The alarm on Siddanth's phone vibrated against the wooden nightstand at exactly 4:30 AM.
He did not hit snooze. He sat up immediately. He swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, his feet hitting the cold stone floor of the Groom's manor.
The Kakatiya set was entirely silent.
Siddanth walked into the bathroom. He turned the heavy brass handle of the shower. He stood under the cold spray for five minutes, letting the temperature wake his muscles up completely. Then started taking bath.
He stepped out, dried himself quickly with a thick towel, and walked back into the bedroom.
He took the clothes out of his wardrobe for the morning on the bed.
It was the Madhuparkam. Siddanth looked at the fabric. It was pure, unbleached cream silk, hand-loomed by the master weavers of Pochampally. He picked up the bottom half of the garment. He wrapped the long pancha (dhoti) around his waist, carefully folding the pleats in the front and tucking the end securely behind his back.
He looked at the border. Woven flawlessly into the edge of the cream silk with pure gold zari was the exact custom design he had drafted months ago on his tablet—the intricate Kakatiya arch motif intertwined perfectly with infinity knot. He took the second piece of cloth—the kanduva—which featured the identical gold border, and draped it around his neck, resting it over his shoulders.
He walked out of the bedroom and into the central courtyard of his manor.
It was 5:15 AM. The sky above the open roof was still pitch black.
The head priest was already sitting on a low wooden plank in the center of the courtyard. In front of him sat a small brass plate containing a cone made entirely of wet, yellow turmeric paste. This was the representation of Lord Ganesha.
"Sit down, Siddanth babu," the priest instructed, his voice low and calm.
Siddanth sat cross-legged on the wooden plank directly opposite the priest. His parents, Vikram and Sesikala, sat on a separate mat slightly behind him. They also wore custom handwoven silks featuring the custom borders. The rest of the manor was completely quiet. The cricketers and the cousins were still sleeping in their respective guest houses.
"We begin with the Ganesh Pooja," the priest announced. "Before any major undertaking, we pray to the remover of obstacles. Hold out your right hand."
Siddanth extended his hand. The priest used a small brass spoon to pour three drops of water into Siddanth's palm.
"Om Keshavaya Swaha," the priest chanted.
Siddanth sipped the water.
"Om Narayanaya Swaha," the priest chanted.
Siddanth sipped the water again.
"Om Madhavaya Swaha," the priest finished.
Siddanth sipped the final drop. This was the Achamanam, the internal purification process.
The priest handed Siddanth a small silver bowl filled with wet vermilion powder (kumkum) and raw rice coated in turmeric (akshinthalu).
"Repeat after me," the priest instructed.
For the next forty-five minutes, Siddanth repeated the complex Sanskrit mantras word for word. He did not stumble over the pronunciation. With every completed verse, the priest instructed him to take a pinch of the yellow rice and place it gently onto the turmeric cone representing Ganesha.
Siddanth placed the rice. He offered a red hibiscus flower. He offered three green betel leaves. Finally, the priest handed him a whole, brown coconut.
"Break it," the priest said, pointing to a flat stone placed near the brass plate.
Siddanth held the coconut in his right hand. He raised it slightly and brought it down hard against the flat stone. Crack. The coconut split perfectly into two equal halves. The coconut water splashed across the stone.
"The obstacles are cleared," the priest declared, ringing a small brass bell. "The Groom's pooja is complete."
Across the Kakatiya village, inside the Bride's manor, a similar scene was taking place under the early morning lights.
Krithika sat in the center of her living room. She wore her Madhuparkam attire. It was a heavy, pure cream silk saree. Woven into the borders of the silk was the pure gold zari design that Siddanth wore—the Kakatiya arch intertwined with the infinity knot. The alignment was perfect. Her hair was tied back in a neat, tight braid, adorned heavily with the custom gold Jada Billa ornaments and fresh white jasmine flowers.
Her mother, Suma, sat beside her. Her sister, Anjali, sat slightly behind her, handing her the necessary items from a silver tray.
In front of Krithika sat a brass plate containing an idol made of turmeric. This was the Gauri Pooja.
"Pray to Goddess Gauri, Krithika," the priest instructed. "Pray for a long, healthy, and stable married life. Pray for strength."
Krithika closed her eyes. She pressed her palms together. She repeated the Telugu and Sanskrit chants the priest spoke.
"Offer the turmeric powder," the priest said.
Krithika took a pinch of yellow turmeric powder and sprinkled it over the idol.
"Offer the kumkum."
Krithika took a pinch of red vermilion and placed it on the idol.
Her mother reached forward. Suma held a thin, yellow cotton thread. The thread had been soaked in turmeric water and had nine small knots tied into it. Suma gently tied the yellow thread around Krithika's right wrist.
