The morning sun rose over the towering fiberglass walls of the Kakatiya set, casting harsh, bright light across the central courtyard. The logistics team had already cleared the empty water bottles, the paper plates, and the scattered chairs from the previous night's party. The courtyard was pristine again.
However, the residential manors were moving at a much slower pace.
At 10:00 AM, the heavy wooden door of the Groom's manor slowly creaked open. Sameer stepped out onto the stone pathway. He did not walk with his usual fast stride. He shuffled. He kept his knees slightly bent, favoring his left leg. He winced as his heel struck the hard gravel.
He walked toward the main dining hall. Halfway down the path, he encountered Virat Kohli and Shikhar Dhawan walking from the opposite direction.
Virat was walking stiffly, holding his lower back with his right hand. Dhawan was stretching his neck from side to side, rubbing his shoulders.
"I cannot feel my calves," Virat announced as Sameer approached them. "I woke up, tried to get out of bed, and my legs completely locked up. I had to roll off the mattress onto the floor."
"The Bhangra jumps," Dhawan nodded sympathetically. "We did too many jumps. My hamstrings are completely tight."
"I am not playing any sport for a week," Sameer declared, leaning against a stone pillar. "I danced for five straight hours. I carried the Tollywood actors. I carried the uncles. I am physically compromised."
They walked together toward the catering tent, moving like three elderly men recovering from a severe accident.
They entered the dining area. The live dosa counters were operating, but the lines were completely empty. Most of the guests were still asleep.
Siddanth was sitting at the long wooden table near the back. He was wearing a fresh white t-shirt and grey track pants. He was eating a massive plate of hot idlis, pouring generous amounts of peanut chutney over them. He looked completely refreshed.
Sameer, Virat, and Dhawan pulled out chairs and sat down heavily across from him.
"How are you eating?" Virat asked, staring at Siddanth's plate. "My stomach is still processing the midnight Maggi."
"I have a high metabolic rate," Siddanth replied simply, picking up an idli. He looked at the three of them. "You all look terrible."
"We are injured," Sameer stated. "We sustained dance-related trauma."
"You lack basic stamina," Siddanth corrected him. "You play five-day Test matches. You should be able to handle a Sangeet."
"A Test match has lunch breaks and tea breaks," Dhawan pointed out, signaling a waiter for a cup of black coffee. "DJ did not give us a tea break. He just kept dropping heavy mass tracks. It was relentless."
The waiter brought three cups of black coffee and a plate of fresh watermelon slices. The three men ignored the heavy breakfast items entirely, sipping their coffee in silence and watching Siddanth finish his meal.
After breakfast, Siddanth walked out to the central courtyard. The sun was hot, so the guests who were awake gathered under the massive, sprawling shade of the primary Banyan tree.
The staff had set up several low wooden tables under the tree. On the center table sat a large, heavy, professional-grade carrom board.
M.S. Dhoni and Ravindra Jadeja were already sitting on opposite sides of the board. They had dusted the smooth wooden surface with fine boric powder.
Siddanth pulled up a chair and sat down next to Dhoni. Sameer and Virat dragged their chairs over, forming a complete circle around the board.
"Singles or doubles?" Jadeja asked, arranging the flat wooden coins—black and white—into a perfect circle in the center of the board, placing the red 'queen' coin directly in the middle.
"Doubles," Dhoni said calmly. He looked at Siddanth. "You and me, Sid. Against Virat and Jadeja."
"I am sitting this out," Sameer announced, leaning back in his chair. "I am the umpire."
"You are a terrible umpire, Sameer," Virat said, grabbing the heavy plastic striker. "You took bribes during the volleyball match yesterday."
"I take my carrom umpiring very seriously," Sameer countered.
Virat placed the striker on the baseline directly in front of him. He aimed for the cluster of coins in the center. He flicked his middle finger violently.
The striker flew across the powdered board and smashed into the circle of coins. Clack. The black and white coins scattered across the square surface, hitting the wooden edges and bouncing back. Not a single coin fell into the four corner pockets.
"Too much power, no direction," Dhoni assessed quietly.
It was Dhoni's turn. He took the striker. He did not aim for the center. He looked at a white coin sitting near the top right pocket. He placed the striker on his baseline, adjusted his angle by two millimeters, and flicked his finger with a smooth, effortless motion.
