When the moment came, I found myself next to a lady whose husband was one of three men most likely to be crowned the Indian Cricketer of Century. By sheer good fortune, I had spent the entire evening sitting close to them, and had been rewarded with large dollops of wisdom and anecdotal history. It had been a magnificent evening, but now it was time for the denouement. The three contenders sat next to each other on the stage as Vivian Richards, another legend, sauntered in like only he can. He took his time drawing the slip out of the envelope, and some more reading out the name. "It's one of my favourite cricketers," he said, half smiling, all knowing, "It's Kapil Dev." As the entire hall rose to its feet, I turned to look at the lady beside me. She was clapping. She looked happy and genuinely moved. "He deserved to win it," Pammi Gavaskar said in a voice that oozed sincerity. "Sunil is my husband, and I'd have loved for him to win it," she said, "but this is a special moment for Kapil. After what he has been through in the last couple of years, life has finally come full circle for him."

The next morning, I met Romi Dev in the executive lounge of the hotel where I was about to interview Kapil. She had arrived only the previous morning to join her husband, and had lost her bags in transit. "If only we knew," she said, wistfully, "we would have brought in plenty of family and friends to share this moment with us. But we can hardly complain. We are going back with all that we could have asked for."

All that they could have asked for? What could you give a man who has 434 Test wickets, more than 5000 Test runs and a World Cup win? What could you give a man who gave Indian cricket some of its greatest moments? What could you give a man who was born blessed?

Still, this award meant something to him. A great deal in fact. You could see it in the way he held up the trophy. You could see it in the tears that choked his voice as he delivered his acceptance speech. You could see it in the manner in which he uncorked the champagne at the celebratory dinner later that night. He had the glow of a man who had found something precious, and he was not going to hide it from the world.

We have seen Kapil cry before. He wept after taking his 431st wicket, the one that put him alongside Richard Hadlee. He broke down on prime time television when he was badgered to swear his innocence against unsubstantiated charges of match-fixing made by a former colleague. The first moment was one of glory; the second was one where his life and his reputation were being ravaged.

He cried again at the awards. As Pammi Gavaskar said, his life had come full circle. "What's wrong with showing your emotions?" Kapil asks. "I am an emotional man. I let everything hang out. I hide nothing. With me, you get what you see. Take it or leave it. This is a big thing for me. It's a very special award. I am not usually possessive about my trophies. But this one is going back home with me."

Till then, Kapil is leaving nothing to chance. He is changing hotels tomorrow, and the trophy has been dispatched to a friend's house for safekeeping. The friend had to be summoned from 20 miles away when we requested that Kapil be photographed with the trophy. "I have plenty of personal awards in my life. But nothing can compare to this," he said. "You win Man of the Match awards, Man of the Series awards, for doing well against opposition. But here I was being judged alongside the greatest cricketers of my country, my own personal heroes. And I was being judged by my fellow cricketers, my colleagues, and past and present greats. Winning this award has to rank above everything else."

Does it mean a reaffirmation of faith in him? you ask gingerly. Does it signify restoration after the dreadful times? He looks you in the eye and says: "I am a great believer in destiny. I knew I had done no wrong. I was terribly hurt and bitter when it all happened. My honour had been questioned, my commitment had been questioned, my lifetime's toil had been questioned. But I have got over it. I don't feel bitter anymore. I wonder why somebody, and of all people a former colleague, had to say the things he did."

Kapil isn't resentful of questions about a chapter in his life that he wouldn't want to remember. In fact, he is rather stoic about the questions because he knows they are inevitable. He has felt wronged before. He is ready to admit that the captaincy was given to him when he didn't deserve it, as indeed he is quick to point out that it was snatched away when he was finally ready for it. "It happened, I couldn't have done anything about it," he says.

What hurt him more – the wounds inflicted by a former team-mate or the fact there were those who were willing to believe some of the charges? For the first time, you a sense an edginess on him. "You really think so?" he asks with slight mockery. "Do you think people believed all those allegations? To me it was more a case of the media latching on to a sensational story. I know that the media has a job to do. But shouldn't they stop to think what's bigger: a sensational story, or the larger interests of the country? What has happened to that story now? Where is the person who made those allegations? Who was more wrong – that person, or the media which supported him?"

But Kapil Dev is not about to let bitterness ruin his day. "I believe in God," he says, "and I feel at this moment what He had taken away from me, He has given me back in double measure. I couldn't really have asked for more."

Sambit Bal is editor of Wisden Asia Cricket and Wisden Online India

Subscribe to Wisden Asia Cricket
Subscribe to Wisden Asia Cricket in India

© Wisden CricInfo Ltd