"This is the protective cord," Suma explained softly, adjusting the knot. "It will keep you safe today."
Krithika nodded, keeping her hands folded in her lap. The women in the room—her aunts, her cousins, and her friends—began singing a soft devotional song. There was no loud music. There was no dancing. It was an entirely female, highly intimate ritual focused entirely on the bride's transition.
By 7:00 AM, the sun had fully risen, bathing the Kakatiya stone walls in bright morning light.
Siddanth stood in the courtyard of his manor. The guests were finally waking up.
A group of men walked through the open front doors of the Groom's manor.
It was Subba Rao, Krithika's father, accompanied by her uncles and older male cousins. Subba Rao held a large silver tray. The tray contained fresh fruits, betel nuts, betel leaves, and a brand new, unstitched silk pancha.
Subba Rao walked directly up to Siddanth's father, Vikram Deva.
"Bava garu, muhurtham time is approaching. We formally invite the groom and his family to come to the Mandapam for the wedding."
Subba Rao held out the silver tray.
Vikram Deva smiled warmly. He reached out with both hands and accepted the tray. "We accept the invitation, Bava garu. We will bring the groom."
Subba Rao placed a dot of red kumkum on Siddanth's forehead. He turned and walked back out of the manor, returning to the Bride's side to prepare for their arrival.
"Alright," Sameer said, adjusting the collar of his kurta. "Let's move."
Siddanth walked out of his manor. The staff had prepared the transport exactly as instructed.
Standing on the wide gravel pathway was a magnificent, heavily decorated wooden chariot—a ratham. The chariot was constructed from dark carved wood, adorned with fresh garlands of yellow marigolds and white jasmine. It was hitched to a pair of tall, muscular white horses.
Siddanth stepped up onto the chariot. His parents, Vikram and Sesikala, stepped up beside him. Sesikala held a large, circular brass thambulam plate in her hands. In the center of the plate, a small oil diya burned steadily, shielding the flame from the morning breeze with her hand.
The groom's procession was officially ready to begin.
This was not a standard, loud Baraat. There was no dancing in front of the chariot.
Instead, a massive ensemble of thirty traditional musicians stood at the front of the procession in perfect formation. They held long wooden Nadaswarams and heavy Thavils.
The lead musician raised his instrument. The thirty-piece band began to play simultaneously. The sound was incredibly powerful, completely overtaking the ambient noise of the village. It was a slow, steady march.
The handler clicked his tongue. The white horses stepped forward, pulling the heavy wooden chariot.
Siddanth stood tall on the ratham. His back was perfectly straight. His friends and the rest of the Indian cricket team walked in two organized columns behind the chariot. They clasped their hands behind their backs, walking at the exact pace set by the massive drum section.
They walked slowly through the Kakatiya village pathways. The procession covered two hundred meters before reaching the designated meeting point—a wide, open intersection between the manors and the main palace courtyard.
This was the location for the Edurukollu.
The horses stopped. Siddanth, Vikram, and Sesikala stepped down from the chariot.
On the opposite side of the intersection stood the Bride's family. Subba Rao, Suma, and Krithika's entire extended family stood in a tight formation. Krithika was not with them; she remained hidden inside her manor.
The two families faced each other, separated by ten feet of open space. The classical music stopped.
The head priest from Siddanth's side stepped forward into the empty space, holding a microphone.
"We represent the Groom," the priest announced, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "We bring forth Siddanth Deva. Let his lineage be known to all present here."
The priest unrolled a small piece of paper. He began reading the Pravara, the formal declaration of ancestry.
"He belongs to the Bharadwaja Gotra," the priest chanted loudly. "He is the great-grandson of the honorable Raghava Deva. He is the grandson of the respected Ram Deva. He is the proud son of Vikram Deva. He comes seeking the hand of the bride."
The priest stepped back.
The head priest from Krithika's side stepped forward into the center. He held his own microphone.
"We represent the Bride," the second priest announced with equal volume. "We bring forth Krithika. Let her lineage be known."
He unrolled his paper.
"She belongs to the Koundinya Gotra," the priest chanted. "She is the great-granddaughter of the honorable Ramana Rao. She is the granddaughter of the respected Venkata Rao. She is the proud daughter of Subba Rao. She stands ready for marriage."
The second priest stepped back.
Now, the formal ritual required a playful banter between the elders—a mock argument over the character and suitability of the bride and groom.
Subba Rao stepped forward. He looked at Vikram Deva across him.
"Vikram Deva garu," Subba Rao started, his voice firm but carrying a hint of a smile. "You bring your son here today, asking for our daughter. We see his strength. But what about his character? We need a man who is calm, a man who will not bring anger into our household. Is your son capable of such peace?"
Vikram Deva smiled. He stepped forward.
