It was Christmas eve; the last match of the Test series against Sri Lanka had got over within the third day, and the limited overs series didn't start till New Year's. The hotel in Trivandrum where the Indian cricket team was staying was abuzz with too much activity with both the Test and limited overs squads being present together: Virat had attached himself to a bunch of eager Australian tourists and had been explaining to them the beneficial effects of the traditional ayurvedic oils of Kerala and the excellent spa services of the hotel; Kuldeep and Yuzi were helping the staff decorate a Christmas tree with an unwilling Rahul as assistant; Ash was stuffing himself with fruit cake; a bunch including Jaddu, Jassi, Hardik and Shreyas had hijacked the seminar room and were fiddling with the projector.

Heedless of all the pandemonium, Rohit was peacefully snoozing in his room. Not for long, however—

"Rohit bhaiya," whined Shreyas. "Rohit bhaiya!"

Rohit turned over and stuffed the pillow over his ears.

"I know you are awake, Rohit bhaiya!"

"I know you know," mumbled Rohit. "Please let me sleep, Yas."

"If-you-sleep-the-Gujaratis-will-win!"

"Let them win."

"No, we can't let them win—"

Rahul, who'd finally got off from decoration duties, walked in, hearing Shreyas' raised voice from the corridor. "What d'you want?"

"I want the film being streamed to be Marathi," said Shreyas.

"What film?" asked Rahul, nonplussed.

"I don't care!" shrieked Shreyas. "I just won't let Jaddu bhai, Jassi and Hardik choose a Gujarati one!"

"Why can't you all just choose Hindi one?" suggested Rahul.

"Ash bhai said that's not allowed—it has to be a regional one."

"And why did Ash insist upon such an illuminating rule?" came Rohit's muffled voice from under the pillow.

"Because he says the north Indians make way too big a deal about Hindi," said Shreyas.

"Which they do, to be fair," said Rahul.

"What did you say, Rahuliya?" an ingratiating voice asked.

"I just spoke the truth," said Rahul with dignity.

"Aw, c'mon—"

"Rohit bhaiya," wailed Shreyas. "They're texting that they're starting the Gujarati film!"

Rohit groaned.

Rahul poked him. "Rohit, it's Christmas eve, just give the kid what he wants."

"Don't patronize me!" Shreyas told Rahul.

Rahul shook his head and made for the door, muttering, "Don't act in a patronizable manner, then," and, "I was just trying to help."

"Take Shreyas with you," Rohit called, "and close the door after you."

"ROHIT BHAIYA, YOU HAVE TO—"

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE, SHREYAS." Rohit threw the pillow away and sat up. "I have had enough of your nonsense today! If you can't be quiet, get out of the room."

A stunned Shreyas needed half a minute to recover.

"But—"

"Not one word," said Rohit firmly.

"Rohit bhai—"

"What did I just say? Not. One. Word."

Shreyas glowered at him and slunk away miserably.

_______________

And he made a beeline for Virat—because in spite of Virat's hot temper, his yells never found his juniors—who was trying to get an exasperated Rahul put on the ayurvedic oil on his hair so they could demonstrate to the tourists how effective it was.

"Virat bhaiya!" said Shreyas.

Rahul seized the opportunity; with a quick, "Why don't you see what Shreyas wants, Virat?" he was out of sight.

"What's wrong with him?" Virat complained.

"What's wrong with Rohit bhaiya, too?" Shreyas echoed.

"He wouldn't wake up and help you pitch for the Marathi film?" asked Virat, sympathetically.

"No."

"He is a very mean elder brother," said Virat. "I don't know why you even go to him. Remember the time he let everyone bowl but you?"

"Yes!" said Shreyas, his feeling of ill-usage increasing. "He never lets me do anything I want. He never supports me."

"Never mind, kiddo," said Virat smartly, putting an arm around the boy. "You need anything from now—come to me."

"Will you get them put on a Marathi film?" asked Shreyas hopefully.

"Er—you see, I myself don't understand Marathi—"

Shreyas was frowning and in the process of drawing away from Virat's arm. Virat, who was absolutely determined about not letting the kid go back to Rohit, spoke quickly.

