The change from the cold, mist-covered peaks of Dharamshala to the heat of the Deccan Plateau felt like a shock, but it was welcome.
After India's hard-fought victory against New Zealand in the mountains, the 2023 World Cup schedule gave the squad seven days before their next match against England in Lucknow.
The BCCI had used the gap to give the players a chance to go home, step away from the tournament for a while, and rest.
On the afternoon of October 22, the private Nexus jet landed at Rajiv Gandhi International Airport in Hyderabad.
By 1:00 PM, the Phantom was passing through the gates of the Shamshabad estate.
Siddanth Deva was still carrying some of the tension of the Indian captaincy in his shoulders. The moment they turned onto the gravel driveway, he seemed to relax.
Beside him, Krithika rolled down her window and breathed in the smell of the mango orchards.
The twins were already excited, their faces pressed to the glass.
"We are home! I see the big trees!" Aadhya announced.
She had barely unbuckled before car parked at the foot of the steps.
The front doors stood open.
Vikram and Sesikala were waiting on the veranda.
"Thatha! Nanamma!"
Aadhya ran up the steps and into her grandfather's arms. Vikram laughed as he lifted her.
Rishi followed at a slower pace. He went straight to his grandmother and wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Nanamma, missed you."
"Me too," Sesikala said, touching his hair before pulling Krithika into a hug. "Come. We have flowers waiting for us."
Krithika's parents, Suma and Subba Rao, had gone to Anjali and Arjun's home in the city to spend the festival week with their new granddaughter, so they couldn't come.
Deva was the last to reach the veranda. He dropped his duffel inside, hugged his mother, and then shook his father's hand before pulling him into a hug.
"You batted well in the mountains, Sid," Vikram said. "That was a fine century."
"Thanks, Nanna."
Deva glanced down the veranda.
Flowers covered the woven mats. Orange and yellow marigolds sat beside white chrysanthemums, pink and white Gunugu, and Tangedu blossoms.
The scent of fresh flowers and damp earth filled the air.
"The flowers are everywhere!" Aadhya said.
"It is the final day," Sesikala told her. "Saddula Bathukamma. We are going to make a big Bathukamma today. But first, everyone eats. Go freshen up."
After lunch—rice, dal, and ghee—the family changed into loose cotton clothes and gathered on the veranda.
Sunlight filtered through the banyan trees while they sat among the flowers.
Sesikala placed a brass thambalam in front of her. Krithika sat beside her, separating the Tangedu blossoms and preparing them for the base.
Deva sat on the floor with the others. He plucked Gunugu from its stems and dropped the flowers into a basket.
Rishi and Aadhya were given the job of sorting the marigolds.
"Orange in this basket, yellow in that one," Krithika told them. "Keep them separate."
"I am very fast at sorting," Rishi said.
He examined each flower before placing it in the correct basket.
Aadhya took a less careful approach. She grabbed handfuls and tossed them in, then occasionally threw one at her brother.
"Look at this one, Nana!" she said, holding up a large orange marigold. "It is as big as a tennis ball. I could smash it with my racquet."
"Don't smash the flowers, monster," Deva said, laughing. He tossed a soft Gunugu blossom at her.
It bounced off her nose.
She giggled and reached for another flower.
Then she stopped.
Her eyes widened.
"Ahhh! A bug! Nana, a bug!"
She scrambled backward, nearly knocking over a basket.
Deva dropped the flower in his hand and leaned toward her. Krithika pulled her hands back. Rishi bent down to look.
A small green beetle crawled out from beneath the marigolds.
"It is green and has a hard shell," Rishi said.
"It's going to bite me!" Aadhya cried, hiding behind Deva.
Deva did not laugh.
"He is not going to bite you," he said. "Look at him. He is tiny."
"He has too many legs."
Deva smiled and picked up a wide leaf.
"He doesn't want to be here," he said. "He was probably in the garden when we brought the flowers inside. Now he's lost."
Aadhya peeked around his shoulder.
"He's lost?"
"Yes. Imagine someone picked up your bed while you were sleeping and carried it somewhere strange. You would be scared too."
She nodded.
"So we'll help him get back."
Deva placed the leaf on the floor and gently guided the beetle onto it.
He lifted it and showed it to Aadhya.
"See? He's just a little visitor."
Aadhya leaned closer.
"He looks like a shiny rock."
"Do you want to carry him back to the grass?"
She shook her head.