The striker hit the edge of the board, rebounded perfectly, struck the white coin, and knocked it cleanly into the pocket. Thwump.
"One point," Sameer announced.
The game continued at a slow, highly strategic pace. The shade of the Banyan tree kept the area cool. The ambient noise of the Kakatiya set consisted entirely of the sharp clack of the carrom striker and the occasional bird calling from the branches above.
It was the exact opposite of the previous night's chaos. It was quiet, lazy, and completely relaxed.
Jadeja lined up a shot. He needed to hit a black coin into the bottom left pocket, but a white coin was blocking the direct path. He leaned over the board, trying to calculate the rebound angle.
"You cannot hit that," Virat told his partner. "Play a defensive shot. Move our coin away from the pocket."
"I can hit it," Jadeja insisted. He flicked the striker. It hit the white coin, entirely missing the black one.
Siddanth took the striker. He had a clear shot at the red queen. He placed the striker, lined up his index finger, and shot. The striker hit the queen, sending it straight into the top left pocket.
"Queen pocketed," Sameer declared. "You need a cover."
Siddanth immediately placed the striker again, aimed at a white coin sitting near the bottom right pocket, and flicked it. The white coin dropped in.
"Cover secured," Dhoni nodded approvingly. "Good shot, Sid."
"He is using geometry," Virat complained, watching Siddanth collect the coins. "He is calculating the angles in his head. It is an unfair advantage."
"It is basic physics, Virat," Siddanth said, handing the striker to Dhoni.
They played four full games under the tree. The morning slowly bled into the afternoon. More guests filtered out of their manors, joining the quiet atmosphere. Feroz and Arjun set up a game of chess on the adjacent table. Shikhar Dhawan found a quiet corner on a Persian carpet and actually fell asleep, his cap pulled down over his eyes.
At 1:00 PM, the catering staff opened a light lunch buffet. They served simple curd rice, lemon rice, and clear vegetable soup, accommodating the guests' recovering stomachs.
After lunch, Siddanth walked back to the Groom's manor. He needed to rest. The physical and mental marathon of the wedding was entering its final, most highly ritualized phase.
He slept for three hours.
At 4:30 PM, a sharp knock on his bedroom door woke him up.
"Come in," Siddanth called out, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
Rahul walked into the room carrying a large, flat, woven bamboo tray. Behind Rahul walked the head priest, an elderly man wearing a crisp white dhoti and three horizontal lines of sacred ash across his forehead.
"It is time, Siddanth babu," the head priest said gently. "The Snathakam ceremony begins in thirty minutes."
Siddanth nodded. He stood up and walked toward the bathroom to take a quick shower.
When he returned, Rahul handed him the clothes from the bamboo tray.
There were no heavy silk kurtas today. There was no intricate embroidery or modern tailoring. The tray held only two pieces of unstitched, pure white cotton cloth with a simple gold border.
"Just the pancha," the priest instructed.
Siddanth took the white cloth. He wrapped the long dhoti around his waist, pleating it and tucking it securely. He took the second piece of white cloth—the kanduva—and draped it diagonally over his bare left shoulder. He wore no shirt. He wore no watch. He removed his gold chain.
He walked out of the bedroom and into the central courtyard of his manor.
The staff had set up a small, square brick fire pit—a homam—in the center of the courtyard. The priest's assistants were already arranging dry mango wood inside the pit.
Siddanth's parents, Vikram and Sesikala, were sitting on low wooden planks near the fire pit. His extended family stood in a circle around them.
Virat, Dhawan, Sameer, and the rest of the cricketers walked into the courtyard. They stopped near the stone pillars, watching the setup. They were dressed in simple kurtas, understanding that the mood had shifted from celebration to strict religious tradition.
"What is happening now?" Virat whispered to Sameer.
"This is the Snathakam," Siddanth's Mama explained quietly, standing next to Virat. "It is one of the oldest Vedic rituals. It translates to 'graduation' or 'the holy bath'. In ancient times, a young man would leave his home and live in an ashram to study the scriptures. This ritual marks his return from the ashram. It officially signifies the end of his bachelorhood—the Brahmacharya stage—and his readiness to enter the Grihastha stage, the life of a householder."
Virat nodded slowly, watching Siddanth sit down cross-legged on a low wooden plank next to the unlit fire pit.
