The streets of Bengaluru on the night of Diwali were filled with light and sound.
The Indian team bus moved slowly through the congested roads, surrounded by firecrackers, honking horns and the cheers of fans lining the pavements. The sky above the city flashed with gold, crimson and green.
Inside the air-conditioned bus the atmosphere mixed exhaustion with relief.
Nine matches. Nine victories.
They had completed the most dominant group-stage campaign in the history of the ODI World Cup. Every pitch, every opposition and every doubt had been dealt with. As the bus pulled through the secured gates of their hotel, the weight of the tournament lifted for a few hours.
Tonight was not about net run rates or semi-final positions. Tonight was Diwali.
The hotel management and the BCCI had turned the private inner courtyard into a traditional festive space.
As the players stepped off the bus they saw thousands of earthen diyas flickering in the night breeze. Pathways were lined with orange and yellow marigolds mixed with jasmine. Detailed rangolis of coloured sand and flower petals decorated the marble floors of the lobby and the entrance to the lawns.
"Alright, boys," Siddanth Deva called out as they entered the lobby. "We have an hour. Go upstairs, get out of those blues and put on something bright. The festival starts at nine."
There was a tired but eager cheer as the squad headed for the elevators and their suites, where their families were already waiting.
Inside the Deva family suite the scene was busy and cheerful.
Krithika stood in front of the mirror adjusting the pallu of a deep royal-blue Banarasi silk saree. The gold zari work caught the light.
"Sid, can you please help Aadhya with her dupatta?" she asked over her shoulder, pinning her hair. "If she steps on it one more time she is going to rip the embroidery."
Deva, freshly showered and smelling of sandalwood, came out of the dressing area. He wore a deep emerald-green silk kurta with silver thread work around the collar and white pants.
He walked over to his five-year-old daughter. Aadhya was dressed in a bright magenta and gold lehenga. She was treating it like a sports uniform, squirming impatiently.
"Stand still, monster," Deva said, dropping to one knee. He draped the gold-fringed dupatta over her shoulder and pinned it carefully so it would not drag. "There. Now you look like a proper princess."
"I am a shiny princess," Aadhya agreed, looking at the mirror work on her skirt. She stomped her foot so her silver anklets jingled. "I want to go see the fireworks in the sky, Nana! Let's go!"
"We will, we will," Deva smiled, standing up.
Rishi walked out of the bedroom. He wore a miniature cream-coloured silk kurta with a small dark-blue Nehru jacket. He looked neat.
"You look very sharp, buddy," Deva said.
"Thanks, Nana," Rishi replied, looking at his sleeves. "Amma said the silk is delicate, so I cannot wipe my hands on it if I eat sweets."
"That is a good rule," Krithika laughed, kissing Rishi's cheek. She looked at Deva. "You look handsome, Captain."
"You look beautiful," Deva said, wrapping an arm around her waist for a brief kiss on forehead. "Are we ready?"
"We are ready," Krithika nodded, picking up her clutch.
The family walked down to the private banquet lawns.
When they stepped onto the outdoor lawns the sight was impressive.
The area was reserved for the team, coaching staff and families. Soft instrumental music played, mixed with the distant sound of city fireworks. Low seating with silk cushions sat under banyan trees draped in fairy lights.
The centrepiece was the food.
The BCCI catering team had prepared a large Indian feast.
A long buffet ran the length of the lawn. Copper handis held fragrant vegetable biryanis. There were bowls of Dal Makhani slow-cooked over wood fires, platters of paneer tikka, along with different vegetable dishes, alongside baskets of garlic naan and parathas glistening with ghee.
The dessert section was equally tempting: hot gulab jamuns, fresh jalebis being fried, silver-leafed kaju katli and rasmalai.
Deva and Krithika greeted the other families. Rohit Sharma, in a bright yellow kurta, laughed with his wife Ritika while holding their daughter Samaira. Mohammed Siraj and Ishan Kishan, in embroidered outfits, were already near the eating.
Virat Kohli and Anushka Sharma stood near the seating area. Virat wore a white silk kurta. His attention was fixed on the dessert counter.
"Don't do it, Virat," Deva said, walking up and clapping him on the shoulder.
Kohli turned. "Sid! Look at it, man. Just look at it."
He pointed at the live jalebi counter. The man known for his strict fitness and diet looked as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff.
"It's dripping in sugar syrup," Anushka laughed, linking her arm through Krithika's. "He has been staring at that counter for ten minutes. He is trying to work out how many hours on the treadmill one jalebi will cost him."