"No. You do it, Nana. You are bigger."
Deva laughed and carried the leaf to the edge of the veranda. He tipped it gently, and the beetle disappeared into the grass.
When he returned, he sat beside her.
"Mission accomplished," he said, tapping her nose. "Back to work, sorter."
Aadhya laughed and returned to the flowers.
---
By late afternoon, the brass thambalam was filling.
Sesikala and Krithika worked from the center outward, beginning with pumpkin leaves and then building rings of flowers. Tangedu formed the base, followed by marigolds, chrysanthemums, and Gunugu.
They kept the colors in neat layers.
As the evening light faded, the Bathukamma stood nearly three and a half feet tall.
Sesikala shaped a small cone of turmeric paste for the Gouramma, placed a red kumkum dot on it, and set it at the top.
"It is beautiful, Athamma," Krithika said.
"It is very tall," Rishi said, standing beside it and comparing the height with his own head.
Vikram came onto the veranda wearing a cream silk pancha.
"It is almost as tall as you," he said. "Now go get dressed. We are doing the evening pooja soon."
The family went inside to bathe and change.
When they returned, they were dressed for the festival.
Deva wore a maroon silk pancha and kurta. Krithika wore an emerald Kanjeevaram saree with a gold border, her braid decorated with jasmine.
Rishi wore a cream pancha like his father.
Aadhya came out in a yellow and pink pattu pavadai, her gold bangles chiming as she walked.
"I am very shiny!" she announced, admiring herself in the mirror.
"You are," Deva said, lifting her into his arms.
They returned to the veranda.
"It is time to move this," Vikram said. "It is heavier than it looks."
Deva crouched at one side of the brass plate while his father took the other.
"On three. One, two, three."
They lifted.
The flowers shifted slightly as they carried the Bathukamma toward the courtyard.
Aadhya suddenly ran underneath it.
She stood between her father and grandfather, reached up, and put both hands against the bottom of the brass plate.
"I got it, Nana! I am carrying it!"
She pushed with all her strength.
Deva laughed.
Vikram did too.
"You are strong," Deva told her. "We couldn't do it without you."
"Hold it right there!"
Krithika had taken out her phone.
She stepped back and took a picture.
The photograph caught the scene exactly as it was: Deva and Vikram carrying the Bathukamma between them, while Aadhya stood underneath it, convinced she was doing the heavy lifting.
"Got it," Krithika said. "That one is going in the family album."
They placed the Bathukamma in the center of the courtyard beside the smaller flower arrangements prepared earlier.
The evening celebration was ready to begin.
Hundreds of diyas lit the courtyard.
Women from the household staff, the groundskeepers' families, and the estate managers' families had gathered for the evening. They wore bright sarees and filled the courtyard with conversation and laughter.
A speaker at the edge of the courtyard played traditional Telangana folk music.
The women formed circles around the Bathukamma.
Krithika and Sesikala joined them.
They stepped in rhythm, clapping as they moved, singing together.
"Bathukamma, Bathukamma, Uyyalo..."
"Bangarru Bathukamma, Uyyalo..."
Aadhya lasted two minutes on the sidelines.
Then she ran into the circle.
She squeezed herself between Krithika and one of the cooks and tried to copy the women.
Her feet came down too hard. Her claps were out of time. She jumped instead of stepping.
No one cared.
The women laughed and made room for her.
Deva stood near a stone pillar with his phone in his hand.
He recorded Krithika and Aadhya as they danced.
Krithika caught his eye and smiled.
Aadhya was a blur of pink and yellow.
Rishi walked over and stood beside him watching everyone dance calmly.
After an hour, the music slowed.
The final prayers were offered.
It was time for the Nimajjanam.
Deva and Vikram lifted the main Bathukamma again. The women carried the smaller ones.
They followed the stone path toward the lake at the back of the estate.
The water was still, reflecting the moon.
Krithika removed the turmeric Gouramma from the top.
Deva and Vikram stepped into the water and lowered the Bathukamma onto the surface. The others placed the smaller ones beside it.
The flowers floated on the pumpkin leaves.
Everyone stood quietly on the shore and watched the flower arrangements drift across the lake.
The celebration ended without ceremony or noise.
Only the flowers remained on the water.
---
A day after Saddula Bathukamma brought Vijayadashami.
In Telangana, the festival includes traditions centered on work, family, land, and good fortune.
The morning began with Ayudha Pooja.
