Vaibhav Suryavanshi's is a rare talent - to nurture it, you need to protect it

In the world of sport, there are few things more thrilling than the arrival of a prodigy - a fresh face bursting onto the scene with a brilliance that seems to defy age, logic, or the rhythms of experience. That is exactly what 14-year-old Vaibhav Suryavanshi delivered in his phenomenal third appearance for Rajasthan Royals recently. A century off just 35 deliveries, replete with audacious sixes and classical drives, set not only a record for youth but a standard of excellence that seasoned professionals might envy.

The cricketing world stood stunned. A schoolboy had just torn apart a professional attack, and in doing so, lit up a billion imaginations.

And yet, within the rapture, there must be reason. With the rise of a star this young, the question is not just how far he can go but whether he will survive the journey at all.

Suryavanshi's century was a triumph of talent, timing, and temperament. It was no fluke: those who had seen him in age-group cricket, especially the Royals' high-performance director, Zubin Bharucha, knew the spark was real. But even he could not have scripted such a sensational entry.

To see a teenager wield a bat with the authority of a man twice his age, in front of tens of thousands, and millions more watching on television, was to witness the magic of sport. But this magic can come at a cost.

At 14, Suryavanshi is still a child - physiologically, neurologically, emotionally. His brain is still wiring itself, his values still forming, his identity still fragile. In that context, such acclaim, such expectation, such public adulation, can become a double-edged sword.

Child prodigies are a double narrative. On one hand, they dazzle and uplift, giving fans hope and a sense of wonder. On the other, they often carry burdens they are not yet equipped to shoulder. History across sports offers numerous lessons.

Take the case of Freddy Adu, the American footballer labelled "the next Pele" at just 14. The pressure of that label consumed him, and a once-promising career dissolved under the strain of expectation and premature exposure. Or Michelle Wie, the golf phenom who entered the professional circuit as a teenager, only to battle injuries and mental fatigue for years.

We've seen this in cricket too. Sachin Tendulkar succeeded as a teenager not simply due to talent but because of a solid support system - a stoic temperament, a wise coach, a family that protected him from the circus. On the other hand, Vinod Kambli, equally talented and perhaps more flamboyant, struggled to balance fame and discipline. His fall was as dramatic as his rise. Prithvi Shaw is another wunderkind who has fallen but may yet find a way back to the pinnacle.

These stories don't question the ability of youth, but they challenge the wisdom of how that ability is nurtured - or exploited.

I'm reminded of a different kind of prodigy from my own playing days - not a teenager but a man who, in his own way, arrived with similar brilliance and left with barely a trace.

Bob Massie's debut at Lord's in 1972 remains etched in cricketing lore: 16 wickets, moving the ball like it was obeying his will. That match, against a powerful England side, turned him into an overnight sensation. Bob was 25, not 14, but even so, the storm of expectation that followed was overwhelming.

I played alongside Bob and watched the aftermath. On the following tour, to the West Indies, he began to struggle. The conditions were harsh, the ball deteriorated quickly, and the swing - his greatest weapon - disappeared. He tried harder, overcompensated, and in the process lost his action, and more critically, his confidence.

It's one of the saddest truths in sport: when your weapon is gone and you don't yet know who you are without it, the game can feel cruel and unforgiving. Bob played just six Tests. The man who once danced with destiny at Lord's faded into obscurity, not because he lacked skill but because no one had prepared him for what came after success.

He later admitted the pressure became too much, and he made the wise, if painful, decision to move on from cricket. But what if he had been 14 instead of 25?

This is the peril facing Vaibhav Suryavanshi.

It is incumbent on the cricketing ecosystem - the BCCI, the franchises, mentors, and the media - to protect him. Talent can't be bubble-wrapped, but it can be provided a buffer. It must be guided, not glorified; nurtured, not just marketed.

There are a few things that the game must do to protect rising talent.

Licensed child psychologists should be part of every elite youth programme. The emotional volatility of adolescence demands specialised care. Cricket teaches technique, but life teaches resilience. Young players need mentors to discuss everything, from media scrutiny to self-worth. Every innings need not be broadcast, nor every run celebrated. There is merit in anonymity during growth phases.

Commercial interests must come second to mental health. Contracts should mandate educational continuation, limit media exposure, and schedule periodic sabbaticals. Family or trusted adults must remain central to decision-making. They are not just cheerleaders but the final line of protection for the child within the athlete.

Let us not misunderstand the significance of Suryavanshi's century - it was a marvel, one of those once-in-a-generation moments that define eras. But we must understand the story is just beginning.

The world will now demand repeat performances. Commentators will analyse his technique frame by frame. Advertisers will come calling. Social media will canonise or crucify him with equal vigour.

And yet, all he might want is to go home, play a video game, or have an ice cream with friends.

We must allow him that. We must allow him to be a teenager.

To be young and gifted is a rare blessing. But to remain grounded when you have that gift is a greater achievement. For every Tendulkar who rises, there are many like Bob Massie who fade, not because they were any less worthy, but because the structures around them weren't strong enough to hold them when their world shifted.

Vaibhav Suryavanshi has the tools. He has the temperament. But most importantly, he needs time. Let us celebrate him, yes, but also protect him. Let us not confuse early genius with invincibility. The boy has already played like a man. Now it is time for the men around him to ensure the boy within remains whole.

And if we do that - if we cherish his humanity as much as we do his hundred - then perhaps, just perhaps, this will not be a quasar that burns bright and vanishes but a star that lights up cricket's skies for decades to come.