The hostility of the Sher-e-Bangla stadium in Mirpur was completely subdued by the time the three-match ODI series concluded. Siddanth Deva's brutal, retaliatory century in the first match had set an unapologetic tone.
The Bangladesh bowling attack, visibly demoralized by the ruthless physical and psychological dismantling of their premier fast bowler, Mustafizur Rahman, offered little resistance in the remaining fixtures.
India secured the series with absolute clinical precision. In the second ODI, MS Dhoni and Suresh Raina anchored a flawless run chase, and in the third, Ravichandran Ashwin spun a web around the Bangladeshi middle order to complete a comprehensive 3-0 whitewash. They had successfully reasserted their dominance over the subcontinent.
Following the conclusion of the Bangladesh tour, the Board of Control for Cricket in India (BCCI) recognized the immense physical toll the relentless international calendar had taken on the core squad. A brief, limited-overs tour of Zimbabwe was scheduled for July, but the selection committee made a pragmatic decision. MS Dhoni, Siddanth Deva, Virat Kohli, Rohit Sharma, and the premier fast bowlers were granted a mandatory rest period. Ajinkya Rahane was handed the captaincy, tasked with leading a young, experimental squad to Africa.
For Siddanth, the break was a highly necessary window to let his recovering ankle fully stabilize and to check in on his corporate empire. He returned to the quiet, sprawling isolation of the Shamshabad farmhouse in Hyderabad.
The first week of July passed in a blur of coding sessions with VEDA in the basement server room and quiet, rigorous rehabilitation in the home gym.
However, July 10, 2015, brought a different kind of anticipation. It wasn't a product launch or a board meeting; it was a cultural event.
S.S. Rajamouli's high budget magnum opus, Baahubali: The Beginning, was officially hitting the screens.
Siddanth, utilizing his highly efficient executive assistant, Rahul, had booked an entire private row of premium recliner seats for the opening day evening show at Prasad's IMAX in Hyderabad.
Rahul had spent the better part of the morning aggressively refreshing three different booking portals, later remarking with a completely deadpan expression that securing ten contiguous premium seats on opening day for a Rajamouli movie in Hyderabad was the hardest, most stressful task he had accomplished all year.
He had invited his entire inner circle: Arjun, Sameer, Feroz, Krithika, Anjali, and Krithika's friends, Riya and Kavya.
Knowing that Prasad's IMAX on a Friday evening during a massive Telugu movie release would be an absolute mob scene. Siddanth instructed Arjun and the rest of the group to arrive early, grab their snacks, and take their seats before the lights dimmed.
At exactly 7:45 PM, with the opening credits already rolling and the theater plunged into darkness, a lone figure slipped quietly through the side exit doors.
Siddanth was wearing a plain black hoodie with the hood pulled up, a black surgical mask covering the lower half of his face, and dark jeans. He moved with silent precision through the dark aisle, slipping into the empty recliner seat perfectly situated between Arjun and Krithika in the back row.
"You're late," Krithika whispered, leaning over, her eyes fixed on the massive IMAX screen as the breathtaking waterfall sequence began.
"I was avoiding the paparazzi in the basement," Siddanth whispered back, pulling his mask down slightly to breathe, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the tub resting on her lap. "Is the movie good so far?"
"It's insane," Arjun muttered from his other side, staring at the screen in pure, unadulterated awe. "The VFX rendering on that waterfall is flawless. The CGI budget must be astronomical."
Siddanth smiled, settling back into his plush seat.
He didn't need to ask if the movie was good. Coming from the future, Siddanth possessed an eidetic memory of the film. He knew exactly what Baahubali was about to do to the Indian cinematic landscape. He knew it wasn't just a movie; it was a cultural reset that would shatter every existing box-office record in the country and redefine the sheer scale of regional cinema on a global stage.
As the epic tale of Mahishmati unfolded on the massive screen, Siddanth found himself watching his friends' reactions just as much as he watched the movie.
When Prabhas lifted the massive Shiva Lingam on his shoulders, Sameer actually cheered out loud, pumping his fist in the air. When Rana Daggubati made his terrifying entry fighting the wild bull, Feroz leaned forward, completely captivated by the sheer physical presence of the antagonist.
