Cricket chaos, war games and exams

Prompt: Create a scene of chaos. Perhaps a character is panicking, a bunch of different things are going on at once, there's a huge mess, or someone is running out of time—or all of the above!
Source

Rajan didn't want to be disturbed, not right now. He plugged his ears shut with his fingers, blahblahed with his mouth to block any specially insistent notes and focused on the page. He was thoroughly unprepared for the exam, even less so for the terrible fate he'd meet if he performed poorly.

Dikpal wasn't a musical person, he had never played anything. For some reason he got a strange urge to beat the drum as if it had been his calling all along. He could feel the vibrations on the strong leather surface beating in the same rhythm as invisible strings inside him, he was in the flow with the holy harmonics that emanated from what to him was becoming a piece of great spiritual importance. Dhuump! Dhaamp! Boomp dhmmpp dhaaang!

Sharad was a regular sportsman, a purveyor of dorm-sports. He special expertise was in early detection of potential threat and hiding the wickets and balls in plain side while coming up with the most ridiculous but believable explanations for the thumps of the balls and bats. It was a good day this one, the teachers were out for the staff meeting and the grasses that complained weren't to be seen. His runs were louder higher more energetic. The unfocused, disorganized discordant thumps of Dikpal's drum gave him confidence and energy...if that man could play that instrument with so much self-confidence and such little self-awareness, anyone could do anything, there should be no shame in the world.

For Nikhil these were not ideal circumstances. Usually in the weekends everyone was out playing...cricket or weird drums and studying in the fresh air, but the heavy storm and rainfall had forced everyone into the giant dormitory room. So he did what he could and started cleaning his batch of third-rate dried grass fresh from the mountains. Everyone knew of course there was no shame, he preferred not to be disturbed. Some complained that the smell was overpowering and this was a potent batch so he would do it in isolation if he had the option but things being as they were, he'd have to make the best. He was an addict, there was no doubt. Life went on.

The powerful dank of the buds reached Rajan's nostrils and tickled them. It flirted with his eyelids and tired them out, got them to droop. He could feel the deep minty, grasslike earthy smell deep inside his lungs, he took one huge whiff of the dank air and shouted at Sharad to go the hell away and play somewhere else. The boys weren't listening, the drums were too loud for anyone to listen and the beats just kept picking up, the bangs got louder and louder faster and faster. It didn't make any sense, not that Dikpal cared. And now Sharad's rubber balls were flying everywhere around, the pretense of playing cricket had been abandoned in favor of tossing three balls across the beds one end of the room to another, to chase people and attack them with it. While being egged on by the loud battle hymn of the drum that seemed to egg every fighter in the room to just keep going, harder and faster, to complete the task they had been sent for and never ever ever back down. The room trembled with fear and pure energy of rage.