England’s Third Indian Prince

Three Indian princes have played Test cricket for England. None of them had long careers, but they have one impressive credential in common, that being that each of them scored a century in his first Test against Australia.

The first and best known is Ranji. He also played the greater number of Tests, 15 between 1896 and 1902. Ranji averaged 44 in Test cricket, somewhat disappointing and some way short of being a realistic measure of his quality. His nephew Duleep played 12 times, and his average of more than 58 puts him up there with the very best who have played for England, and despite his limited career was a truer reflection of his ability.

The last of the triumverate was unrelated to Ranji and Duleep, although he was a contemporary of the latter. Iftikhar Ali Khan, better known as the Nawab of Pataudi, came from a state about 1,100 kilometres from Nawanagar. There were just three Tests for Pataudi for England, two in the famous Bodyline series of 1932/33, and one more in 1934. After his debut century he achieved little, and on paper his record is the least impressive of the three. That much said overall he loses little, if anything, in comparison with his more illustrious compatriots.

It was 1926, at 16, that Pataudi was sent to England to complete his formal education. In cricketing matters Kent’s elegant Frank Woolley was one of his early mentors. His talent was clear from the off, The Cricketer, a full year before he made his First Class debut commenting that although only 17 years of age, he appears to be quite in the front rank of batsmen. In the magazine’s very next edition it had cause to report on Pataudi’s unbeaten 78 for Indian Gymkhana against the MCC at Lord’s. Plum Warner made the observation what struck one most about his play was his great judgment. Never once did he make a false stroke. Right through the innings he exhibited a sang froid, and the ability to pick out the right one to hit, which puts the hallmark of future greatness on him.

The following summer, having passed up an opportunity to play for India in their hockey side at the 1928 Olympics in Amsterdam, Pataudi made his First Class debut when he appeared for his University, Oxford. There was no immediate success but the following year he won his blue, and scored a century in the Varsity Match, an impressive 106 out of 246 all out. The next highest contribution was 33. In the second innings he might have doubled up, but with time running out he was dismissed for 84. Overall his figures in 1929 were unspectacular in the First Class arena, as he averaged only 34, but his improvement was rapid and in 1930 that figure went up to almost 44.

Oxford’s first game of the 1931 season was against the mighty Yorkshire side of the era, who included in their side eight men who had or would play for England. “The Noob” as he was now affectionately known scored a defiant 68 in an innings defeat and never looked back. By the end of the summer he had scored 1454 runs in just 14 matches, at an average of all but 70, with six centuries, four of them in consecutive innings in June, a new record.

In the 1931 Varsity match against Cambridge Pataudi played his most famous innings, an unbeaten 238, a score that was destined to remain a record into the 21st century. The innings did however indicate one problem that was to dog Pataudi, that of physical frailty. He spent all but the first and last few minutes of the second day over the innings, and according to teammate Lyn Wellings, later a trenchant writer on the game, was so shattered he was unable to field until after lunch on the final day. The Cricketer described the innings as one that will always be remembered, not only for the number of runs he made, but for his style and execution, his grace and elegance. Legend has it that Pataudi had promised his teammates, despondent after Cambridge opener Alan Ratcliffe had scored the first double century in the long history of the fixture, that he would break his record.

In 1932 India were due to tour England, and in the course of the visit they were due to play their inaugural Test match. There was a good deal of cloak and dagger behind the scenes as the Maharajah of Patiala and the Maharajkumar of Vizianagram both courted the captaincy. In the end the former got the job, and the vice-captaincy was given to Prince Gyanashyamsinhji of Limbdi. The selectors sought to appease Vizianagram by offering him the job of deputy vice-captain. Unsurprisingly he refused, and when affairs of state prevented Patiala actually travelling Limbdi’s brother-in-law, the Maharajah of Porbandar was drafted in. None of them were anything other than club cricketers. The selectors really wanted Duleep or Pataudi but both declined, although Pataudi was in India, and indeed played in two trial matches. A few months before Pataudi’s death he was asked by an Indian journalist why he had turned the job down. In the face of some persistence he eventually said the climate for me was not ideal. Not satisfied the reporter pressed on, but was firmly told to leave this question alone, so perhaps there is an untold story there.

