Bishan Singh Bedi obituary: Elevated the game almost to an art form

BEDI, BISHAN SINGH, who died on October 23, aged 77, was one of a small group of cricketers who played with such grace, elegance and charm that he elevated the game almost to an art form. Bedi breathed the same rarefied air as Victor Trumper, David Gower, Michael Holding and Kumar Sangakkara, more likely to make crowds sigh with pleasure than shout in triumph. He was a talisman for India for over a decade, bowling left-arm spin of subtle variations, confounding batsmen with a beguiling mix of flight, loop and turn. A favourite dismissal was the catch in the covers: the previous ball might have cost four or six, and this one looked identical, only to be held back a fraction, or delivered with a slightly different trajectory. “The first epithet that comes to mind for Bishan Bedi’s bowling is ‘beautiful’,” wrote Mike Brearley. Tony Lewis added: “I have always thought that a great clockmaker would have been proud to have set Bedi in motion – a mechanism finely balanced, cogs rolling silently and hands sweeping in smooth arcs across the face.”

But Bedi was also a ferocious competitor – “a slow-bowling Dennis Lillee,” said Lewis – who would not compromise his principles. He was part of an Indian team that achieved several milestones: their first Test series win overseas (New Zealand in 1967/68), first in the West Indies (1970/71), and first in England (1971). In those peak years, when he formed part of a celebrated slow-bowling quartet with leg-spinner Bhagwat Chandrasekhar and off-spinners Srinivasaraghavan Venkataraghavan and Erapalli Prasanna, Bedi was among the most recognisable figures in the game. That was partly because of his appearance: he wore a brightly coloured patka, or a turban earlier in his career, sported a full beard, and was – latterly, anyway – on the portly side.

He captained India in 22 Tests in the second half of the 1970s, making headlines in 1976 when he in effect forfeited a Test against West Indies at Kingston in what he regarded as intimidatory bowling. He also conceded a one-day international against Pakistan at Sahiwal in 1978-79, in protest at four bouncers from Sarfraz Nawaz which sailed over the batsmen’s heads but were not called wides; India were 183-2, needing 23 from 14 balls. Michael Holding, who led the attack that prompted Bedi’s protest at Sabina Park, called him “the greatest moral voice of Indian cricket”.

After retiring in 1981, he managed Indian teams, opened a cricket school in Delhi, served as an administrator, and spoke critically about aspects of the modern game. He regularly targeted bowlers whose actions he believed were illegal: he called Muttiah Muralidaran a “javelin thrower”, and said his wickets should be redesignated as run-outs. Nor was he afraid to venture into politics: in December 2020, he renounced his life membership of the Delhi & District Cricket Association, and asked to withdraw his name from a stand at the Feroz Shah Kotla after the stadium was renamed, and a statue erected, in honour of politician Arun Jaitley. “Individuals like Bedi are scarce, not just in Indian cricket; they are scarce in Indian politics and public life, too,” wrote the historian Ramachandra Guha.

A schoolboy in the Punjabi city of Amritsar, Bedi did not take up cricket until his teens. “I just happened to get hold of a ball and roll it around as it left my hand,” he recalled. Progress was rapid. He made his first-class debut for Northern Punjab aged 15 in January 1962, and in his third appearance – that December – took 7-32, and 11 in the match, against Delhi. At the end of 1966, while studying law at Punjabi University, Bedi was selected for Indian Universities against the West Indians, then for a Prime Minister’s XI against the tourists two weeks later. He took 6-139 in the first innings, and was drafted into the squad for the second Test at Eden Gardens. Tiger Pataudi, the captain, liked what he saw in the nets and, aged 20, Bedi made his debut on New Year’s Eve. “Although he was young, I was very impressed from the moment he came in,” said wicketkeeper Farokh Engineer.