"Subba Rao garu," Vikram Deva replied smoothly. "My son has a very good character. He possesses immense discipline. He is calm by nature. He does not act rashly."
Krithika's eldest uncle, standing next to Subba Rao, immediately countered the point. "If he is so calm, Vikram garu, if he is so peaceful... how can such a calm person possibly protect our daughter? If trouble comes to their door, will he just stand there quietly? We need a protector, not a saint."
The Bride's side of the family murmured in agreement at the strategic counter-argument.
Vikram Deva laughed, a deep, resonant sound. He looked directly at the uncle.
"You misunderstand his calm," Vikram Deva clarified. "He stays calm normally. But make no mistake. When someone says something about his family, when someone threatens his home... he has a rudra roopam (a fierce, destructive form). He will become a shield of fire. Do not worry about her protection. He will dismantle any threat before it even reaches her."
The Groom's side of the family, particularly the cricketers who had seen that exact rudra roopam on the pitch, clapped loudly in approval.
"Now," Vikram Deva continued, turning the questioning around. "I have answered for my son. But why should I marry him to your daughter, Subba Rao garu? My son has a difficult life. He is constantly traveling, constantly under pressure. He needs an anchor. Why is Krithika the right anchor?"
Subba Rao did not hesitate. "Because she is compassionate, Vikram garu. She does not just see his strength; she sees his exhaustion. She will support him unconditionally throughout his life. When the world demands everything from him, she will be the one who takes care of him and restores his peace. She will be the quiet center of his storm."
Vikram Deva nodded respectfully, accepting the answer.
The uncles from the Bride's side decided to push a little further, keeping the tradition alive.
"Does he know how to cook?" another uncle demanded playfully. "If our daughter is sick or not able to cook, will she be lying empty stomach? We cannot give our daughter to a man who only knows how to hold a leather ball."
"He makes excellent instant noodles," Sameer yelled from the back of the Groom's crowd, completely unprompted. "And he can boil an egg perfectly for exactly six minutes!"
The entire crowd erupted into laughter, breaking the formal tension. Vikram Deva shook his head at Sameer but smiled.
"He knows how to cook," Vikram Deva promised over the laughter. "I assure you, he is a better cook than most of the people present here."
Vikram Deva looked at Subba Rao, his expression turning sincere. "I agree, Subba Rao garu. The arguments are settled. We are incredibly blessed to have your daughter coming to our son. We ask for her hand."
Subba Rao smiled, but he raised his hand, halting the immediate conclusion.
"I will marry my daughter to your son, Vikram Deva garu," Subba Rao said, his voice suddenly thick with heavy emotion. "But on one condition."
The laughter in the crowd completely vanished. The courtyard went entirely silent. Siddanth watched Krithika's father closely.
"What condition?" Vikram Deva asked gently.
"You must promise me. You should take care of her... not like a daughter-in-law. You must take care of her as your own daughter."
The silence hung in the air.
Vikram Deva did not smile. He did not offer a polite nod. His voice boomed across the entire Kakatiya intersection, filled with conviction.
"Hear me, everyone!" Vikram Deva shouted, his voice echoing fiercely off the stone walls. "On behalf of every single member of my family, I give you my word. She will never have to earn her place in our home. From today, it is already hers. She is our daughter."
Subba Rao let out a long, shaky breath. A wide relieved smile spread across his face.
"Then we are satisfied," Subba Rao declared.
The crowd erupted into massive, emotional cheers. Subba Rao walked forward across the ten-foot gap. He carried a thick, heavy garland made entirely of fresh, white jasmine flowers and red roses. Vikram Deva walked forward to meet him. They exchanged the garlands, officially welcoming each other. The two fathers hugged tightly.
The Edurukollu was complete. The families were officially joined.
"To the Mandapam," the head priest instructed.
The thirty Nadaswaram musicians resumed their classical march. Siddanth mounted the ratham once more. The procession moved forward, passing through the massive, towering archway that served as the entrance to the main Kakatiya palace courtyard.
The main courtyard was incredibly wide. In the center of the space stood the Mandapam.
The Mandapam was raised exactly two feet off the ground on a solid wooden platform. It was supported by four thick wooden pillars, intricately carved with lotus motifs. The roof of the Mandapam was an open grid of wooden crossbeams, heavily decorated with thousands of fresh yellow marigolds, green mango leaves, and strings of white jasmine.
The seating arrangement surrounding the Mandapam was highly specific.
A massive, raised wooden dais had been constructed around the entire perimeter of the courtyard, forming a square amphitheater. On this raised dais sat rows of comfortable, cushioned wooden chairs. For the closer family members and friends who preferred sitting on the floor, thick, incredibly soft Persian carpets were rolled out directly on the stone floor, forming a wide circle immediately surrounding the Mandapam platform.
