At exactly the halfway stage of the second Test, India had created another golden opportunity: after taking a well-meaning 246-run lead in the first innings, they had brought New Zealand to their knees at 94 for five; and then, in a fit of complacency, they dropped Brendon McCullum, not once but twice.
By the evening itself, they may have sensed that they had blown away the mother of all opportunities; yet, even as McCullum and BJ Watling were constructing an escape, they were behaving as if it was just a matter of time: one wicket and we will seal the victory. The wicket came eventually, inevitably. About 550 minutes. 123 overs. And 352 record-breaking runs later.
By then, the chance had evaporated. As if that was not enough, they allowed debutant Jimmy Neesham to rub another 125 runs into their wounds; by close of play, on Day 4, New Zealand had amassed 571 for six, an improbable 325-run lead, and were even contemplating victory.
As the pitch has dried out to become a pasture, they would be wary of India's batting might and desperation; they will probably wait for McCullum to reach his maiden triple hundred, bat for maybe an hour and give themselves a shot at bowling them out. Anything is possible.
The New Zealand skipper stood like a mountain between them and the glimmer of a rare away victory; he batted like a monk for over one-and-half days (281: 525b, 28x4, 4x6); he was as if in a deep trance, never ruffled by the hustle-bustle around him or the prospect of an unwitting error, and then, the inescapable collapse.
He ignored the messages his body was flashing all through his long vigil: a pain in the shoulder, another in the back, and the fear in his knees; his mind didn't waver even once as he dealt with every ball purely on its merit, as if it was a crime to flirt with risk. There was almost a fanaticism in his approach.
McCullum ran every run spiritedly, and every stroke was loaded with the same power and intent; by the end of the day, he had broken virtually every record within his reach: the world record sixth-wicket partnership, his longest stint in the middle, the first Kiwi to score back-to-back doubles and the third one to score three.
As the evening faded, the enormity of his effort slowly dawned: every spectator applauded each time he even touched the ball, let alone clouted a boundary.
In the entire magnum opus, one aspect was worthy of more marvel though: the way he tackled every landmark. If he danced down the track to jump from 94 to 100 with a six on Sunday, he reached 150 and 200 with boundaries too. It was just an indication of what he could have done if he had chosen not to bat like a monk.
McCullum was ably and manfully supported by Watling in his mission: batting almost without a flaw, and perhaps with even more zeal, the wicketkeeper helped in blunting the Indian attack completely. He kept 367 precious deliveries in abeyance, and helped himself to 13 boundaries only when it was unavoidable.
Resuming literally at 6 for five in the morning, they (McCullum 114 and Watling 52) needed to do something monumental to save the Test; they did slightly better, giving themselves an outside chance to win.
India have only themselves to blame. You don't win Tests by waiting for something to happen; you make them happen.
Dhoni attacked in the first half hour but thereafter switched to defensive tactics in the belief that the rash stroke was on the anvil. He shuffled his bowlers through the day, but in a mechanical way; the field setting was also predictable, allowing breathing space to the batsmen.
Jadeja bowled 49 overs without any impact; the pacers shared the burden and barely got a sniff of a reward on a merciless track. Much later, Dhoni summoned Rohit Sharma and Virat Kohli too, and himself bowled one, but all to no avail.
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