The vehicles in the estate driveway had been washed and polished. The Phantom, Range Rover, Swift, and John Deere tractors stood in a line.
Vikram and the estate managers applied turmeric and kumkum to the vehicles and placed marigold garlands over them.
Deva and Rishi had their own ritual.
They sat on a woven mat with Deva's Nike cricket bats laid between them.
"Nana, why are we putting red dots on the wood?" Rishi asked.
"These are my tools," Deva said. "They help me do my work. Today we thank the things that help us."
He pressed a dot of kumkum onto the first bat.
"The bats work hard too," Rishi said, studying the marks left by years of cricket.
"They do."
Deva handed him the bowl.
"Put the dot on the other one."
Rishi dipped his thumb into the paste and carefully pressed it onto the second bat. He added a small marigold garland around the handle.
"Very good," Deva said.
After the pooja, the family had breakfast.
"All right," Vikram said. "It is time for the walk."
Finding the Palapitta, the Indian Roller, on Dasara is considered auspicious in Telangana. For the Deva family, looking for one had become part of the tradition.
They walked into the mango orchards.
After twenty minutes, Aadhya was losing patience.
"Where is the blue bird, Thatha? Is he hiding?"
"Don't scare him," Krithika said. "We have to be quiet."
They walked farther until they reached a clearing near the boundary, where neem trees stood above the path.
Rishi stopped.
He gently tugged at Deva's sleeve.
"Nana. Up there."
Deva looked up.
"Third branch from the top," Rishi whispered. "Near the brown leaves."
Deva followed his gaze.
A small bird sat on the branch.
It looked brown at first.
Then it flew.
Blue flashed across its wings as it dropped after an insect.
"Palapitta!" Sesikala said.
"I see it!" Aadhya shouted.
"Good eyes, Rishi," Vikram said. "You found it."
Deva looked toward the tree.
"I hope it is a good sign, Nanna."
---
By evening, the family gathered near the Jammi Chettu at the edge of the estate.
Vikram stood before the tree with a brass plate and a small camphor lamp.
He recited the prayer:
"Shami Shamayathe Papam... Shami Shatru Vinasini..."
When the pooja was finished, he took a few leaves and passed them around.
On Dasara, these leaves are exchanged as Bangarum—gold.
Deva held the leaves in his palm.
He turned to his father.
"Bangarum, Nanna."
He placed the leaves in Vikram's hands, then bent to touch his father's feet.
Vikram placed a hand on his son's back and blessed him.
Deva did the same with his mother.
Krithika followed, giving the leaves to her in-laws and taking their blessings.
Then Deva called the twins.
"Rishi, Aadhya. Go give the Bangarum to Thatha and Nanamma."
Rishi went first.
"Bangarum, Thatha."
He placed the leaves in his grandfather's hand and touched his feet.
Aadhya followed.
"Here is the gold, Nanamma!"
She dropped the leaves into Sesikala's hand and bent down to touch her feet before jumping up again.
Sesikala laughed and kissed them both.
For Deva, the gesture carried more weight than its simplicity suggested.
Outside the estate gates, he was the captain of India and a man whose name was known around the world.
Here, he was his father's son.
And his children were learning the same tradition.
The day ended around the dining table.
The food was spread across the room: Bagara Annam, mutton curry, and Natu Kodi Pulusu.
Deva sat at the head of the table with his sleeves rolled up.
He took a serving of rice and mutton and began eating with his hands.
"This is incredible, Amma," he said. "You can't get this flavor in any hotel."
"Eat well, Siddu," Sesikala said, adding another piece of mutton to his plate. "You need your strength. The English bowlers will not feed you."
"The English bowlers are going to be unhappy on Sunday," Deva said.
The table filled with laughter.
Aadhya complained that the chicken was too spicy.
Rishi picked the cloves out of his rice and lined them up on a tissue.
Krithika leaned against Deva as Vikram told a story about his own childhood Dasara celebrations.
Deva looked around the table.
The strain of the tournament had eased. The noise outside the family home seemed far away.
The flowers, the beetle, the Bathukamma, the blue bird, and the Bangarum had done what he needed them to do. They had brought him back to himself.
Tomorrow he would fly to Lucknow.
He would put the blue India jersey back on, step onto the field, and face England.
But tonight he was only a father who had carried a beetle back to the garden, and a son who had offered his parents green leaves as gold.
His roots were here.
And that was enough.