Kagiso Rabada did the unthinkable as the morning drinks break loomed at the Wanderers on Thursday.

He called for‚ and was duly brought‚ another bat.

Not only had South Africa’s nightwatchman batted on for almost an hour on the second day of the third Test against India‚ he wanted to bat on some more.

Using a different bat. Because‚ you know‚ the original just wasn’t good enough anymore.

A nightwatchman? Another bat? WTF? The questions soon ceased.

Having survived all manner of near misses from an attack that found so much seam and swing it was as if they were bowling in a turning lane on Corlett Drive‚ and seen Dean Elgar picked off by Bhuvneshwar Kumar’s sniper fire and caught behind‚ Rabada moonwalked with balletic balance to scold Jasprit Bumrah through mid-on for four.

The sound of the stroke‚ a lash of lightning‚ made women swoon. The sight of the ball visiting violence on the boundary cushion made men behave.

A delivery later bibbed players rushed supplies to their unbibbed brethren‚ umpires conferred like hatted penguins and groundstaff bustled about with brooms and paintbrushes.

What would Rabada do next?

He faced 10 balls without scoring on Wednesday evening and had dealt with another 42‚ some more convincingly than others‚ for his 11 not out on Thursday morning.

How many more did the game’s No. 1 nightwatchman-fast bowler have in him? Lots.

Thirty-two‚ in fact.

The last of them‚ bowled by Ishant Sharma‚ screamed from leg to off after pitching‚ squared Rabada up like a soldier on parade‚ took the left-hander’s outside edge and flew to gully‚ where Ajinkya Rahane made a complicated catch look simple.

By then Rabada had unsheathed a gleaming square drive to spear Mohammed Shami through backward point for four‚ taken a walk almost to silly point to flick his wrists and clip Bumrah to the square leg ropes‚ and sashayed into an arsey off-drive to take another four off Bhuvneshwar.

Somewhere in the throes of all that someone made a comparison with David Gower that‚ in the moment‚ seemed more factual than flattering.

Rabada came‚ nightwatched‚ morningwatched‚ and conquered for 10 minutes more than two hours in all‚ stepping off the stage seven minutes before lunch and taking the drama with him.

Not quite. For 85 of his minutes at the crease Rabada was in the company of Hashim Amla‚ who batted like a cowboy among Indians.

Amla’s strokeplay‚ once as grand as its mechanics were inscrutable‚ veered between the sublime and the ridiculous with arresting unpredictability.

He also found a way to make the electronic umpire look stupid. Twice.

Both times Amla shuffled across his stumps‚ pinned on the pads bang in front — by Ishant and then Bhuvneshwar — and was given not out.

And both times the Dodgy Rubbish System said not enough of the ball would have hit the wicket.

Not that the proper umpiring was much better.

Bhuvneshwar again smacked Amla on the pads‚ this time outside the line by some distance. Ian Gould pointed his finger‚ pistol style‚ at Amla‚ who of course reviewed and was of course reprieved.

But‚ too soon to celebrate a combative century‚ Amla chipped a simple catch to square leg and took his stormy innings with him.

Another storm brewed beyond Corlett Drive as he did so.

Still another sat in the dressingroom‚ smiling felinely and itching to let fly at India’s batsmen in the second innings.

Patience‚ Mr Rabada. Patience