For an hour-and-a-half on Sunday morning and 61 minutes late in the afternoon, there was a patch of sunshine in the growing pall of despair surrounding India. But for the rest, it was yet another devastating loss, this one by 106 runs.
The day started with an air of suspended belief all around the Newlands, as two of Cape Town's homegrown boys, Graeme Smith and Jacques Kallis, fell with nothing on the board, even as laughing locals were still filing into the ground.
As Bosman, Gibbs, Boucher and de Villiers too fell at regular intervals and South Africa's scorecard, at 76/6, looked suspiciously like an Indian one, the explosion of excited blue in the middle of all the green seemed to grow even brighter.
And during that time, when Zaheer burned bright (his first spell read 7-4-9-3), South Africa wilted and for those of us watching, it seemed like there was enchantment in the air.
And there was, but it definitely wasn't an Indian shaman at work. In the South African hinterland, like in many parts of India, there is still talk of things that logic cannot explain.
This seemed like one of those events: It came out of nowhere like a whirling dervish, it was extraordinary, it was exhilarating and yes, it was somewhat spooky. For the next couple of hours, what we were treated to had to be the work of magicians — it was difficult to believe that one man could wreak such damage.
{{/usCountry}}This seemed like one of those events: It came out of nowhere like a whirling dervish, it was extraordinary, it was exhilarating and yes, it was somewhat spooky. For the next couple of hours, what we were treated to had to be the work of magicians — it was difficult to believe that one man could wreak such damage.
{{/usCountry}}But Justin Kemp did. A giant of a man, and an unusual one, Kemp is reputed to be a thorough gentleman. He has a quiet manner that belies both his size and the way he wields a bat and like Lance Klusener, he is beloved to many because he speaks the language of the people, in his case Xhosa (Makhaya Ntini's tongue) while Klusener of course, speaks Zulu.
On Sunday, Kemp let his bat do the talking as he dug South Africa out of the grave they had thrown themselves into, first with discretion and then with a delightful display of devil-may-care flamboyance.
He was involved in two partnerships, first 60 with Shaun Pollock and then an unbroken 138-run, world record stand for the eighth wicket with Andrew Hall.
Kemp is one of those men who hit the ball with so much power that even if it is mistimed, it goes over the fence. But when he uses his great height and hits it as it is meant to, it can go about 15 rows into the crowd.
He had problems with the screen, seemingly cursed himself frequently, swung his bat around horizontally when he did hit the ball, slashed through the air in annoyance when he missed, innovated to chop under it and generally put up a performance that had a bit of the theatrical.
Having said that, he and South Africa were no doubt helped by the Indian fielding. Despite two run-outs, India's display left a lot to be desired.
There is an old joke about how Indian players will make good escorts because they get so much practice providing escort service to the ball as it runs away. This is no longer a funny story.
Given the amount of time they've spent doing fielding drills indoors (with all the rain this season), you would think it would have been put to good use. But, in this age of super-athletic players, they have looked misfits.
Players not bending enough in time, throwing themselves at balls after they have gone past, half-chances that might have been taken looking like they're nowhere near possible and a couple, of course, just dropped. On this day, India dropped four catches, three of them off Kemp.
Still, while the 275 they were set to chase was a sizeable target, it is less than many India have successfully chased. But not an India in this shape, with a batting line-up that, at best, flatters briefly to deceive.
On Sunday, with Sehwag and Tendulkar quickly gone, India were in familiar territory. Only when Dhoni put up a fireworks display of old, threatening to rival Kemp, and Dravid stood firm at the other end, did faint hope stir. But Dhoni couldn't do a Kemp, he swung once too much and fell.
Dravid remained a while, a lonely figure of blue against an exuberant explosion of green, but finally, it was all too much even for him. And India were gone.