During the intermission, the lights flicked on. Siddanth immediately pulled his surgical mask back up and sunk lower into his seat, pulling his hood down to shield his face from the rest of the theater.
"This is the greatest Telugu movie I have ever seen," Anjali declared, leaning over Krithika to talk to Siddanth.
"The production design is incredible," Krithika agreed, her eyes wide with excitement. "The armor, the sets... it feels like a Hollywood epic."
Siddanth just nodded, offering muffled agreements through his mask. Internally, he felt a strange, nostalgic pang. He knew every twist, every glorious action set-piece, and every dramatic betrayal. He found himself wishing, just for a brief moment, that the System possessed a trait that allowed him to selectively wipe specific memories. He would have gladly erased his knowledge of Baahubali just to experience the sheer, jaw-dropping thrill of watching it for the very first time alongside his friends.
As the second half commenced and the epic Kalakeya war sequence dominated the screen, the entire theater was completely mesmerized. The sheer scale, the emotion, and the action choreography had the audience gasping and cheering.
However, as the movie neared its highly controversial, legendary climax, Siddanth knew It was almost time for the credits to roll.
He tapped Krithika's arm gently in the dark.
"I'm heading out to the car," Siddanth whispered, pulling his hood up tight. "If the lights come on and people spot me, we are going to be trapped in this theater for two hours signing autographs. I'll wait in the basement."
Krithika nodded quickly, not wanting to take her eyes off the screen as the tension peaked. "Okay. See you downstairs."
Siddanth nodded, he slipped out of his seat, and quietly exited through the side doors, entirely unseen by the captivated audience.
He took the staff elevator down to the basement parking lot and leaned casually against his silver Swift, pulling his mask off and letting out a relaxed breath. The stealth mission was a success.
He waited for fifteen minutes in the quiet, humid basement.
Suddenly, the elevator doors pinged open, and a chaotic wave of noise flooded the parking lot. Hundreds of moviegoers were pouring out, all talking loudly, arguing, and gesturing wildly.
Siddanth spotted his group walking toward the car. Feroz, Sameer, Rahul, Riya, and Kavya split off, heading toward Sameer's massive corporate SUV, while Arjun, Krithika, and Anjali walked briskly toward the silver Swift.
They looked absolutely shell-shocked.
Siddanth unlocked the car remotely as they approached. Arjun slid into the driver's seat, while Krithika and Anjali piled into the back with Siddanth. Once the doors slammed shut, Siddanth pulled the keys out of his pocket and handed them over to Arjun in the front.
The moment the engine started, Anjali exploded.
"WHY DID HE KILL HIM?!" Anjali shrieked, throwing her hands in the air, practically vibrating with frustration. "You missed the ending! It was the biggest betrayal in the history of cinema! Kattappa killed Baahubali! He literally stabbed him in the back!"
Siddanth, fully employing his acting skills, widened his eyes in perfect, feigned shock. "What? Kattappa killed him? Why?"
"WE DON'T KNOW!" Arjun yelled from the front seat, hitting the steering wheel in sheer, unadulterated cinematic agony. "The movie just ended! It literally just cut to black! We have to wait for the second part to find out why! It is the most frustrating, brilliant cliffhanger I have ever seen!"
"Rajamouli is an absolute sadist," Krithika groaned, leaning back against the seat, rubbing her temples. "I am going to be thinking about this for the next two years. Why would Kattappa do that? He raised him!"
"Maybe Bhallaladeva threatened to kill Sivagami?" Anjali theorized frantically. "Or maybe Baahubali ordered him to do it for some greater good?"
Siddanth simply sat back, a quiet, highly amused smirk playing on his lips as he watched his friends absolutely lose their minds trying to decode the greatest cinematic mystery of the decade. He knew the answer, of course, but there was no way he was going to ruin the fun for them.
"Well, I guess we'll just have to wait for part two," Siddanth said innocently. "Arjun, drive to the farmhouse. Amma made dinner."
Arjun put the car in gear, pulling out of the Prasad's IMAX basement, still muttering curses directed at S.S. Rajamouli under his breath.
They arrived at the Shamshabad farmhouse an hour later. The dinner was a massive, traditional Telugu feast prepared by Sesikala Deva. The conversation around the table was entirely dominated by Baahubali theories. Vikram Deva, who had watched the morning show, was equally invested, engaging in a fierce debate with Arjun about the movie.
