The dawn of Makar Sankranti broke over the Shamshabad estate with a slow, traditional stillness. The winter mist still clung to the lower branches of the banyan trees, covering the farmlands in a soft grey haze. The air was biting and cold, smelling of wet earth and the lingering smoke of yesterday's Bhogi bonfire.
While most of the household, including Krithika and the children, remained asleep under heavy duvets in the main farmhouse, two figures were already awake and moving through the predawn dark.
Siddanth Deva and his father, Vikram, walked side by side down a long dirt path that led to the farthest edge of the estate, separated from the residential quarters by a thick grove of mango trees.
Deva wore a simple dark sweatshirt and track pants, his breath pluming in white clouds in the cold air. Vikram walked with quiet dignity, a thick woolen shawl wrapped over his traditional white pancha.
Today was the main day of the festival, flowing into the traditions of Kanuma. In the agricultural heartlands of Telangana, this day was not marked only by vegetarian sweets. It was marked by respect for the land, the livestock, and the harvest. It was a day to honor the ancestral deities and the village protectors with a sacred offering, a bali, followed by a communal non-vegetarian feast.
They reached a wide open clearing near the boundary wall of the estate.
A small fire had been lit for warmth and light. Gathered around the flames were the local, generational butchers from the nearby village, men whose families had performed these rites for decades. Several healthy, locally reared sheep and goats were tethered nearby.
The atmosphere was not loud or chaotic. It was steeped in cultural respect.
Vikram stepped forward, murmuring a quiet prayer, offering a pinch of turmeric and kumkum, seeking the blessings of the local deities for the continued prosperity, health, and harvest of the estate and everyone who lived on it.
Deva stood quietly beside his father. He had ensured that Aadhya and Rishi were kept away from this part of the estate. He wanted them to enjoy the festive food and the colorful kites, protecting their childhood from the raw reality of the preparation.
The butchers performed their duties with practiced and respectful efficiency, ensuring the offering was made according to traditional customs.
As the sun finally breached the horizon, casting a pale golden light over the clearing, the second phase of the morning tradition began.
The Deva family did not commission the offering only for their own dining table. The true essence of the festival was communal abundance.
Large wooden tables were set up in the clearing. The butchers prepared the fresh meat, separating it into generous, equal portions.
Deva and Vikram did not return to the warmth of the farmhouse. They stood behind the wooden tables as the sun rose higher, personally overseeing the distribution.
Word had spread through the staff quarters. Slowly, a long orderly line formed in the morning mist. Every person who kept the Shamshabad estate running—the security guards in their thick jackets, the groundskeepers, the farmhands, the drivers, and the domestic staff—walked up to the clearing.
Deva personally handed out the heavy bags of meat.
"Happy Sankranti, Raju," Deva said, handing a large portion to one of the senior gardeners. "Ensure your family eats well today."
"Thank you, Anna. Happy Sankranti to you and your family," Raju beamed, accepting the bag with both hands, touched by the personal gesture.
"Ravi," Deva nodded to his head of security, handing him his portion. "Tell the men on the perimeter to take shifts today. Everyone needs to have a proper festival lunch with their families."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Ravi replied, a warm smile breaking through his usual stoic manner.
For over two hours, the father and son stood in the cold, greeting every member of their extended estate family by name. It was an unpretentious display of cultural care. The wealth and national fame of Siddanth Deva were absent here; he was simply the head of the household, ensuring that the people who protected and maintained his home were treated with abundance and respect on the day of the harvest.
---
By 1:00 PM, the atmosphere inside the main farmhouse had shifted into a vibrant, mouth-watering celebration.
The heavy dining table was set for a large family feast. The cold morning air had been driven out by the heat of the kitchen and the rich aromas filling the corridors of the house.
The estate cooks, guided by Sesikala and Krithika's instructions, had prepared a traditional Telangana banquet.
The smell was strong and inviting. The earthy scent of roasted coriander, cloves, and star anise mingled with the aroma of red chilies sizzling in hot oil.
Heavy-bottomed brass and copper serving dishes were brought out and placed in the center of the table. There was a mound of steaming Bagara Annam—spiced rice rich with caramelized onions and whole spices. Next to it sat the main dishes of the feast: a dark, thick, flavorful Mutton Curry, the meat slow-cooked until tender, and a fiery Natu Kodi Pulusu, country chicken curry floating in a robust red gravy.
The entire family gathered around the table.
Krithika sat comfortably in a soft yellow maternity dress.
"I have been dreaming about this Natu Kodi since I woke up," Krithika sighed happily as Deva served a generous portion of the spicy chicken curry and Bagara rice onto her plate. "The baby is definitely going to love the spice."
"Eat as much as you want, Krithi," Sesikala smiled from across the table, passing a bowl of cool onion raita to balance the heat of the curries.
