The morning sun reflected brilliantly off the polished black exterior of the NEXUS armored SUV as it idled smoothly on the gravel driveway of the Shamshabad estate.
Inside the grand foyer of the farmhouse, Siddanth Deva was adjusting the cuffs of his immaculate, dark navy-blue tailored Bandhgala suit.
"Siddu, stand still for a second," Sesikala Deva commanded, stepping in front of him. She wore an incredibly elegant, Pochampally silk saree in deep crimson. She reached up, making a microscopic, completely unnecessary adjustment to the collar of his suit. "You are meeting the Chief Minister today. You have to look proper."
"I am standing perfectly still, Amma," Siddanth smiled, offering a slight, patient sigh.
Vikram Deva walked out of the living room, checking his wristwatch. He looked dignified in a crisp, cream-colored silk Shirt and black pants . "We should leave. The traffic near Hitec City can be unpredictable, and it doesn't look good for the guests of honor to be late."
"We won't be late, sir," Rahul said as he stepped through the front door. Rahul was holding a secure clipboard and an earpiece. "I've monitored the route, and the traffic is quite light on the Outer Ring Road right now. The CISF has already secured the perimeter at the venue."
"Good," Siddanth nodded. "Do you have the bag, Amma?"
Sesikala patted the elegant leather tote bag hanging from her shoulder. "Right here. Safe and sound."
"Let's go," Siddanth said.
The family stepped out into the humid morning air and climbed into the plush, air-conditioned rear cabin of the SUV. Rahul took the front passenger seat, signaling the driver. The heavy iron gates of the estate swung open, and the vehicle smoothly merged onto the highway.
The Telangana State Government was pulling out all the stops. Winning the 2016 ICC World T20 on home soil was a monumental achievement for the nation, but for the newly formed state of Telangana, having their homegrown son lift the trophy and take the MVP honors was a point of fierce, undeniable pride.
As the SUV navigated the elevated expressways, Siddanth looked out the tinted window. Massive billboards lined the highway, featuring his face mid-swing, accompanied by the text: Telangana Bids a Grand Salute to the World Champion.
---
Twenty minutes later, the SUV pulled into the sprawling, highly secured compound of the Shilpakala Vedika, a grand, traditional auditorium situated in the heart of Hitec City.
The moment the SUV doors opened, the flashbulbs began.
A massive throng of media personnel, secured behind heavy barricades, shouted his name. Siddanth stepped out, immediately turning to help his mother step down from the high clearance of the vehicle. He buttoned his Bandhgala and offered a polite wave to the press, his face a mask of confidence.
As they walked up the red carpeted steps into the grand, air-conditioned lobby of the auditorium, a familiar, booming voice echoed through the marble hall.
"There he is! The Champion!"
Kalvakuntla Taraka Rama Rao, universally known as KTR, the dynamic and highly popular IT and Municipal Administration Minister of Telangana, walked forward with a massive smile.
Siddanth stepped forward. "Namaste, Anna."
KTR pulled Siddanth into a firm, highly affectionate hug, patting him heavily on the back. "What a tournament, Sid. Absolutely spectacular. You had the entire state on the edge of its seat during that Bangladesh match."
"Just trying to keep the broadcasters happy, Anna," Siddanth joked smoothly as they pulled apart.
KTR laughed, instantly turning his attention to Siddanth's parents. He pressed his palms together respectfully. "Namaskaram, Vikram garu. Namaskaram, Amma. You have raised a boy who has put our state on the global map. Please, come inside."
KTR personally escorted the Deva family through the VIP corridors. The auditorium was packed with the elite of Hyderabad. Top bureaucrats, prominent industrialists, and leading figures from the Telugu cultural sphere were all seated in the premium rows.
As they walked toward the front row, KTR gestured toward a group of men standing near the aisle. "Sid, I believe you know some of our prominent guests from the cinema industry."
Siddanth looked over. Standing there was a man with a thick, curly beard and intensely sharp, visionary eyes. It was S.S. Rajamouli, the undisputed titan of Indian cinema, whose magnum opus Baahubali: The Beginning had shattered every conceivable box office record the previous year.
