The afternoon in Nilphamari, Bangladesh, was humid and still.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, the world fell silent, but in this quiet rural village, a young girl ploughed a paddy field filled with water.
There were no tractors or bulls, only a wooden yoke, her thin shoulders, and the willpower carved into her sunburnt skin.
She pulled the plough through the mud, bare feet sinking deep. The heat shimmered, but she moved to a rhythm that spoke of both duty and defiance — the beat of survival.
Cricket was then a dream too distant to name, a flicker in her mind like the sound of a ball striking a wall.
She chased it only in the fading twilight, playing with her brothers after the day's labour.
Two and a half years later, that same girl, Marufa Akter, would stand in a World Cup stadium, the Bangladesh crest over her heart and the crowd chanting her name.
Her journey is an anthem of resilience, taking her from the wet fields of Nilphamari to the roaring arenas of world cricket.
Locals once teased Marufa for playing cricket
Marufa was born on January 1, 2005, into a poor farming family, the youngest of four children.
Her father worked the fields from dawn to dusk; her mother handled endless household chores.
When the pandemic closed schools and sports programs, Marufa joined her father ploughing rice.
"We didn't always know what we were going to eat the next day," she remembers softly.
"But I would still make time to bowl, even if it was just against the wall."
Her brothers encouraged her to play cricket, teaching her to "bowl, hold a bat, and dream."
"Those games became my foundation," she says.
"My elder brother always told me, 'You can do it, Marufa.'"
Others were more sceptical.
"People in the village talked behind my back, saying bad things about a girl playing with boys," she says.
"I didn't pay attention, [but] even my parents weren't sure at first. They told me to study and stay home, but I kept going."
Her mother recalls those days with pain and pride.
"When people made fun of her for playing with boys, she told me, 'Mum, don't listen. I'll help with the housework and then play.'"
Her father worried about gossip, but Marufa promised: "One day I'll become a cricketer and show everyone."
That promise, whispered among ripening rice, would soon echo in stadiums around the world.
With borrowed equipment, Marufa's talent stood out
"When Marufa first came to the ground, her pace immediately stood out," says Likhon Islam, her childhood coach.
"She was quick, energetic, and sharp in the field — often better than the boys she played with. Since she always trained among them, her reflexes became exceptional."
From the start, she played with rare focus; nothing existed for her but the game.
Her natural inswing was striking, her control innate.
"When she started under-14 cricket, she didn't even have her own kit," Likhon recalls.
"She borrowed my equipment just so she could play. That's how determined she was."
Recognising her raw pace, Likhon encouraged her to try out for Bangladesh Krira Shikkha Protishtan (BKSP), the country's top sports institute.
For a girl who had never left her district, travelling to the capital of Dhaka was overwhelming.
Yet, at BKSP, she matured quickly. Her bowling action grew smoother and more refined; she learned to grip and control the ball beautifully.
She soon made her mark with a spell of 4/12 in domestic cricket, followed by selection for the Bangladesh under-19 team.
By 18, she had earned her first senior cap.
Marufa inspiring 'revolution' in women's cricket
Marufa became a household name during the recently completed ICC Women's World Cup.
Her smooth run-up, whippy action, and natural outswing unsettled batters and delighted fans.
Former Sri Lankan fast bowler Lasith Malinga praised her on social media: "Bangladesh has found a gem," he said.
"Marufa's rhythm, control, and heart are pure gold for fast bowling."
Bangladesh captain Nigar Sultana calls her the team's spark.
"She doesn't just bring speed; she brings faith," she says.
"When Marufa comes in, everyone stands a little taller."
Marufa's astronomical rise has changed not only her life, but the aspirations of girls around Bangladesh.
"In many parts of Bangladesh, people still don't want girls to play sports," she says.
"But I think minds will change when they realise cricket gives girls respect, strength, and a future."
Sports journalist Ariful Islam Roney believes Bangladesh is experiencing an "extraordinary" evolution in women's cricket.
"Bangladesh's women started playing seriously only about 20 years ago and their first international match was 14 years ago," Roney says.
"Now they've beaten India, won the Asia Cup, and played consecutive World Cups. Their [on-field] progress is phenomenal."
But as Roney puts it, the toughest matches are not always on the pitch.
"For many girls, just playing cricket is seen as rebellion," she adds.
"In villages like Marufa's, even holding a bat can be an act of defiance.
"By the time they reach the national team, they've already fought thousands of unseen battles."
Challenges in pay, resourcing remain
While women's cricket in Bangladesh has grown rapidly, challenges remain.
Funding is scarce, domestic tournaments are irregular, and pay disparities are stark.
The best national players earn $US900–$US1,000 ($1,395-$1,550) a month, a fraction of what men make. Equal match fees are still distant dreams.
The team also prepared for the recent World Cup with limited resources.
"After qualifying, we sought a practice series against international sides, but most declined," explains Bangladesh Cricket Board director Nazmul Abedeen Fahim.
"Instead, we organised extended camps and matches against the Bangladesh Under-15 boys' team. Their pace and strength sharpened our players. Given our constraints, the preparation was remarkable."
Nonetheless, Fahim believes there is progress.
"With new youth programs, scholarships, and women in leadership roles, Bangladesh cricket is building a stronger pipeline," he says.
"We want to produce more players like Marufa."
At 'Marufa's Ground', rural girls dare to dream
Back in Nilphamari, a transformation has taken place.
"Marufa is now a household name — not just for girls, but for boys too," Roney says.
"The same soil that once tested her strength now holds her legacy.
"Local fans built a cement pitch near her house; every evening, kids come to bowl, bat, and dream. They call it 'Marufa's Ground.'"
The sound of a ball striking a stump still echoes. It is the heartbeat of a girl who once dreamed beyond her horizon.
"I just want to tell all the girls — don't listen to others," Marufa says.
"Concentrate on yourself. Keep going after your dreams.
"Cricket gave me a voice. When I bowl, I feel free.
"I want every girl from a village like mine to think she can do anything, too."
Anjana Sasi is a journalist and storyteller whose work explores how sport, travel, and gender intersect in shaping identity and culture. She has two decades' experience in print and digital media and is a passionate chronicler of women's sports narratives from South Asia.
Anjana is part of ABC International Development's Women in News and Sport Initiative, funded by the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade through the Team Up program.