The head priest sat opposite him. He began chanting deep, rhythmic Sanskrit mantras. The sound filled the courtyard, completely changing the atmosphere. It felt ancient, heavy, and immensely serious.
The priest struck a match and lit the camphor inside the brick pit. The dry mango wood caught fire immediately, sending a thin column of white smoke up toward the open roof of the manor.
"Hold out your right hand," the priest instructed Siddanth.
Siddanth extended his hand. The priest poured a few drops of holy water into Siddanth's palm.
"Drink," the priest said. Siddanth sipped the water. This was the internal purification.
The priest then handed Siddanth a small silver bowl filled with raw rice mixed with turmeric and ghee. As the priest chanted, he instructed Siddanth to throw small pinches of the rice directly into the burning fire.
Swaha, the priest chanted.
Siddanth threw the rice. The fire flared slightly.
Swaha.
Siddanth threw another pinch.
They repeated this process for twenty minutes, invoking the blessings of the fire god, Agni, to purify the groom's mind and body.
Finally, the priest reached into his brass tray. He pulled out a single, thin silver thread.
He leaned forward and tied the silver thread securely around Siddanth's left wrist.
"This is the Vratam thread," the priest announced, his voice carrying to the edge of the courtyard. "It is a vow. From this moment until the wedding mangalsutra is tied tomorrow, the groom is bound by strict religious rules. He cannot leave the village perimeter. He cannot engage in conflict. He is spiritually sealed for the marriage."
Siddanth looked at the silver thread on his wrist. He nodded once, accepting the vow.
"The Snathakam is complete," the priest declared, standing up.
The family members stepped forward and applied small dots of wet turmeric to Siddanth's forehead, blessing him.
"Alright," Sameer whispered to Virat, rubbing his hands together. "The serious part is over. Now we do the theatrical part."
"What theatrical part?" Dhawan asked, leaning in.
"The Kasi Yatra," Sameer grinned. "Watch."
The priest turned back to Siddanth. "Now, Siddanth babu, you must perform the Kasi Yatra."
The staff immediately brought forward three highly specific props. They handed Siddanth a pair of wooden sandals—khadalu—which had a single wooden peg that went between the toes. They handed him a closed black umbrella. They handed him a thin bamboo walking stick. Finally, they handed him a small, heavy book bound in red cloth, representing the Vedas.
Siddanth stood up. He slipped his feet into the uncomfortable wooden sandals. He tucked the book under his left arm. He held the bamboo stick in his right hand. He opened the black umbrella and held it over his head.
He looked absolutely ridiculous, a 6'4" international player dressed as an ascetic scholar.
Virat burst out laughing. He couldn't hold it in. Shikhar Dhawan covered his mouth, his shoulders shaking.
Siddanth ignored them.
He turned toward the heavy wooden doors of the Groom's manor and began to walk. The wooden sandals struck the stone floor with a loud, distinct clack-clack sound.
"Where is he going?" Virat asked, confused.
"He is going to Kasi," Subba Rao explained, smiling broadly at the tradition. "Varanasi. In the ancient times, after graduating, some men felt they were not ready for marriage. They decided to renounce worldly life and walk all the way to Kasi to study the scriptures forever. The groom pretends to do exactly that. He is abandoning the wedding."
"He is walking away?" Dhawan asked, highly entertained.
"Yes," Sameer said, stepping up right behind Siddanth. "And we are his disciples. Follow my lead."
Siddanth walked out of the manor doors and into the main Kakatiya courtyard. The sun was setting, casting long orange shadows.
Sameer walked right behind Siddanth. He clasped his hands together and began to wail dramatically.
"Oh, Guruji!" Sameer cried out, projecting his voice loudly. "Do not leave us! You are too young to renounce the world! Think of the fast bowling attack! Who will open the bowling in England?"
Virat caught on instantly. He ran up to Siddanth's left side, pretending to wipe away fake tears.
"Guruji, please!" Virat yelled, grabbing Siddanth's bare arm. "Kasi is too far! You are wearing wooden sandals! You will get blisters! Stay here and get married! They have excellent catering here!"
Siddanth did not break character. He kept his eyes focused straight ahead. He adjusted his grip on the bamboo stick and kept walking toward the main exit archway of the Kakatiya set. Clack. Clack. Clack.