By the time his countrymen arrived Pataudi was back at ‘home’ in Droitwich by virtue of which, towards the end of the summer, he acquired the residential qualification that enabled him to play for Worcestershire. His First Class appearances were necessarily limited as a result, but if he had not done enough to satisfy the England selectors of his potential the previous season a superb 165 and a share in a partnership of 161 with Duleep for the Gentlemen against the Players at Lord’s in July meant that he was in the second tranche of names that were announced in August for Douglas Jardine’s party to tour Australia that winter.

The Bodyline tour probably represented, at different times, both the high point and the low point of Pataudi’s career. The high was the first Test, won by England by ten wickets. Pataudi scored 102, although he was at the crease for almost five and a half hours. There was some mild sledging from Vic Richardson, grandfather of the Chappells who asked Pataudi why he was batting so slowly. The reply was that he was trying to gauge the pace of the wicket. Richardson is said to have laughed and responded Well it’s changed three times since you came in!

The outwardly diplomatic Gubby Allen wrote in a letter home that Pataudi was very slow and very lucky, although in relation to the latter there is no suggestion of any chances being given. A few weeks later, after Pataudi was left out of the side for the third Test Allen commended that decision in a letter adding he has not once impressed me. A much more balanced view came from skipper Jardine who, in his book on the series, wrote the criticism seemed scarcely generous. A young player who makes a hundred in his first Test match is entitled to little but praise, and it was up to Leyland and myself to push the score along.

The downside of the tour was that Pataudi played so little part in it after scoring just 15 and 5 in the second Test. That there was a straining of the relationship with Jardine is clear, the oft told story being that after Pataudi questioned the need for an instruction to field in the leg trap Jardine made the observation that His Highness is a conscientious objector and immediately dropped him from his plans for the tour. It is certainly the case that after that Pataudi ceased to be picked for any of the big matches. There are photographs aplenty from the first Test showing Pataudi in the leg trap, clearly suggesting that there was no open refusal to carry out his captain’s instructions, but it does seem very likely that between the Tests there was a hardening of Pataudi’s attitude as he learned of Ranji’s strong disapproval of Jardine’s tactics.

It is almost certainly also the case that Jardine was not overly impressed by Pataudi’s at times impish sense of humour, particularly an incident mentioned by more than one of those involved when he is said to have teased Jardine on one occasion when the captain flinched whilst fielding in the leg trap. Given what we know of Jardine’s antipathy towards the Australians generally, and their barrackers in particular, Pataudi’s popularity with the locals probably irritated him as well. Pataudi was much ribbed on various subjects not least his name. Just call me Pat with a broad smile was his response when asked what the Nawab of Potato wanted to be called. On another occasion when the shout, no doubt intended to be offensive, of Hey Gandhi where’s your goat? went up Pataudi got another laugh when he fixed the barracker concerned with the same smile and said Ah so there you are, would anybody lend me a piece of rope?

In the latter stages of the tour Jardine often gave Pataudi the task of twelfth man duties, something which must have rankled, but he retained his humour. In one match when he came off the field after carrying out a tray of drinks he managed to trip on the pavilion steps and fall, dropping a tray of glasses in the process and no doubt making himself look extremely foolish. Those seated in the pavilion could not help but laugh, and most people would have shown at least a sign of temper or frustration. But Pataudi didn’t. He sprung back to his feet, let the usual smile play across his lips, and said Well, at least I still have my public

There was only ever one full season for Pataudi, in 1933, when he scored 1749 runs at 48.58 including five centuries, three of them doubles. The tourists that summer were West Indies, and Jardine was still England’s captain, and Pataudi did not play in any of the three Tests. He was selected once though, but pulled out citing ill-health. He did not make himself available for selection for the side that Jardine took to India in 1933/34 but that was unlikely to be because of Jardine a man who, whatever his faults may have been, does not seem, save in respect of one diminutive Australian batsman, to have been one for bearing grudges.

Pataudi made a superb start to the 1934 season so much so that he was picked for the first Test against Australia under the captaincy of Cyril Walters, who was deputising for Bob Wyatt. He scored just 12 and 10 and by the time the second Test began poor health was affecting his season and, five matches in 1937 and 1938 apart, his English career, was at an end.

