This article is relevant and significant in the present-day context of the game, when Hyderabad cricket is sliding downhill—not for lack of talent, but due to nepotism, corruption, and the erosion of merit. “Pay-to-play” has replaced performance. Even court-appointed ombudsmen and supervisory committees—by the Supreme Court and state High Courts—have failed to arrest the decline. Will the last hope, a former judge appointed by the High Court, finally clean up the system by dismantling corrupt selection processes? One can only hope against hope. – Editor
Special Correspondent
“I cannot forget that match,” says former Andhra Ranji opener GN Srinivas, recalling one of the most nightmarish experiences of his playing days. “Not because I missed a century, but because of what Hyderabad did to us that day.”
The date was January 11, 1994, during the 1993–94 Ranji Trophy season. Srinivas had just endured the personal agony of being dismissed on 99, caught behind off N.P. Singh. What followed, however, was far more brutal: Hyderabad’s batters unleashed one of the greatest batting assaults in the history of first-class cricket.
Replying to Andhra’s modest 263, Hyderabad amassed an astonishing 944 for 6 declared at the Gymkhana Ground, Secunderabad—the highest team total ever recorded in Indian first-class cricket, a record that still stands more than three decades later.
It was not merely a big score; it was a statement of supremacy. Hyderabad surpassed Tamil Nadu’s 912 for 6 (1988) and Holkar’s 912 for 8 (1945). Globally, the innings ranks fifth highest in the history of first-class cricket, behind only three Victorian totals and Sri Lanka’s 952 against India.
From the outset, Hyderabad turned the match into a marathon of discipline and dominance. Andhra captain Mohd Fasse-ur Rehman had won the toss and batted first, but apart from Srinivas’ 99 and his own 73, the innings folded tamely. The chief architect was N.P. Singh, Hyderabad’s “smiling assassin”, claimed 5 for 84. Partnered by Vanka Prathap (3/55) and backed by the spin of Venkatapathy Raju and Kawaljit Singh, Hyderabad had complete control.
Singh, who finished his career with 319 first-class wickets, never played for India—one of domestic cricket’s enduring injustices.
Then came the deluge.
Openers Abdul Azeem and R.A. Swaroop laid the foundation before M.V. Sridhar took centre stage. What followed was a masterclass in endurance, planning, and ruthless execution. Sridhar, known simply as “Doc”, stitched together massive partnerships—first 140 with Azeem, then a monumental 344-run stand with Vivek Jaisimha, who scored a career-best 211.
At 554 for 4, the carnage had already entered folklore. But Sridhar was not finished.
With Noel David, he added another 326 runs for the fifth wicket. Noel, unbeaten on 207, later admitted that the double century would not have been possible without Sridhar’s guidance. “He planned every phase of the innings. He told me when to attack, when to rotate strike. He knew exactly how to break bowlers,” Noel recalled.
Sridhar finally fell for a magnificent 366, compiled over 699 minutes, across 523 deliveries, laced with 37 fours and five sixes. It remains the third-highest individual score in Ranji Trophy history. During his stay at the crease, Hyderabad scored an unprecedented 850 runs—a record for most runs added while one batter is batting.
Tragically, Sridhar passed away in 2017 at just 51, while Azeem is the other member of that historic side who is no longer with us.
For Andhra, it was survival cricket. “After 500 runs, there was nothing our bowlers could do,” Fasse-ur Rehman admitted later. “But I give them full credit for continuing. It takes courage to bowl spell after spell when the opposition refuses to stop.”
And therein lies the bitter irony.
That Hyderabad—once capable of producing batters like Sridhar, Azeem, Vivek, and Noel, and bowlers like N.P. Singh and Raju—today struggle to stay relevant in domestic cricket, producing only occasional exceptions like Mohammed Siraj or Tilak Varma more by accident than design. As Fasse-ur Rehman bluntly observed: “Now Hyderabad has stopped producing batters of that quality, and even quality spinners.”
The scoreboard of 944 for 6 stands not just as a cricketing record, but as a mirror—reflecting what Hyderabad cricket once was, and what institutional decay, compromised selections, and administrative rot have reduced it to today.
History remembers greatness. But it also asks uncomfortable questions.