While the adults settled in to enjoy the rich meal, the two youngest members of the family were vibrating with impatient energy that made sitting still nearly impossible.
Aadhya and Rishi sat side by side, their legs swinging under the heavy wooden table.
"Nana, are we going to see the dragons now?" Aadhya asked, her mouth full of Bagara rice, her eyes wide and pleading. "You promised! You said we would see the giant kites!"
"Swallow your food first, Aadhya," Krithika gently scolded, tapping her daughter's arm.
Rishi, looking neat in a plain white t-shirt, was bouncing slightly in his chair.
"Nana, are they really as big as a house?" Rishi asked eagerly. "The man on the TV said they were giant! I want to see the tiger kite! Can we go right after lunch? Please?"
Deva let out a full laugh, watching his son drop his usual polite composure for pure childhood excitement.
"Yes, Rishi, they are as big as a house," Deva grinned, reaching over and ruffling his son's dark hair. "And yes, Aadhya, we are going to see the dragons. But only if both of you finish everything on your plates. We need a lot of energy to walk around the festival."
The effect was instant. Aadhya and Rishi stopped talking and began eating the spicy chicken and rice with focused speed, intent on finishing their plates.
Rishi accidentally dropped a small piece of chicken covered in dark red gravy onto the front of his white t-shirt. A bright stain bloomed on the fabric.
The feast concluded with a rich serving of Semiya Payasam. The family washed their hands. The children stood near the front doors, practically vibrating, waiting for the adults to get ready. The promise of the sky was calling.
---
The drive from the quiet of Shamshabad to the heart of Secunderabad took over half an hour as there was no usual traffic as many families went to their home towns, the city roads were deserted.
The destination was the historic expanse of the Parade Grounds, transformed into the center of the Telangana International Kite Festival. It was an event that drew professional kite flyers from across the globe and hundreds of thousands of local spectators.
Two dark-tinted, armored SUVs pulled into a secured, barricaded VVIP entrance at the side of the grounds.
Rahul had spent the entire morning coordinating with the festival organizers and the local Telangana police. Bringing Siddanth Deva—the most recognizable figure in the country—into a large public crowd required careful planning to ensure a mob did not form and press in on his family.
The SUVs parked behind a cluster of organizer tents. The doors opened, and the family stepped out into the bright afternoon sun.
The sensory shift was immediate.
The air was filled with the continuous roar of a large crowd. The thumping rhythm of local DJ music came from towering speakers. The smell of roasted corn, sweet cotton candy, and hot mirchi bajjis drifted from the food stalls lining the perimeter of the grounds.
But it was the sky that took their breath.
Aadhya and Rishi stepped out from behind the tents and looked up.
The clear blue sky above the Parade Grounds was filled with color, shape, and size.
It was not just a few paper kites. The international professionals had launched their work.
A sixty-foot-long, three-dimensional inflatable dragon kite in crimson and gold was floating, its tail moving slowly in the afternoon breeze. Not far from it, a large, detailed tiger kite seemed to be leaping through the air. A gigantic inflatable scuba diver with large fins drifted overhead. Dozens of spinning rings, octopuses with long tentacles, and complex geometric box kites filled the airspace.
"WHOA!" Aadhya shrieked, her jaw dropping, her hands flying to her cheeks. "Look at the dragon, Rishi! It's real!"
"It's huge!" Rishi gasped, his eyes wide, abandoning any attempt at polite composure. He pointed at the sky, bouncing on his heels. "Look at the tiger, Nana! It's swimming in the air! It's so big!"
Deva smiled, a warm feeling settling in his chest as he watched his children take it in.
But he knew the reality of his presence. The moment he walked out into the open fields with them, the crowd would spot him. The giant kites would be ignored, and his children would be pressed by a crowd of fans and cameras.
He had a plan. He was going to divide the work.
Deva crouched down to the eye level of his bouncing children.
"Alright, monsters, listen to me," Deva said softly, placing a hand on their shoulders. "Thatha is going to take you out onto the grass. He has two special kites for you to fly, and you can go stand right underneath the giant dragon."
"Are you coming, Nana?" Rishi asked, looking back at him.
"I am going to stay right here near the tents," Deva explained, offering a warm smile. "I have to say hello to some people. But I will be watching you the whole time. Go have fun with Thatha."
Vikram Deva, wearing a comfortable polo shirt, stepped forward, holding two medium-sized, brightly colored traditional kites and a spool of safe, non-glass-coated thread.
"Come on, you two," Vikram chuckled, taking their small hands. "Let's go show these international flyers how we fly kites in Hyderabad."
Aadhya and Rishi cheered, grabbing their grandfather's hands and practically dragging him out toward the grassy expanse of the Parade Grounds.
What the children did not notice was the subtle security perimeter that moved with them. Four of Deva's private security guards, dressed in casual clothes—jeans and plain t-shirts—fanned out loosely around Vikram and the kids. They blended into the crowd, appearing as ordinary festival-goers, but their eyes were constantly scanning, ensuring that nobody bumped into or bothered the family.