Bedi’s first victims were Basil Butcher and Clive Lloyd, but West Indies won by an innings. It was, though, the start of something significant: Venkat was appearing in his sixth Test, and Chandrasekhar his tenth; in the next, at Madras, Prasanna won his third cap. (The quartet would play together only once, at Edgbaston the following summer.) Around this time, Frank Worrell, the former West Indies captain, spoke at Punjabi University during a lecture tour. Knowing Bedi was in the audience, he invited him back to his hotel, where they spoke for three hours. “He was willing to impart his knowledge, to share it with a beginner, and that is what stayed with me,” said Bedi. “I learned that from him, and I don’t mind sharing it with anybody. Knowledge is of no value if it is not shared.” He had just been chosen for the trip to the UK, and Worrell passed on a string of tips – from not sitting on wet grass to being wary of “treacherous” English women.

Despite the advice, it was not a successful tour. Under Pataudi, India lost all three Tests, and Bedi took only seven wickets. Even so, he commanded attention. “Bedi, the Sikh, a natural left-arm slow bowler, did turn the ball and provided a colourful picture with his blue and sometimes maroon turban,” wrote Wisden editor Norman Preston. A trip later that year to Australia was similarly tough: India lost all four Tests, and Bedi played in only two, taking four expensive wickets. In New Zealand, however, India won 3-1, with Bedi claiming 16 at 23. And on turning pitches at home, he was now formidable: during eight Tests in three months against New Zealand and Australia in 1969/70, he took 36 wickets at 20, including 7-98 in defeat at Calcutta, where his victims included Bill Lawry, Doug Walters, Ian Redpath and Ian Chappell.

It was more than a year before India’s next Test assignment. Early in 1971, now under the shrewd leadership of Ajit Wadekar, they went to the West Indies, and were bolstered by the inclusion of a new opening batsman, Sunil Gavaskar. At a pre-tour camp, Gavaskar encountered Bedi for the first time. “He had a willingness to bowl endlessly to all the batsmen, and still find the energy to go round for a training run,” he remembered. “That is something which marked Bishan out from the other spin bowlers of the era. While others were perfectly happy to rely on their talent and ability, Bishan worked hard at it.” After Gavaskar scored 124 and 220 in the drawn fifth Test to secure a 1-0 win, Bedi named his son Gavasinder in tribute.

“Bedi is more rounded in shape and craft than when one saw him last,” wrote John Arlott after watching the Indians in the first match of their 1971 tour, against Middlesex. Rain saved India from defeat at Old Trafford, and in the final Test at The Oval they won by four wickets after Chandrasekhar laid waste to England’s second innings. His reputation enhanced, Bedi spent the winter playing for the World XI in Australia, topping the tour averages with 36 wickets at 29.

Bedi did not look like an athlete. But, with ball in hand, he had a languid grace: from a light-footed, gently curving run-up of around eight paces, he delivered it with a classical, side-on action, looking over a high front arm. “There was no sense of striving, nothing rushed or snatched, no hiccoughs, just an easy flow,” wrote Brearley. “With tiny, lastsecond adjustments of wrist and hand-angle, he could bowl successive balls that looked identical, perhaps as if each would land on a length just outside off stump. But with the first he would cock his wrist more, deliver the ball slightly higher – it would spin sharply, stay wider of off, and be shorter than you anticipated. The next ball, ever so slightly undercut and a little quicker, would pitch further up and come in towards middle and leg stumps.”

Engineer added: “Bishan was not afraid to be hit – he would still toss the ball up. There was no one else like him: he was very special. Derek Underwood was a great left-arm bowler, but completely differently to Bishan. He was most effective on damp pitches, but Bishan could bowl teams out on any surface.” A classic Ken Kelly photograph of Bedi shows him staring over his shoulder down the pitch, eyes fixed on the batsman. Kelly caught him at the moment he transferred the ball from right hand to left. “I could never have posed for that, because I never realised I did it,” said Bedi.

He was flexible and formidably fit. He would often be introduced after just a few overs of seam, and bowl long spells without losing accuracy or threat. He claimed the secret of keeping his hands and fingers strong and supple was hand-washing his clothes. He applauded batsmen who hit him to the boundary, if he thought it a good shot – though he may also have wanted to lure them into indiscretion. But he was genuinely chivalrous to a degree almost unknown in international sport. During England’s 1972/73 tour of India, Bedi organised a net session for struggling opening batsman Dennis Amiss, a tutorial in how to play spin on the subcontinent. Amiss, forever grateful for the “generosity and kindness”, scored successive Test hundreds on the subsequent tour of Pakistan.