By 11:30 PM, the dinner concluded. Arjun dropped Krithika and Anjali back to Tarnaka in his car before heading to his own house.
Siddanth was finally alone in his quiet bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, picking up his Apex smartphone. He opened the Twitter.
He knew exactly how crucial Baahubali was for the global recognition of Telugu cinema. He wanted to add his voice to the momentum.
His thumbs flew across the digital keyboard.
@Siddanthdeva_6:Just watched #Baahubali. Pure cinematic brilliance. S.S. Rajamouli sir has officially redefined the scale and vision of Indian cinema on a global stage. The hard work of Prabhas, Rana, and the entire team is visible in every single frame. A masterpiece. And yes... I am also wondering about climax! 👏🔥👑
He hit post, locked his phone, and tossed it onto the nightstand, entirely unaware of the massive, industry-altering ripple effect his single tweet was about to create.
Miles away from the quiet orchards of Shamshabad, in a plush, heavily secured residence in Jubilee Hills, the atmosphere was thick with absolute, suffocating dread.
S.S. Rajamouli, the visionary director who had poured five years of his life and soul, and an unprecedented, astronomical budget into Baahubali, was pacing the length of his sprawling living room. His face was pale, lined with exhaustion and mounting panic.
Sitting on the sofas around him were Shobu Yarlagadda and Prasad Devineni, the primary producers of the film. They looked equally grim, staring at their phones with expressions of sheer terror.
It was past midnight on the opening day. The initial box-office numbers from the early morning and matinee shows across the Telugu states were incredibly strong, driven purely by the unprecedented hype.
However, the word-of-mouth reports filtering back from the B and C centers—the crucial mass audience theaters—were sending shockwaves of panic through the production team.
"The distributors from the Godavari districts are calling, Rajamouli," Shobu said, his voice tight, rubbing a hand nervously over his face. "They are saying the local audiences are confused. They are frustrated by the cliffhanger. They feel cheated that there is no proper conclusion to the story."
"The mass audience wants a complete movie," Prasad added heavily, looking at a message from a theater owner in Rayalaseema. "They are saying it feels incomplete. The buyers who paid astronomical, record-breaking prices for the theatrical rights are panicking. If the Monday collections drop because of this negative word-of-mouth regarding the ending, the film will be declared a massive, historic disaster. The financial losses will be unrecoverable."
Rajamouli stopped pacing. He sank into an armchair, burying his face in his hands. He had taken the biggest risk in the history of Indian cinema by splitting the narrative and ending on a brutal cliffhanger. He had believed in his vision, but the reality of the box-office pressure was crushing him.
"If Part One flops, we are finished," Rajamouli whispered, the weight of the massive budget threatening to break him. "We have already shot thirty percent of Part Two. The financiers will pull out. We will have to completely scrap the vision for the conclusion. We might have to finish Part Two on a shoestring budget, compromise on the VFX, just to get it released and try to break even."
The producers remained silent, the grim reality settling over the room. The greatest cinematic experiment in Indian history was teetering on the edge of a colossal, humiliating failure.
Suddenly, the heavy doors of the living room swung open.
S.S. Karthikeya, Rajamouli's son and the line producer for the film, walked in. He wasn't walking slowly. He was practically sprinting, his eyes wide, holding his smartphone out in front of him like a glowing beacon.
"Nanna! (Dad!)" Karthikeya yelled, his voice cracking with sheer, unadulterated excitement. "Nanna, check Twitter! Check Twitter right now!"
Rajamouli looked up, his brow furrowed in confusion and irritation. "Karthikeya, we are in the middle of a crisis meeting. The distributors are panicking. I don't care about Twitter trolls right now."
"It's not trolls, Nanna! Look!" Karthikeya insisted, rushing forward and shoving the phone directly into his father's hands. "Siddanth Deva just tweeted about the movie!"
Rajamouli blinked, staring at the screen. Shobu and Prasad immediately stood up and leaned over the director's shoulder, their eyes instantly locking onto the glowing blue verified checkmark.
They read the tweet in absolute silence.
...Absolute, pure cinematic brilliance... S.S. Rajamouli sir has officially redefined the scale and vision of Indian cinema on a global stage... A masterpiece...
For ten seconds, nobody in the room breathed.