Siddanth immediately stepped forward, offering a respectful smile. "Namaste, Rajamouli sir."
Rajamouli's face lit up. He grasped Siddanth's hand warmly. "Siddanth! Namaste. First of all, a massive congratulations on the World Cup. You play cricket the way a director shoots a climax—absolute high drama and flawless execution."
"Coming from you, sir, I consider that the highest compliment," Siddanth replied graciously.
"And secondly," Rajamouli continued, his tone shifting to one of genuine gratitude, "I have been meaning to thank you personally. That tweet you posted the night Baahubali released... you have no idea the impact it had. When the most followed man in the country praises a Telugu film, the Northern Hindi audience sits up and takes notice. It helped our opening numbers immensely."
Siddanth let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Please, sir, don't say thank you so easily. If you really want to pay me back for the tweet... you can just tell me why Kattappa killed Baahubali."
The entire group around them, including KTR and Vikram Deva, erupted into genuine laughter. It was the biggest, most agonizing pop-culture mystery in the country.
Rajamouli laughed loudly, pointing a finger at him. "Nice try, Siddanth. But you'll have to wait until next year like everyone else. I am not leaking the script, not even to the World Cup winner."
"Fair enough," Siddanth smiled.
"Please, take a seat next to me," Rajamouli offered, gesturing to the plush VIP chairs in the front row. "I have actually been wanting to talk to you."
Siddanth ensured his parents were comfortably seated next to KTR before taking the seat beside the legendary director.
As the auditorium buzzed with anticipation for the Chief Minister's arrival, Rajamouli leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a more private register.
"Siddanth, I saw the video," Rajamouli said, his eyes carrying that unmistakable spark of a creative obsessive. "The proposal animation you uploaded online. The entire industry is talking about it."
"I hope it was up to the mark, sir," Siddanth replied modestly.
"Up to the mark?" Rajamouli scoffed lightly. "It was brilliant. The build-up, the framing, the volumetric lighting when the Shiva Dhanush broke... it was breathtaking. I have worked with some of the best VFX studios in the world for Baahubali, and I have never seen rendering quite like that. The cel-shaded textures mixed with hyper-realistic physics... it felt like a moving oil painting. Did a NEXUS subsidiary animate that?"
"It was a personal passion project, sir," Siddanth answered smoothly. "I wrote a custom compression and rendering software to handle the light particles. It allows for real-time rendering without massive server farms."
Rajamouli looked at him in sheer awe. "You coded the rendering engine yourself? Between hitting centuries?"
Siddanth offered a subtle shrug. "Cricket is my profession, sir. Coding is my hobby."
Rajamouli leaned in even closer, his director's mind instantly recognizing an unprecedented technological advantage. "Is there any chance I could license this software for Baahubali 2? It would cut our rendering and post-production time in half."
Siddanth offered a polite, somewhat apologetic smile. "I can't right now, sir. The engine is simply too raw. I would need to hire and train an entire dedicated team of employees just to make the interface usable for an external VFX studio. But once it is commercialized in the future, I'd be more than happy to help with your upcoming movies."
"I will hold you to that," Rajamouli promised.
"Actually, Rajamouli sir, I wanted to pick your brain about something else," Siddanth said, shifting the topic. "Seeing the overwhelming, massive response from the anime and gaming communities for that short video... it gave me an idea. I am seriously considering setting up an animation studio under the NEXUS."
Rajamouli's eyes widened with interest. "To do what?"
"To make a Trilogy," Siddanth said, his voice quiet but carrying immense weight. "A high-budget, theatrical animation trilogy of the Ramayana. I want to use that exact same animation style. Dark, mythological, and purely rooted in our Vedic history."
Rajamouli stared at him, the gears turning rapidly. "A high-budget theatrical animation in India? Siddanth, that is incredibly risky. The Indian audience still views animation as 'cartoons for children.' The theatrical returns for animated films here are historically terrible."
"I know," Siddanth nodded, entirely pragmatic. "I have run the market analytics. The anime community in India is growing rapidly, but it is not large enough yet to guarantee a return on a 500-crore investment. I am not interested in making a vanity project that loses money."