"It's Diwali!" Rohit shouted, walking over with a plate of biryani. He bumped Kohli's shoulder. "Forget the diet, Virat! We just went 9-0! You scored a hundred against South Africa! The calories don't count tonight."
"Rohit is a bad influence, but he is right," Deva grinned, taking an empty plate. "You have run hundreds of miles between the wickets this month. One plate of sweets will not ruin anything."
Kohli sighed, then smiled.
"You know what? I have earned it," he said. "I am having the chole bhature. I am having the gulab jamun. I am having the jalebi. Nushkie, please look away."
"I am not looking," Anushka laughed, covering her eyes as Kohli headed for the food.
Around the tables the mood was warm and relaxed. The pressure of the World Cup was set aside. Players, wives and coaches sat together, eating, laughing and sharing stories.
Mohammed Siraj tried to persuade Kuldeep Yadav to eat a green chilli, resulting in coughing and laughter from the fast bowlers. Rahul Dravid sat quietly with his wife, smiling as he watched the team enjoy the evening.
It felt like a family dinner.
After the plates were cleared the hotel staff brought out large decorated boxes.
The children knew at once.
The boxes held safe, ground-level fireworks: flower pots, ground spinners and long sparklers.
"Alright, kids, come here!" Rohit called, taking charge of the fireworks.
Rishi, Aadhya, Samaira, Vamika and the other children ran to the centre of the lawn. The parents formed a loose circle around them.
Deva walked over to Rishi. He took a long sparkler, lit the tip with a fireplace lighter and handed it to his son.
"Hold it near the bottom, buddy. Keep it away from your clothes."
Rishi took the sparkler.
The five-year-old, who usually spent his time quietly watching, reading or asking questions, looked at the glowing sparks in his hand.
His eyes went wide. A pure smile spread across his face.
"Look, Amma!" he shouted. "It is so shiny!"
He waved the sparkler through the air and discovered that moving it left a trail of light.
"I am making circles!" Rishi laughed, running in a small circle on the grass. He ran over to Samaira and Vamika. "Look! We have magic wands!"
The three children stood together, giggling and waving their sparklers, completely absorbed in the simple lights.
Krithika stood a few feet away watching her son. She leaned against Deva's side.
Deva put his arm around her and kissed her hair. "He's having a good time."
"He's just being a little boy, Sid," Krithika whispered. "No books. No serious thoughts. Just a normal five-year-old with a sparkler. It is beautiful."
"He is allowed to just be a kid," Deva said, watching Rishi laugh as the golden light reflected in his eyes.
While Rishi enjoyed the sparklers, the other half of the Deva twins was on a different path.
Aadhya had watched the sparklers. They were pretty but quiet. She marched to the box of fireworks in her magenta lehenga, ignored the sparklers and pointed at a large conical flower pot.
"I want that one!" she told Rohit. "Make it explode!"
"I'll light it, Aadhya. You have to stand back," Rohit said, placing the flower pot in the centre of the lawn.
He lit the fuse and stepped back. A few seconds later a fountain of silver and gold sparks shot into the air, lighting the lawn.
"Yes!" Aadhya shrieked, jumping and pumping her fists. "More fire! Bigger fire!"
When the flower pot finished, Rohit handed out thicker sparklers to the adults.
Virat Kohli, still in a good mood after his meal, lit his sparkler and wandered over to Aadhya.
This was a mistake.
Weeks earlier in Dharamshala, Kohli had teased Aadhya during a game of hallway cricket and been chased with a plastic bat.
Apparently he had forgotten.
He walked up to her, waving the burning sparkler.
"Look at this, Aadhya," he teased. "My sparkler is brighter than yours. My fire is the best."
Aadhya narrowed her eyes. The competitive streak flared. She took an unlit sparkler, thrust it into a nearby diya until it caught, and turned back to Kohli.
"My fire is bigger!" she declared.
"No, mine is bigger," Kohli laughed, taking a step back and waving his sparkler. "And I am faster than you, so I win."
Aadhya's face set.
"Cheater!" she yelled.
She raised the burning sparkler like a sword, let out a high-pitched shout and charged at the Indian vice captain.
Kohli's grin disappeared. His eyes widened as a determined five-year-old sprinted toward him with a stick of fire.
"Whoa! Aadhya, wait! I was joking!" he yelled, turning on his heel.
Kohli ran across the lawn. He was not jogging. He was sprinting, white kurta flapping.