Curiously in October 1934, a full 18 months before the tour was due to take place, Pataudi was selected to be the captain of the Indian side of 1936 that was scheduled to visit England. He didn’t come over of course, ill-health generally being cited as the reason, although there was clearly a lot more to it than that given that as late as two days before the start of the first Test Reuters was reporting that the Indian team had still not been named as a place was being left open for him. Before the tour began Jardine, by now earning a living in the press box, had counselled the England selectors not to take any risks with their team selection, on the basis that if Pataudi did play England would need its full strength. My researches have not produced any evidence of Jardine ever being critical of Pataudi, whatever difficulties the two men might at times have had with each other.

By 1946 Pataudi was 36. It was no great age but he had not played regular First Class cricket for more than a decade. In the late 1930s he had played occasionally for Worcestershire, and had helped himself to a century from a decent Hampshire attack in 1938, but his two First Class outings in India after that had not been productive. It was therefore something of a surprise when he agreed to lead the Indian side who were invited to tour England in 1946. There were some who felt that given his less than perfect health the appointment was unwise, and still more who, without in any way seeking to criticise Pataudi himself, felt that master batsman Vijay Merchant should have got the job. In the final analysis the reason he got the nod over Merchant was rooted in Indian cricket’s tangled politics.

As for the element of surprise that arises out of Pataudi’s writings on the subject. In 1941/42 he was quoted as saying, on the subject of the 1932 and 1936 tours, the captain has to please each community, each province and association and rich patrons of the game. By the time we please all of them we shall have succeeded in ruining the team and we shall then start thinking of the people who will sit on the inquiry committee at the end of the season. Pataudi had problems with his squad as well. He would have liked to have had off spinner Ghulam Abbas and a leg spinner named Amir Elahi who was rated very highly by Denis Compton. Also left at home were all rounder Dattu Phadkar and, the best of the lot, a young fast medium bowler named Fazal Mahmood, who had impressed Duleep enormously in taking 9-83 in a Quadrangular Tournament game shortly before the side was picked.

The tour did not start particularly well. Trans-continental air travel was in its infancy and no more than four of the party managed to get on any individual flight, but all got to London safely in the end. The summer was a damp one, and the fact that the three Test series was lost only 1-0 had much to do with that. Pataudi did something right in the Tests as he won all three tosses, but his form with the bat was wretched as he managed only 55 runs in five visits to the crease. This was however in stark contrast to his form outside the Tests which saw him score 926 runs at 57.88, with four centuries and four fifties.

Three of Pataudi’s centuries were against Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and Sussex, and the counties always played their best elevens against the tourists in those days. His best innings though was 71 he put together on a sticky wicket at Cheltenham, against Tom Goddard and Sam Cook, at the time as effective a pair of spinners as plied their trade in the game. Teammate Rusi Modi described it as a pedigree innings of rare splendour.

Wisden was critical of Pataudi’s captaincy saying he seemed too ready to switch his batting order and too conservative in employment of his attack, but perhaps those issues were brought about more by the pressures he had mentioned in his earler writings rather than any lack of captaincy skill on Pataudi’s part. Given that Wisden chose to do so it is perhaps forgiveable that anyone in the 21st century should overlook the context of the times in judging Pataudi’s performance. But this was a time of massive upheaval in India, with independence and partition coming the following year. At one function Pataudi produced the quip; The task before Nehru is much simpler than mine. While he has to face three Englishmen, Lord Pethick Lawrence, Sir Stafford Cripps and Mr AV Alexander, I have to deal with eleven. As already noted Pataudi had a very English sense of humour, but I suspect there was a heartfelt subtext involved in that one.

As big a hurdle as any to Pataudi doing better in 1946 was his poor health and, given how creditable his figures were without it, it is interesting to speculate just what his record might have been had he been fully fit throughout the 1930s, let alone the World War Two blighted 1940s. As it was the 1946 tour was Pataudi’s swansong, and he never played serious cricket again. He was not lost to sport, and he continued to compile tall breaks on the billiard table, and he played polo. It was whilst playing that sport, at the age of 42 and on his son’s eleventh birthday, that Pataudi lost his life. It is not known whether his heart attack caused his fall, or whether it was the other way round, but either way he died far too young.

On the cricket field Pataudi Junior, who I wrote about here before his untimely death, has a considerably better Test record than his father, to set against an inferior First Class record. It is invidious to compare them, but inevitable that will be done. One of the few qualified to carry out that exercise was Lyn Wellings, who played with the father and saw plenty of the son. Unusually for Wellings he rather sat on the fence, his opinion being The father was the more polished batsman, and his son the stronger stroke-player