Dhawan ran up to his right side, holding a small plate of sweets he had grabbed from the catering tent.
"At least take these laddoos for the journey, Guruji!" Dhawan pleaded, holding the plate out. "The road to Kasi is treacherous! You cannot survive on spiritual energy alone!"
The entire family followed the procession, laughing loudly at the cricketers' dramatic performances. Siddanth's father, Vikram, was laughing so hard he had to stop walking.
Siddanth approached the massive stone archway that marked the exit of the village. He was only ten feet away from officially leaving the perimeter.
Suddenly, a figure stepped directly into the center of the archway, completely blocking his path.
It was Varun.
Varun was Krithika's younger cousin. He was a fourteen years old, wearing a crisp yellow silk kurta. He looked slightly nervous standing in front of Deva, but he planted his feet firmly on the stone path and crossed his arms over his chest.
In a traditional Telugu wedding, this specific role belonged to the bride's brother. Since Krithika only had younger sister, Anjali, her younger cousin took up the mantle.
Siddanth stopped walking. The clack of his wooden sandals ceased.
Sameer, Virat, and Dhawan stopped their fake crying and stepped back, letting the ritual play out.
Varun looked up at Siddanth. He cleared his throat. He had memorized the speech, but he delivered it with his own nervous, teenage energy.
"Stop right there," Varun commanded, his voice cracking slightly on the first word. He cleared his throat again and found a deeper register. "Where are you going?"
"I am going to Kasi," Siddanth replied, his voice deep and serious. "I have decided to renounce the material world. I will spend the rest of my life studying the holy scriptures on the banks of the Ganges. Step aside, young man."
Varun shook his head stubbornly. He did not move an inch.
"Kasi is very far," Varun argued, sticking to the script. "The journey is difficult. You do not need to go to Kasi to find meaning in life. You can find it right here. As a householder."
Siddanth looked down at the teenager. He raised an eyebrow slightly. "And how will I do that?"
Varun took a deep breath. "My sister is there. Come."
The simplicity and directness of the specific line made the entire crowd smile. Varun pointed his finger back toward the Bride's manor across the courtyard.
"She is a very good girl," Varun continued, gaining confidence. "She is highly educated. She is very caring and thoughtful. She is very beautiful, and she will make an excellent wife. She will manage your home, and she will support you in all your duties. If you marry her, you will gain more spiritual merit than you would by reading books in Kasi."
Varun reached out and firmly grabbed the thin bamboo walking stick in Siddanth's right hand.
"Do not go to Kasi," Varun demanded one final time. "Come back. Marry my sister."
Siddanth stood there for a long moment. He looked at the teenager holding his stick. He looked at Virat and Sameer, who were watching him expectantly. He looked across the courtyard toward the Bride's manor, where Krithika was currently sitting in her own pre-wedding rituals.
Siddanth allowed a slow, genuine smile to break through his stoic, ascetic expression.
"Alright," Siddanth agreed quietly.
He uncurled his fingers and let Varun take the bamboo walking stick. He lowered the black umbrella and handed it to one of the staff. He handed the red-bound book to the priest.
Finally, he stepped out of the uncomfortable wooden sandals, his bare feet touching the cool stone of the Kakatiya set.
"I will not go to Kasi," Siddanth announced clearly to the crowd. "I will marry your sister."
Varun grinned widely, visibly relieved that the confrontation was over and he had delivered his lines correctly. He reached out and shook Siddanth's massive hand.
The family erupted into loud cheers. The older aunts started a high-pitched, traditional ululation that echoed through the stone archways.
Sameer clapped Virat on the back. "He surrendered again! Second time in two days!"
"He has no fighting spirit left," Virat joked, shaking his head.
The head priest stepped forward, holding a silver plate. "The Kasi Yatra is complete. The groom has officially accepted the proposal of marriage. He will now return to the mandapam
The entire procession turned around. Siddanth walked back toward the Groom's manor, surrounded by his laughing teammates and his highly entertained family.
The sky above the Kakatiya set turned a deep, bruised purple, giving way to the night. The final rituals of the bachelor were over. The silver thread was tied securely around his wrist. The vow was made. The journey was halted.
The sun would rise in eight hours. And when it did, the gates would finally open, the music would play, and the Muhurtham would begin.