"Then how do you sell it?" Rajamouli asked, intensely curious.
"By merging the mediums," Siddanth explained, his eyes locking onto the director's. "I need a massive, guaranteed theatrical draw to pull the masses into the theaters. I don't want to just voice-cast actors. I want to use Prominent Star Faces. If I capture the exact likeness of a massive Indian superstar for Lord Rama, and use his face for the 3D models and all the marketing... his fanbase will flood the theaters on opening weekend, regardless of whether it is live-action or animated."
Rajamouli slowly leaned back in his chair, a look of immense respect crossing his face. "A hybrid draw. You use the superstar's face to guarantee the opening, and you use the animation to break the physical limits of visual storytelling without spending a thousand crores on CGI."
"Exactly," Siddanth nodded. "But I need the right face. Someone who commands a god-like presence on screen. Someone who is currently the most talked-about man in Indian cinema."
Siddanth paused, letting the implication hang in the air.
"I have already sketched the concept art," Siddanth continued. "And frankly, sir, I want Prabhas for Lord Rama."
(A/N: Bahubali Prabhas was good looking, after that meh. And I also don't want Adipurush to happen.)
Rajamouli chuckled, running a hand through his beard. "Prabhas. You certainly don't aim low, do you?"
"I don't," Siddanth smiled. "Since you are his director and his close friend... I was hoping you could make an introduction. Set up a private meeting between us so I can pitch the concept to him."
Rajamouli didn't even hesitate. He nodded firmly. "Consider it done. After what you did for our film with the Hindi audience, this is the least I can do. I will talk to Prabhas, tell him about your vision, and we will set up a private meeting. But I warn you, getting dates out of him right now is harder than winning a World Cup."
"I'll bring my laptop and the rendering engine," Siddanth promised. "Once he sees the test footage, I think he'll make the time."
Before Rajamouli could respond, a sudden, sharp flurry of activity erupted at the main entrance of the auditorium. The heavy brass doors swung open, and an imposing phalanx of black-clad security personnel marched in, creating a wide corridor.
"The Chief Minister is here," someone announced.
The entire auditorium—ministers, billionaires, and cinema icons alike—instantly rose to their feet in respect.
Walking down the center aisle, flanked by his security detail, was Kalvakuntla Chandrashekar Rao, the Chief Minister of Telangana, universally known as KCR. He wore his signature crisp white shirt and trousers, his face carrying that distinct, sharp, highly observant intelligence that had led the statehood movement.
As KCR walked toward the front row, his eyes locked onto the Deva family. He stopped in front of Siddanth.
KCR pressed his palms together, offering a deep, respectful greeting to Vikram and Sesikala. "Namaskaram, Vikram garu Sesikala garu. You must be incredibly proud today."
"We are, sir. Thank you," Vikram replied warmly, returning the gesture.
KCR then turned to Siddanth. A warm smile broke across the Chief Minister's face.
"Bagunnava, Siddanth?" (Are you doing well, Siddanth?) KCR asked, placing a very affectionate hand on the cricketer's broad shoulder.
Siddanth smiled, instantly matching the Chief Minister's grounded, local tone. "Bagunna sir. Miru ela unnaru?" (I am doing well, sir. How are you?)
KCR chuckled, a folksy, highly charismatic sound. "Edo itla unna..." (Just getting by like this...)
The Chief Minister patted Siddanth's shoulder once more before walking up the steps to the main stage, taking his seat at the center of the grand dais.
The ceremony officially began.
The compere welcomed the dignitaries and highlighted the historical significance of the World Cup victory. Following the traditional lighting of the lamp, Chief Minister KCR stepped up to the podium and adjusted the microphones.
"Brothers and sisters of Telangana," KCR's voice boomed, instantly commanding the attention of the room. His oratorical skills were legendary. "Today, we are gathered not just to celebrate a game of cricket. We are gathered to celebrate excellence."
He gestured toward the front row.
"Siddanth Deva. I want to invite our World Champion, along with his respected parents, to join me on stage."
