A father’s sacrifice to fuel his son’s cricket dream

Kulgam, Aug 13: The crack of the axe echoed across the orchard, each swing biting into the trunk of an apple tree heavy with the promise of autumn. Villagers slowed their walk to watch. In apple country, such a sight was almost unthinkable.

But for Liyaqat Dar, the decision had been made long before the first cut. The trees were his family’s lifeline, bringing in steady yearly income, money that paid bills, bought clothes, and put food on the table. Now, they were in the way.

“I knew exactly what I was doing,” Liyaqat says, standing at the edge of the green practice turf where his orchard once bloomed. “These trees fed us for years. But I want my son to have a chance at something greater. If that meant losing the orchard, so be it.”

His son, Dar Momin, is just 12 years old. Yet his dream is already as big as the pitch he now trains on daily, to play cricket for India.

Liyaqat remembers the moment he realised Momin’s potential. “I saw him timing the ball well even when he was very young. There was something natural about his shots,” he says. But raw talent, he knew, was never enough. “You can’t just wait for the system to find you. You have to create the right environment yourself.”

So, with no sponsors and minimal government aid, he cleared the orchard. The nets were raised, and soon the rhythmic thwack of bat meeting ball replaced the hum of bees among blossoms.

A scholarship to remember

That commitment soon caught the attention of cricketing greats Irfan and Yusuf Pathan. After watching him play, the Pathan brothers offered Momin a place in their cricket academy on a scholarship.

There, his natural timing, disciplined footwork, and raw hunger for the game have earned praise. “This kind of talent must not be wasted,” one of the Pathans told Liyaqat. “Keep working. We will guide him.”

Momin spends weeks at a time training at the academy, where coaches focus on developing not just his batting but also his understanding of match situations. “They appreciate him,” Liyaqat says. “They see what I have seen in him all along.”

The cost of a dream

Back home in Kulgam, life is still far from easy. Equipment is expensive, a decent helmet costs more than Rs 1,500, a bat over Rs 3,000, and gloves and pads add to the tally. “Sometimes I have to sell produce early, sometimes I borrow. But I will not let him stop because of something I can provide,” Liyaqat says.

He knows too well that many promising young cricketers in Kashmir never get beyond local tournaments. “Some have talent but no guidance. Others get carried away with false stardom, thinking they have ‘made it’ after one good season,” he says.

For Momin, though, the focus is clear. “He wants to play for India,” Liyaqat says softly. “That is all I think about.”

A pitch where apples once grew

In local cricketing circles, Momin is known for his skill. But it is his father’s sacrifice that is spoken of with awe. The orchard may no longer bear fruit, but in its place grows something just as rare, hope, discipline, and the shared dream of a boy and his father.

As the late afternoon light fades over Matibugh Yaripora, Liyaqat watches his son face another delivery on the turf. Each shot carries the weight of years of apple harvests, of hard choices, and of a father’s unwavering belief that some dreams are worth more than the safest income.