"Come back here! I will burn your shoes!" Aadhya roared, legs pumping, the heavy lehenga slowing her but not stopping her.
The lawn erupted in laughter.
Rohit collapsed onto a cushion, holding his stomach. Ishan Kishan and Suryakumar Yadav pointed and howled at the sight of one of the fittest players in the world running from a toddler in a skirt.
"Sid! Control your daughter!" Kohli shouted over his shoulder as he dodged a catering table. "She is actually trying to set me on fire!"
Deva stood near the edge of the lawn with a cup of chai, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. He made no move to intervene.
"You provoked her, Cheeks!" he called. "You have to deal with the consequences! Protect your shins!"
"I am sorry! Your fire is bigger! Your fire is the biggest!" Kohli yelled, sprinting in a wide arc back toward the seating.
He reached Deva and ducked behind him, using Deva as a shield.
Aadhya skidded to a halt in front of her father, panting, sparkler still burning. She glared at Kohli, who peeked over Deva's shoulder.
"I am the fastest," she huffed, pointing the sparkler. "Do not say you are faster."
"You are the fastest," Kohli said, laughing and holding up his hands. "I submit. You are the champion."
Aadhya nodded, satisfied, and marched off to find Rohit and demand another flower pot.
"I am telling you, Sid," Kohli said, stepping out and dusting his kurta. "That kid is going to lead an army one day. She has no fear."
"She is a menace," Krithika agreed, handing Kohli a glass of water. "But you should know better by now, Virat. Never challenge her."
"Lesson learned," Kohli grinned, taking a long drink.
As the clock struck midnight the energy of the Diwali celebration began to settle.
Smoke from the fireworks hung low, carrying the smell of burnt powder. The sounds of the city grew softer.
The children had finally crashed. Aadhya was asleep on Krithika's shoulder. Rishi had nodded off on a pile of cushions under a blanket.
The wives and younger players started heading upstairs.
On the quiet lawn a small group remained.
Siddanth Deva, Rohit Sharma, Virat Kohli and Head Coach Rahul Dravid had pulled four lounge chairs into a semi-circle near the edge of the grass.
There were no cameras and no microphones.
The laughter of the evening had faded into a quiet, mature silence. The calendar was catching up with them.
Dravid took a sip of green tea and looked at the three men.
"Nine and zero," he said softly. "You boys played well. You have done what was asked of you."
"The group stage is just the start, Jammy bhai," Rohit said, his usual banter gone. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "It means nothing if we don't finish the job."
Kohli stared out into the dark lawn. The light from a nearby diya flickered across his face.
"New Zealand," he said quietly.
The semi-final was set. They would face New Zealand at the Wankhede Stadium in Mumbai.
"The media will talk about 2019 non-stop for the next three days," Kohli said, jaw tight. "They will build it as the champions defending their crown. The pressure will still be heavy."
Deva sat back in his chair. He did not look anxious. He looked up at the dark Bengaluru sky with clear eyes.
"Let them talk," he said.
He looked at Kohli, then at Rohit.
"We are not the same side that lifted the cup in 2019," Deva said. "That team relied heavily on individual brilliance. This one is different."
He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
"Look at the side we have built. Look at the bowling attack. Shami, Bumrah, Siraj. They are not just taking wickets. They are putting the opposition under real pressure. Look at our middle order. Shreyas, KL, Surya. We were 2 for 3 against Australia in Chennai and we still won comfortably. We have been tested in every condition."
Deva picked up his glass of juice.
"New Zealand is a good team. They are disciplined and they fight hard," he said. "But they are walking into our ground. They are playing in Mumbai. On our soil. Under our lights."
He raised his glass slightly.
"We do not carry the weight of 2019," Deva said. "We carry the standard. We go to Mumbai, we put them under pressure in the first ten overs, and we march to Ahmedabad to lift the trophy again. That is the only acceptable outcome."
Kohli let out a slow breath. The tension left his shoulders. A determined smile touched his lips. He picked up his glass of water.
Rohit Sharma nodded. The steel returned to his eyes. He raised his glass.
Rahul Dravid smiled, pride clear on his face, and raised his teacup.
"To Mumbai," Deva said.
"To Mumbai," they echoed.
The glasses clinked softly in the quiet night.
The Diwali festival was over. The celebrations, the laughter and the sparklers were packed away. The lights of the hotel began to dim. The group stage was finished.
The semi-final waited. The defending champions were ready.