The auditorium erupted into a standing ovation. Siddanth gently placed a hand on his mother's back, guiding her and his father up the carpeted stairs to the brightly lit stage. They stood beside the Chief Minister.
"First of all," KCR began, turning to Siddanth with a mischievous glint in his eye, "Congratulations on winning the World Cup. It was a spectacular display of skill. But more importantly... congratulations on your engagement."
"The whole internet went completely mad trying to figure out who the mystery girl is," KCR continued, his tone turning highly conversational and humorous. "I will respect your privacy, Siddanth. I will not ask for her name or her family details. But you are a son of this soil, so you must answer me this one question... is she a Telugu ammayi?" (Is she a Telugu girl?)
The auditorium erupted into massive laughter and applause at the direct, culturally pointed question.
Siddanth couldn't help but smile widely. He leaned into the microphone on the podium.
"Yes, sir," Siddanth confirmed smoothly. "Telugu ammayi."
KCR slapped his hand against the podium in triumph. "Well, I am very happy then! The boy has good sense!"
The crowd roared in approval.
KCR allowed the laughter to die down before his tone shifted to a more contemplative, respectful register.
"When we decided to organize this appreciation ceremony," KCR explained to the audience, "the cabinet had a very serious discussion. Traditionally, when an athlete wins a World Cup or an Olympic medal, the state government honors them with a prime plot of land in Jubilee Hills, or a massive cash prize of a few crores."
KCR paused, looking directly at Siddanth.
"But then we looked at Siddanth's file," KCR chuckled drily. "The boy is a billionaire. He owns NEXUS. He is currently building a 5,000-crore Smart Stadium in Nagole. If I offer him a house plot, he might just buy the entire neighborhood next to it. We were pulling our hair out trying to figure out what a government can possibly gift a man who has everything."
Siddanth kept his face perfectly neutral, though a hint of amusement danced in his eyes.
"But then," KCR continued, raising a finger, "I learned a very fascinating fact about our World Champion. A fact that perfectly showcases his character. Siddanth Deva has a net worth in the thousands of crores. Yet, if you look at the motor vehicle registry, he personally owns exactly three cars."
The audience went completely quiet, highly intrigued.
"The first," KCR listed, "is a 2008 Silver Maruti Swift. The very first car he ever bought from his early cricket earnings. The second is a Tata Grand Sumo, which he received as a Man of the Series prize years ago. And the third is an Audi sports car, which was gifted to him by the BCCI for winning the 2012 World Cup."
KCR turned to Siddanth, holding out his hand to playfully offer him the main microphone. "I have to ask you, Siddanth, right here in front of everyone. Since 2012, despite becoming one of the wealthiest young men in Asia, you have not purchased a single new luxury car for yourself. You travel in the company's SUVs or you drive your old cars. Why?"
Siddanth stepped forward, leaning into the microphone. He offered a small smile.
"It is just a car, sir," Siddanth answered simply, his voice echoing through the silent auditorium. "It doesn't matter which one I drive. It just takes me from point A to point B."
A murmur of appreciation swept through the crowd.
"Spoken like a boy with a true middle-class family mentality," KCR praised loudly, taking the podium back. "He has not let the billions corrupt his humility. He respects the value of money. So, our government decided... if the boy refuses to buy a luxury car for himself, the State of Telangana will buy one for him."
KCR gestured toward the large screen behind the stage. The screen flared to life, displaying a stunning, high-definition image of a sleek, formidable vehicle.
"As a token of our immense pride and appreciation, the Government of Telangana is gifting Siddanth Deva a custom-imported, heavily armored Range Rover Autobiography."
The crowd erupted into massive applause. It was a staggering gift, valued well over two and a half crores, and perfectly suited to his need for high-end security and comfort.
Siddanth smiled warmly, bowing his head slightly in acceptance.
"Thank you, sir," Siddanth said into the microphone. "It is a beautiful gift."
KCR nodded. He gestured to his aides, who immediately brought forward heavy, exquisitely woven silk shawls. KCR personally draped a golden Shalwa over Siddanth's broad shoulders, honoring him in the highest traditional manner, before doing the same for Vikram and Sesikala Deva.