In 1972, Bedi had joined Northamptonshire, forming an alliance with the Pakistan leg-spinning all-rounder Mushtaq Mohammad. He enjoyed his most prolific county summer in 1973, with 105 wickets at 17. “Playing with Bishan was a wonderful experience,” said the county’s wicketkeeper George Sharp. “He was an absolute artist. He was always likely to produce a great delivery. It kept you on your toes – you could not relax because he was so skilful that the wicket-taking ball could come at any moment.” Bedi was usually a hopeless batsman but, in a nerve-shredding climax to a Gillette Cup semi-final against Hampshire at Southampton in 1976, he hit the penultimate ball for four to secure the county’s first one-day final. “Hampshire cogitated long and hard about what field to set for Bedi’s unpredictable method,” wrote Michael Melford in The Daily Telegraph. “But no known field exists, and he deceived them by using the middle of the bat.” At Lord’s, Northamptonshire beat Lancashire by four wickets.

In the summer of 1974, which included India’s tour in the first half of the season, he bowled an extraordinary 1,085 overs, including 75 against Lancashire at Blackpool. During the Tests, he had shown “signs of wear and staleness”, wrote Dicky Rutnagur in Wisden. From early 1976, there was the added burden of the Indian captaincy. In the Caribbean, he led them to a stunning, series-squaring victory at Port-of-Spain, as India chased down a then-record 403. But in the decider at Kingston, Bedi took issue with a barrage of short-pitched deliveries. India’s last five batsmen were absent hurt in the second innings, either injured or in hospital, giving West Indies victory. “It was not a declaration,” he said. “There was no one else fit enough to bat.”

There were more storms in 1976/77 against Tony Greig’s England, when Bedi alleged that Bob Willis and John Lever had used Vaseline from a gauze strip above their eyebrows to shine the ball during the Third Test at Madras. With India 2-0 down, and Bedi under pressure, he fanned the flames of the controversy, infuriating the England players. When he offered a conciliatory handshake before a match between Northamptonshire and Essex a few months later, Lever refused. To his chagrin, Bedi was released by Northamptonshire at the end of 1977, ostensibly a cost-cutting measure, although many in India felt it was punishment for his criticisms of England players.

He retained the Test captaincy for a memorable tour of Australia in 1977/78, when the hosts had lost their star players to World Series Cricket. Bedi was approached by Kerry Packer’s scouts, but turned them down. “I refuse to let Packer use my shoulder to fire his gun from,” he said. India fought back from two down to level the series – their first Test wins in Australia – before the home team won the decider. He was the leading wicket-taker on either side, with 31 at 23, his best series. Don Bradman became an admirer: “I am ever ready to appreciate skill in a cricketer, particularly, as in Bedi’s case, when it is associated with sportsmanship of the highest calibre.” Defeat in a three-match series in Pakistan, where he took just six wickets, was less well received, and he was replaced by Gavaskar. Against West Indies at home in 1978-79, and in England the following summer, he managed only 14 wickets in six games. He ended his Test career at The Oval, with 266 at 28, a Indian record until surpassed by Kapil Dev.

“Bedi never retired from cricket,” wrote his biographer Suresh Menon, and he continued to make a variety of headlines. He was instrumental in launching the Cricketers’ Association of India, and became a selector in the 1980s. In 2008, he was one of five players who had missed out on being a Wisden Cricketer of the Year chosen for a special feature in the Almanack. Bedi remained an inspirational figure to Indian spinners, always available with technical or psychological advice. “Cricket was a religion for him,” said Anil Kumble. “Wherever he went, he carried it with him. He was a true ambassador for the game.”

Perhaps the greatest endorsement had come from Jim Laker. Asked his idea of paradise, he replied: “Lord’s bathed in sunshine, with Ray Lindwall bowling from one end, and Bishan Bedi from the other.”

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