MAHENDRA DHONI emerged from his first innings as temporary captain with an enhanced reputation. An awful lot has been put on his plate in these last few years: batting, guarding the stumps, hero worship and now leadership. Moreover, he is expected to perform in all three forms of the game and to make umpteen appearances. On the evidence of this performance, he will continue to take it all in his stride.

Not bad for a dog-loving son of a public sector pump operator raised in modest circumstances in Ranchi, a teeming town located in the impoverished inland state of Jharkhand. Far from allowing the captaincy to weigh upon him, Dhoni marched to the crease in his customary businesslike manner and immediately set about the bowling.

Not for him the quiet collection of runs on a placid pitch. Facing an Australian team hell-bent upon shaking up the batsmen with a fusillade of bumpers, Dhoni decided to meet fire with fire. He opened his tally with a hook taken off his shoulder and struck with a sudden, sharp swing. For all his supposed flamboyance, Dhoni is not a fellow to wave his bat around his ears. Nor does he worry about appearances.

Instead, he takes a long, hard look at the ball and then either moves behind it to push it back or puts it away with a boxer's right hook. It's an approach that reflects the pragmatism often found among those raised in sweating, half-broken schoolyards.

Noticing that the acting captain was prepared to hook, a risk disdained by most of his colleagues, the Australians set the field accordingly. Dhoni had thrown down the gauntlet and they picked it up. Ricky Ponting placed himself on the single behind square leg and posted two men on the boundary. Evidently the visitors could not conceive of any other way to take wickets on a plumb track. So they set the bait.

Dhoni examined the field in his usual unemotional way. He does not twinkle like Sachin Tendulkar or survey the scene in the manner of his partner, Sourav Ganguly. He looks around, gathers his thoughts and acts upon them. Brett Lee tried another bumper. His foe rocked onto his back foot, lined up the ball and gave it a crack. This time he did not roll his wrists; he lifted the ball just enough to clear his counterpart but not high enough to reach the boundary patrollers. Ponting turned as the ball flew a yard above him and saw his deep men trot away to fetch it back from the boards.