Siddanth Deva wasn't just a cricketer. He was the undisputed number one athlete in the country. He was the CEO of a multi-billion dollar global tech empire. He possessed an aura of perfection. When Siddanth Deva endorsed something, the entire nation listened. His social media engagement metrics dwarfed those of elite Bollywood superstars and leading politicians combined.
"He called it a masterpiece," Shobu whispered, the color slowly returning to his face.
"Scroll down," Prasad urged Karthikeya, pointing at the screen with a trembling finger. "Check the comments. Check the quote retweets."
Karthikeya quickly swiped down. The comment section under Siddanth's tweet was a digital avalanche of overwhelming, euphoric positivity.
@CricketNerd99:If the Devil of Cricket says it's a masterpiece, I am booking my tickets right now! I didn't care about the movie before, but if Siddanth Deva vouches for it, it must be incredible! 🔥
@BollywoodUpdates:Siddanth Deva just called a Telugu movie a global masterpiece. The entire Hindi belt is going to wake up tomorrow and rush to the theaters to see what the hype is about! This is massive! 🤯
@BleedBlue_11:Even Siddanth is thinking about climax! 😂 Now I have to go watch it just to join the debate! Booking my tickets for the Sunday show!
@TeluguCinePhile:I watched it this morning and was honestly a bit confused by the ending, but Siddanth is right. The sheer scale and VFX are brilliant. Going for a rewatch tomorrow to catch the details! 🍿🙌
@MovieGeek_IN:Watched it tonight. The ending hit me like a truck, but the Kalakeya war sequence alone is worth the ticket price. If the Devil loves it, it's a verified blockbuster! 👑
The negative, frustrated murmurings of the local distributors were instantly, violently drowned out by a colossal, national tidal wave of positive validation. The endorsement from the Vice-Captain of the Indian cricket team had instantly legitimized the film's vision, shifting the narrative from "frustrating cliffhanger" to "must-watch cinematic event."
Rajamouli stared at the phone screen, his hands shaking slightly. The crushing, suffocating weight that had paralyzed him just moments ago evaporated, replaced by a massive, soaring rush of adrenaline and profound gratitude.
He didn't hesitate. He pulled out his own phone and immediately drafted a reply to Siddanth's tweet.
@ssrajamouli:I am truly, deeply honored by your words, @Siddanthdeva_6. Coming from a champion who constantly redefines boundaries on the cricket pitch, this praise means the world to me and my entire team. Thank you for validating our vision. 🙏🏹 And regarding climax... you will just have to wait with the rest of the world! 😉
He hit post.
Rajamouli looked up at his producers. The panic in their eyes had entirely vanished, replaced by the sharp, calculating gleam of industry veterans who knew the tide had just permanently turned in their favor.
"The Hindi belt," Shobu realized, his voice thick with awe. "Siddanth's tweet is going to break through the Hindi market. The North Indian audience doesn't know Prabhas or Rana, but they worship Siddanth Deva. If he tells them to watch it, they will flood the theaters tomorrow."
"We don't panic," Prasad declared, his confidence completely restored, running a hand through his hair. "We don't compromise on Part Two. We wait. We let the internet do its job. By Monday morning, the box office numbers are going to be historic."
Rajamouli sat back in his armchair, letting out a long, slow breath. He looked back down at the screen, reading the tweet one more time. The Devil of Cricket had just unknowingly, effortlessly saved the greatest cinematic gamble in Indian history.
Over the next few days, the prophecy of the producers came true with terrifying accuracy.
Fueled by the massive national attention generated by Siddanth's tweet, the Hindi-speaking belt woke up to the phenomenon. Theaters across Mumbai, Delhi, and North India, which had seen modest openings on Friday, reported house-full boards by Saturday afternoon.
The internet became a battleground of theories regarding Kattappa's betrayal, turning the perceived weakness of the cliffhanger into the greatest marketing hook of the decade. The term "Why Kattappa Killed Baahubali" became a national obsession, trending non-stop for weeks.
By Monday morning, the box office numbers rolled in, shattering every conceivable record. Baahubali: The Beginning had grossed an astronomical amount, firmly establishing itself as a pan-Indian blockbuster and permanently erasing the boundary lines of regional cinema. The gamble had paid off, and the vision for Part Two was secured.