Pawan Sehrawat on the Bench, and the Gold No One Counted Off the Pitch

It was half past nine at night. I was sitting on my roof in Rangpur, watching the final's lineup announcement on a small phone screen. The message box was in a frenzy — "Pawan Sehrawat isn't in the starting seven!" "Then who brings the gold?" The boy whose name is on every kabaddi fan's lips was on the bench. At first I thought this must be the day's biggest story. Then I remembered: a few days earlier, India's women's team had won gold — under Pushpa Rana. No one was asking questions about that. Why? Before counting the medals, I counted how many women players' names my familiar viewers could recall. The answer was uncomfortable.

In a single moment, the day's two stories became clear. One was on the pitch, the other off it. One had the whole country scratching its head, the other had no one saying a word. Thirty-two years of watching kabaddi tell me the second matters more. But before I say that, the first one deserves a close look inside — because its foundation is itself in question.

So what is the "starting seven"?

A kabaddi side fields seven players. A raider enters the opponent's half, touches someone and returns within thirty seconds — that is a raid. If the defenders close him down, that is a tackle. The raider must chant "kabaddi, kabaddi" without a pause to breathe — that is the cant. And the "starting seven" are the seven players on court at the first whistle.

Here is the key point. Not being in the starting seven does not mean not playing. International kabaddi allows substitutions. Pawan is on the bench, not dropped. The Asian Games final is a single match — there is no room to rotate, and the substitution is the only lever. So a "bring him on later" plan is a gamble, not a routine move.

One thing needs clarifying here. The report driving all this talk claims an "Asian Games 2026." Checking it, India's men last won gold at the 2026 Asian Games — in Hangzhou, staged in September–October 2026 because of COVID. The next edition is due in Aichi-Nagoya in 2026, but whether kabaddi features there is, to my knowledge, unconfirmed. So the report's very foundation awaits verification. The lineup is announced before a match, and journalists see it — but who saw it, and on what source? That information is nowhere.

The arithmetic inside the raiding unit

The report says the raiding unit, in Pawan's place, features Arjun Deshwal, Devank Dalal and Ayan Lohchab. At least Arjun Deshwal is a familiar Pro Kabaddi League (PKL) name, a left-side raider, a reliable scorer. The problem is that the report carries no number for anyone. Raid points? Successful raid percentage? Nothing. It only says Pawan "has not shown his best" and "the other raiders have performed well." These are opinions, not facts.

If the decision truly rests on form, it is a mature coaching signal. Indian kabaddi has long run on a star-centric model — trust in one man, the rest in support. If the raiding splits among three, dependency drops. That is a risk-reducing strategy. But is this reasoning the report's, or the writer's inference?

Then there is the Do-or-Die question. After two empty raids, the third is a Do-or-Die raid — fail to score and the raider is out. Such moments demand experience and a cool head. Pawan Sehrawat, known to all as the "Hi-Flyer" — a master of leaping over defenders to escape — is built for exactly this pressure. The report admits as much, but presents it as "bench strength," not as a starting need. The decision bends right here — the experience risk was reduced, when in a final that experience is the most valuable thing of all.

The biggest gap is Iran. In international kabaddi, India-Iran is the real rivalry — at the 2026 Asian Games semifinal, Iran broke India's monopoly. Iran's defence is strong in chain tackles, organised. If Iran fields a disciplined defence, an inexperienced raiding trio can be neutralised; then Pawan's leap-based escape game becomes more valuable. But the report writes not a word about Iran's defence. The variable that will decide the entire decision's fate is the one missing.

Another point is needed here. The greatest risk in a single final is having no alternative plan. The report says Pawan "will come on when needed." But when? At what scoreline? On which raid? No trigger point is mentioned. An international final has no stopping clock — momentum flips in seconds. If Iran picks up two or three tackle points early and India's raiding trio stalls, will there even be time left for the substitution?

Kabaddi has one more thing that raises the stakes of selection — the All Out. If every player on a side is ruled out, the opponent gets two bonus points and the whole side revives. A single bad spell can turn a match in seconds. In such a match, the presence of an experienced raider is not a cheap thing.

The absence of information, the dominance of the star economy

The structure of the report is worth noting. Next to every "fact" there is no source — no coach's quote, no team sheet, no official source. The writer's own inference is served up dressed as explanation. Yet this is the piece that spreads across social media, and viewers take it for fact.

This is where the real damage lies. Kabaddi's media runs on a "star filter" — stars pull coverage. Data, tactics, opponent analysis fall to the back. Viewers know whether Pawan is playing, but not why Iran's defence is hard, or what a Do-or-Die raid actually is. An ordinary selection decision becomes a national talking point simply because the player is a folk hero.

And there is another angle — selection transparency. Form, fitness, or strategy — on what basis was Pawan dropped? The report does not make it clear. Rumour grows around the decision to drop a star. If a team states its reasons, the talk is about tactics, not conspiracy. This lack of transparency feeds the star debate.

Kabaddi's media economy is clear here. A star's decision becomes a unit of content whose value is not information but engagement. The faster an outlet publishes, the better — verification falls behind. This is why the report has no sources, and muddles the date. In the tug between speed and accuracy, kabaddi's coverage always leans toward speed.

The star's light, the women's shadow

Now to the real point. A full report was written about this bench decision — because Pawan Sehrawat is not just a raider, he is a brand. His price at the PKL auction, his face in advertising — his "traffic value" far exceeds his current form. This is kabaddi's star filter: stars pull coverage, not tactics or data.

But where the star's light falls, where does the shadow fall? The day the whole country agonised over the men's bench debate, India's women's team won gold under Pushpa Rana. Where is the explainer for that gold? Where is the lineup analysis? No one asked how the women's raiding unit was built. No one counted how many watched.

Here is the structural truth. India's women's kabaddi is elite on the international stage — but there is no professional league for women in India. There is no women's competition in the PKL. Where male players grow up amid lakh-taka auctions, broadcasts and brand deals, women grow up with almost nothing. Their gold comes from talent and toil alone. And that gold stops at the absence of coverage.

I have felt this again and again, sitting in Rangpur. In 2026, when 16 teams played the district round of the Bangamata Gold Cup, the press was nearly absent. With a borrowed phone and a tripod, I streamed nine matches on Facebook Live — 4,200 views. A fifteen-year-old striker from Gangachara beat two defenders for a goal; that clip was shared 900 times. The pitch was there before the coverage was — I just brought the phone. The lesson is one: access is not a luxury, access is a reporting tool.

In 2026, in Kuala Lumpur, Bangladesh beat India by three wickets in the Women's Asia Cup T20 final, Nahida Akter taking 3/21. I watched it in a Rangpur café, while every other television in the room ran the Russia World Cup. In Kuala Lumpur, the World Cup ran behind that final like a second heartbeat. The arithmetic from that day stays with me: 64 men's matches across eleven Russian cities; 23 women's matches on a single regional feed.

So what is the verdict?

If form is the reason Pawan Sehrawat sits on the bench, it is a valid, mature coaching decision. If India loses, making it a "sin" would be unfair. But the report explaining the decision is data-free, source-free, and probably standing on a wrong date. So much was written about a selection call, yet there is not a single raid-point figure.

The real question, then, is not "will Pawan play." The real question is: which story do we choose? The star's bench debate, or the gold no one counted? My answer is clear — as long as coverage chases the star, the women's gold will stay in the shadow. The day a women's kabaddi league is born, the day the sound rising from borrowed phones and small rooftop screens reaches the newsroom table — that day I will know the game is truly changing. It has not changed yet.