As the official photographs were being taken, Siddanth leaned over to his mother.
"Amma, the bag," he whispered.
Sesikala immediately unzipped her leather tote bag and pulled out a neatly folded, pristine blue garment. She handed it to her son.
Siddanth turned back to the Chief Minister. "Sir, you have honored my family today beyond words. But I also brought something for you."
Siddanth unfolded the garment. It was his official, match-worn Indian National Cricket Team jersey from the World Cup Final. He turned it around, revealing the back. Emblazoned in bold white lettering was DEVA, and below it, the iconic number 6. Right across the number, Siddanth had signed it with a thick silver marker, adding a personalized message of gratitude to the State of Telangana.
KCR's eyes widened in genuine delight. He took the jersey, holding it up proudly by the shoulders for the entire auditorium to see.
"I am going to frame this in my office," KCR announced loudly into the microphone, his eyes twinkling with trademark humor. "But if the state budget ever falls short for a new highway, I am putting this on auction!"
The auditorium roared with laughter as the media cameras went into frenzy, flashbulbs exploding like strobe lights as the Chief Minister of Telangana and the Devil of Cricket posed together.
Once the photos were complete, KCR stepped back, offering the podium entirely to Siddanth.
Siddanth adjusted the microphone. He looked out at the packed auditorium.
"I have had the privilege of playing cricket in stadiums all over the world," Siddanth began, his voice calm, resonant, and effortlessly commanding. "I have heard the roar of the crowd in Melbourne, in London, and in Mumbai. But I can tell you with certainty... nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to the feeling of coming back home."
He looked at KCR and KTR.
"The support this state has given me, from my early days playing local league cricket in Gymkhana grounds to standing here today... it is the foundation of everything I have achieved. You have gifted me a magnificent car today, but the true gift is knowing that whenever I step onto the pitch, I carry the pride and the unbreakable spirit of Telangana with me."
"Thank you, Chief Minister sir. Thank you, KTR anna. And thank you to the people of this great state. Jai Hind. Jai Telangana."
The Shilpakala Vedika erupted. It wasn't polite, corporate applause; it was a roaring, thunderous ovation. The pride in the room was palpable, a physical, vibrating energy.
As the ceremony concluded and the dignitaries began to filter off the stage, KTR walked over to the Deva family.
"That was a magnificent speech, Sid," KTR smiled. "Short, powerful, and from the heart."
"Thank you, Anna," Siddanth nodded.
"Listen, the formal protocol is over," KTR said, gesturing toward the VIP exit. "I have arranged a private lunch for us in the VVIP dining hall upstairs. Just our families and a few close associates. Please, join us."
Vikram Deva smiled, but immediately raised a highly practical finger. "We would be honored, KTR garu. But I have to ask... is there Gongura Pachadi? Because if it is just fancy continental food, I might just go home."
KTR burst out laughing, clapping Vikram on the shoulder. "The best traditional pickles in the state, sir. I promise you."
"Excellent," Vikram beamed.
Before leaving the main hall entirely, he quickly walked over to S.S. Rajamouli, who was speaking with a bureaucrat.
"Rajamouli sir," Siddanth called out gently.
The director turned, offering a warm smile. "A brilliant speech, Siddanth."
"Thank you, sir," Siddanth said. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a sleek, matte-black business card. It didn't have the NEXUS corporate logo on it. It just had his name and a single, direct, highly encrypted phone number.
He handed it to the director.
"This is my direct line, sir," Siddanth said quietly. "Call me whenever you want to set up the meeting with Prabhas. I'll make sure my schedule is clear."
Rajamouli took the card, his eyes gleaming with the unmistakable excitement of a storyteller who had just found a new frontier.
"I will speak to him this week, Siddanth," Rajamouli promised, slipping the card into his pocket.
Siddanth smiled, a sharp thrill of anticipation coursing through him. He offered a respectful nod, turned on his heel, and walked out of the auditorium to join his parents, ready to conquer the next empire.