"But I know what we can do—something better—"

"What?"

Virat was deep in thought. "Hm...hm...yes. Yes."

"What, Virat bhaiya?"

"The tourists I made friends with were supposed to leave today..." muttered Virat, almost to himself. "But they cannot go without trying the spa...yeah...and if we want to take off...yeah."

"VIRAT BHAIYA."

"Yes, Shreya," said Virat brightly. "Go round up the others and meet me at the gates in ten minutes."

"Who? Everyone?"

"As many as you can summon in ten minutes. I don't want to wait. I'll go get Rohit."

"No, don't get him," said Shreyas mutinously.

"That would be giving him what he wants." Virat shook his head. "He would love if we went off somewhere and let him sleep in peace."

"So...?"

"What d'you mean? So I won't let him. Obviously." Virat exchanged a solemn hand shake with Shreyas. "Ten minutes."

__________________

When sufficient people were gathered in the grounds, including a swearing Rohit whose arm Virat had in a death-grip, Virat declared, "Get on the bus."

"Bus?" Ash looked around. "You mean—that? That's a tourist van, Virat."

"Just get on it."

"I don't think we're supposed to get on a tourist van, Virat bhaiya," said Jassi mildly. "The tourists might be...um...needing it."

"I've settled it all," said Virat magnanimously. "Just get on!"

"But where are we going?" asked everyone.

"How many times do I have to repeat the same instructions?" demanded Virat. "Kuliya, Jassi, you two get in first."

The two, hardwired as always to listen to Virat blindly, made for the 'bus.'

"Jassi, take Hardik. Kuliya, take Yuzi."

They obliged.

"Shreya, take Rahul."

"I'm not going to be taken by anyone," said Rahul immediately, "till you tell us where we are going on a cold night at half past eight."

Virat nodded at Shreyas, who put one arm around Rahul's waist, the other around his neck, and bodily pushed him into the van.

"Shreyas, what—!"

Shreyas pretended not to hear.

After that, the remaining three—Rohit, Ash and Jaddu—got in quietly. Actually, not quietly—Jaddu roared his head off with no context at all. When everyone was in, Virat slipped into the drivers' seat and pressed down on the accelerator.

"Put on songs!" he cried.

"Sure," said Hardik, putting on a blaring Gujarati song promptly, but his phone was knocked away.

"I'm in charge of the songs," said Shreyas loudly. "Am I not, Virat bhaiya?"

"Shreya's in charge of the songs!" Virat yelled in agreement. "Someone look for a place to eat on the route to Idukki!"

Shreyas put on his favourite Marathi song on full volume.

"What?" Rahul asked. "Where is that?"

"It's a hill station nearby."

Ash consulted his phone quickly and it confirmed his worst suspicions. "Virat, that's 200 kilometres away!"

"I thought so," said Virat cheerfully. "A few kilometres more, a few kilometres less—who cares?"

He couldn't blame his companions for a bit of shock at that, after all—he hadn't packed anything and not told anyone to pack anything, either, so they'd assumed they were just going for dinner 'nearby'—

"It'll be midnight by the time we reach, Virat bhaiya," said Jassi in a would-be sensible voice as Shreyas sang along his song off-tune. "Hill stations are dark and quiet at night—"

"And spooky," Hardik whispered in a hiss in Kuldeep's ear.

"Hardik!" Yuzi shoved Hardik away from Kuldeep.

"—and we'll have to drive back at night and reach here in the morning," continued Jassi. "Couldn't we have set off in the morning for a better view?"

"We're not driving back," said Virat. "We're staying the night."

"Where?" asked Ash in exasperation.

"I'm sure we'll find something—Rohit, no sleeping in the shotgun seat! ROHIT, UP! WAKE UP!"

"What?" Rohit jerked awake.

"Rohit bhaiya, sing along with me!" yelled Shreyas, who was in such an upbeat mood that he had forgotten his annoyance.

Rohit deemed it in everyone's best interests to obey.