The burly men under the sprawling gulmohar tree were stretching their legs and stifling their yawns when Suryakumar Yadav bristled onto the ground, shortly after lunch. The half-sleepy audience sat transfixed in the aura of a cricketing superstar making a rare appearance in a featureless mofussil town. Everything else blurred into the backdrop, the strokeful hundred of Sanju Samson a distant memory, the crisp stroke-play of Abhimanyu Easwaran, whose twenty fifth first-class hundred that composed the spine of India B’s 210 for 6 in response to India D’s 349, rendered utterly immaterial. This was what they wanted to watch. Yadav with the bat that he often wields as both a compass, in its sweeping reach, and a scalpel, in its cold-eyed accuracy. As he took guard, they chewed their nails and fretted on the seats waiting for the Yadav show to begin. And he walked out like a matinee idol, with a twinkling halo. But like overhyped, but clumsy superstar movies, the Yadav flick in Anantapur, the district’s notorious caste wars a fodder for several …