslim.

The evening after the show at the Bombay Theatre, Nayudu and his team-mates were honoured at the Damodar Thakersee Mooljee Hall in Parel. Presiding over the function was the famous liberal lawyer MR Jayakar. The cricketers watched a performance of The Taming of the Shrew in Marathi, put up by the Social Service League, and later received medals on behalf of the jewellery firm of Narotham Bhawoo and Company. Only one person received a Gold Medal – CK Nayudu, "as a mark of appreciation by the Parel public, especially the clerks and operatives employed in mills and factories, of his splendid performance with the bat". Some days later, Nayudu was presented with a silver bat and a Triumph motor-cycle with an attached sidecar, the gifts being made on behalf of "friends and admirers of Hindu cricketers".

With no disrespect to ME Pavri and KM Mistry, Ahmed Botawala and Ali Wazir, Baloo and Vithal, Nayudu was the first Indian cricketer to be a popular hero, whose appeal transcended the barriers of caste, class, gender and religion. One did not need to have a cultivated interest in the art of cricket to recognise his achievements. Nayudu's display of fireworks was timed to perfection. To play an innings like that, against the English, in 1926, in Bombay, and on the Bombay Gymkhana ground, was to tap into all the sources of nationalist pride. What we know of the man suggests that Nayudu did not have any firm views on Raj and Swaraj. Yet he would become, almost despite himself, an icon for all patriotic Indians.

Ramachandra Guha is a historian and cricket writer. His books include Wickets in the East and, as editor, The Picador Book of Cricket.

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