Here’s to the roaring Tigers!

Bhaira, please jita ja ..

Shall I ever live to see such a day as the one we saw today when Bangladesh beat England!

When the Tigers began things had been going well and people were expectant but nervous as usual. Everyone noticed that. The BBC live commentator said it all, ''They have seen this situation before, poor things… having reached this point and lose it, so they are nervous…" Then he added… ''but then so has England.''

We are a people full of hope and despair. Shakib and Imrul Kayes were literally cruising and our captain always gives us hope when playing. And then the most mindless risk of them all. This was not needed and yet it was taken. And of course the ball came from nowhere and the decision said it all — 137 for 4. Almost a 100 wicket partnership. Well, what could you expect? It's a big match. The next guy will take us to victory. It's Mushfiqur Rahim, the hero against India who is used to blasting balls out of the stadium rather than playing it cool.

But today he is not cool, he is frozen. He takes 850 balls or something to open his score. There is a boundary but that doesn't make up for his acute discomfiture. He is looking fresh for taking and the English commentators are polite but know the game stream can change… "England needs another wicket…and then the pressure will really be on Bangladesh…''

I immediately develop a distinct dislike for all things English. Of course the commentator sounds fair. But I don't want to be fair. I don't want to be wise. I just want the Tigers to win!

Bhaira amar, please ektu jita ja… I will give you everything I have…

Rahim is gone. I scramble a desperate glance but feel the familiar despair descend deep. Oh God, not again!

Shot. Shakib draws the balls to the stumps. No, not my captain!

Bang… bang… bang… Almost the entire cabinet is gone… Assassination of Bangladesh has destroyed this young nation or whatever madness there is that can describe our feelings. What happens to Bangladesh now?

The feeling is too dark for me. I switch off the TV and go to another room. I lie in bed and try psychotherapy. Ok, Bangladesh has lost. It has happened many times before. You can't lie in bed all your life waiting for miracles to happen.

But not watching the game is worse than watching the Tigers lose, once again.

But then… then!

As BBC writes, "out of nowhere, Mahmudullah and Shafiul Islam took 16 runs from Swann's final over, and the ninth-wicket pair coolly took the requirement down to 33 from the last five overs…" — it was the over of change!

Shafiul and Mahmudullah, tigers of Bengal, taking on the Brits and showing them that they can take the fight to the lion's den. I watch stupefied. I don't believe what is going on. Suddenly, I discover I am not an atheist anymore.

O god, we have to win! This victory is owed to us! It's Bangladesh; we don't win much, so please let us win this one!

Aren't these two players afraid? Nervous? Don't they feel the pressure that the entire Bangladesh weighs on them? Singles… twos… a boundary… it goes on and on and then it's only 12 runs to go… I start to cry… I have no explanation, but I am blubbering like a little boy.

It's the last over and the commentators say what a great contest it is, but we are still cautious. We don't want to tempt the gods and lose. And then a bad ball, a good hit, a race to the ropes and WE WIN!

There is one long scream that is heard in every corner of the Bangladeshi world wherever the hearts are. For once the temperament argument is gone. We are victors in the finest fashion of cricket.

I have always considered my father to be an enormously lucky man. He died watching TV as Bangladesh won. Tonight, it doesn't matter if I die.

It also doesn't matter, if we don't make it to the next round. We are healed. We are happy. Our pride is back and like the boy on TV who thumps his chest with the Tiger logo blazing – WE ARE KINGS!

Once more we are kings! Walk tall brothers and sisters! We are lords again!

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Afsan Chowdhury is a journalist and researcher.