With his children safely away, Deva stood up and turned toward the organizer's tents.
He had volunteered to be the decoy.
He stepped out slightly from the shade of the VIP tents, removing his sunglasses, allowing his face to be seen by the people milling around the food stalls and the entry gates.
It took less than thirty seconds.
Someone pointed. A shout went up. And suddenly a surging wave of people realized that the captain of the Indian cricket team was standing at the Kite Festival.
"DEVAAA! SIDDANTH ANNA!"
A roaring, excited crowd began to form, pressing against the metal barricades separating the VIP area from the public grounds. The local police immediately tightened their grip on the barricades, bracing for the surge.
Deva walked up to the barricades. He smiled, shaking hundreds of outstretched hands. He took dozens of smartphones from fans, snapping selfies with them. He signed cricket bats, notebooks, and even paper kites that were thrust toward him.
He was the national figure, absorbing the attention, the noise, and the energy of the crowd. He kept the mob focused on the edge of the grounds, ensuring that a hundred yards away, in the middle of the grass, his children were left alone.
While Deva signed autographs, Vikram was having the time of his life with his grandchildren.
The afternoon breeze was good. Vikram helped Rishi launch his blue and yellow kite into the air.
"I got it, Thatha! I'm flying it!" Rishi cheered, holding the spool tightly as the kite climbed higher toward the large inflatable tiger.
Aadhya was entirely chaotic. She refused to hold the spool properly, choosing instead to run across the grass, dragging her bright pink kite behind her, yelling at it to fly higher, occasionally tangling her string with other children nearby and laughing.
It was a chaotic, loud, and full afternoon.
---
As the hours passed, the glare of the afternoon sun began to soften. The sky above Secunderabad shifted from bright blue into a canvas of deep orange, purple, and soft pink.
The festival entered its most striking phase.
As dusk settled over the Parade Grounds, the international flyers began to bring down the large inflatable daytime kites, replacing them with specialized evening displays.
Hundreds of kites, fitted with bright multi-colored LED lights, were launched into the darkening sky. The sky became a floating field of neon lights, dipping and soaring against the twilight.
Aadhya and Rishi stood on the grass, their heads tilted back, their mouths open in silent wonder. The scale and light of the illuminated festival had drained their energy.
Vikram walked them back to the VIP tents, the children dragging their feet, exhausted.
Deva had finally finished with the fans. He thanked the police and the organizers, stepping back into the secure zone just as his family returned.
"Did you catch the dragon, monster?" Deva smiled softly, kneeling down as Aadhya walked up to him.
"It was too high, Nana," Aadhya mumbled, her eyes drooping. She did not have the energy to jump into his arms; she simply leaned forward, resting her head against his chest. "But I saw the shiny lights."
"It was very beautiful, Nana," Rishi added, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses, letting out a large yawn. "My arms are tired from holding the string."
"You both did great," Deva murmured, scooping Aadhya up into his arms. "Let's go home."
The family piled back into the armored SUVs. The heavy doors slammed shut, sealing them inside the quiet, cool interior of the vehicles, leaving the music and the neon sky of the festival behind.
The drive back to the Shamshabad estate was silent.
The crash had hit the children hard. Aadhya was fast asleep within five minutes, her head resting on Deva's lap, soft breaths escaping her parted lips. Rishi was asleep beside her, his head leaning against the tinted window.
When the SUVs finally pulled up to the familiar, lit veranda of the farmhouse, the night was peaceful.
Deva carried a sleeping Aadhya directly into the house, while Vikram gently carried Rishi. They bypassed the living room entirely, taking the children straight to their bedrooms.
There was a quiet efficiency to the wind-down. Krithika gently wiped the dust and sweat from their faces with a warm damp cloth, removing their shoes and tucking them under their soft duvets without waking them.
They had lived a full, sensory-rich day, and they were completely out.
As Deva walked out of Aadhya's room, leaving the door slightly ajar, he nearly tripped over a large soft obstacle in the hallway.
Ronny, the aging Golden Retriever, was fast asleep, sprawled across the cool marble floor, letting out a soft rattling snore, undisturbed by the family's return.
Deva smiled, stepping carefully over the old dog, and walked out onto the wide back veranda.
The night air of the Deccan Plateau was crisp and cooling. The crickets were chirping in the darkness, the only sound breaking the silence of the estate.
Krithika was already standing on the veranda. She was leaning against the wooden railing, looking out over the dark lawns, enjoying the cool breeze.
Deva walked up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his hands softly over the curve of her stomach. He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of her jasmine shampoo.
"They are knocked out," Krithika murmured softly, leaning back into his embrace. "They won't wake up until noon tomorrow."
"Good," Deva chuckled quietly, a deep vibration against her back. "They earned it. It was a big day."