Siddanth rode the chariot up to the entrance of the palace. He stepped down. He entered the palace and walked towards the Mandapam, then he took off his leather slippers, walked barefoot across the soft Persian rugs, stepped up onto the two-foot wooden platform, and walked into the center of the Mandapam.
He sat down cross-legged on a low, wooden peeta facing the east.
The head priest immediately sat opposite him and began the pre-marriage rituals.
"We begin with the Mahasankalpam," the priest announced. He handed Siddanth a small brass spoon of water. "We declare the specific date, time, and planetary alignment under which this sacred union is taking place."
Siddanth focused on the priest's instructions. He poured the water over the betel leaf. He kept his posture straight. The Vratam thread tied around his wrist the previous night demanded ritual discipline.
While Siddanth chanted, the guests at Kakatiya began to filter into the courtyard and find their seats.
From the corner of his eye, Siddanth saw M.S. Dhoni walking down the central aisle. Dhoni was holding his daughter, Ziva, in his arms. Sakshi walked beside him, pointing out the intricate floral arrangements on the Mandapam roof to the toddler. They found their designated seats on the raised dais.
Rohit Sharma and his wife, Ritika, walked in next, followed closely by Yuvraj Singh, who was adjusting the cuffs of his heavy silk kurta.
At the main entrance archway of the palace set, Arjun, Sameer, and Feroz stood as the official ushers. They were greeting and guiding the day guests who were arriving from the city.
A large, loud group of young men walked through the gates. They were looking around the towering stone walls in awe.
"I cannot believe Siddanth built this," one of the men said, taking out his phone before immediately putting it back in his pocket, remembering the strict no-photography rule.
"Raju! Harish! Sandeep!" Sameer exclaimed as soon as he saw them walking through the archway.
The four men broke into wide smiles.
"After all these years, you still look the same," Raju laughed, shaking Sameer's hand.
Feroz stepped forward and hugged Harish. "It's been what, ten years since school?"
"More than that," Harish replied. "The last time all of us were together was probably during the Intermediate farewell."
Arjun joined them, grinning. "And today Siddanth finally managed to reunite everyone."
Sandeep lifted an old cricket bat. "We even brought this. The famous bat that Siddu used to break Sharma uncle's window."
Everyone burst into laughter.
"Some things never change," Feroz said.
"Come on," Arjun said. "Your seats are reserved in the front section. After the wedding we'll sit together and relive all the embarrassing school stories."
The school friends walked down the aisle, laughing and chatting quietly among themselves about how far the quiet boy from their street had come.
A few minutes later, an older couple walked through the archway. The man had grey hair and walked with a slight limp. He wore a simple, beautifully handwoven cream silk kurta with a gold border. His wife wore a matching silk saree.
Arjun immediately recognized the specific fabric. It was the custom silk Siddanth had distributed personally.
Arjun immediately recognized him.
"Coach Narender sir!" Arjun said warmly, stepping forward.
The old coach smiled instantly.
"Arjun! It's been a long time."
Arjun bent slightly in respect before shaking his hand.
"You trained both of us, sir. Whatever little cricket we learned started under you."
Narender chuckled. "I always knew Siddanth would play at the highest level. But you also never missed a practice session."
Arjun laughed. "And Siddanth never missed a chance to hit the ball out of the ground."
The coach nodded. "Some things were obvious even then."
As Coach Narender approached the edge of the Mandapam, Siddanth saw him. Siddanth placed the brass spoon down on the silver plate, looked directly at his first coach, and pressed his palms together in a Namaste from the platform.
Coach Narender stopped at the edge of the carpet. He looked at the towering fast bowler sitting in the traditional attire. The old coach smiled broadly, raising his right hand and offering a heartfelt blessing.
"Sit comfortably, Siddu," Coach Narender said softly, his voice carrying over the ambient noise. "Do not lose your focus on the rituals."
Siddanth smiled, nodding his head before turning his attention back to the priest.
Next to arrive was a tall, lean man with a commanding presence. It was Rajesh, Siddanth's very first captain from the Hyderabad Ranji Trophy team. Rajesh walked in holding the hand of his seven-year-old daughter, while his wife carried their five-year-old son. They were all dressed in the custom handwoven silks provided by the Deva family.
Rajesh walked up to the edge of the platform. His five-year-old son stared wide-eyed at the massive fire pit and the thousands of marigolds hanging from the ceiling.
"Look at the flowers, Nanna," the little boy whispered loudly.
Rajesh chuckled and looked at Siddanth. Siddanth offered a respectful Namaste from his position.
"You look good, Siddanth," Rajesh said quietly from the edge of the carpet. "You survived the bachelor life. Now survive the real test. We are sitting right behind you."
"Thank you, Rajesh anna," Siddanth replied smoothly.
Rajesh led his family to their seats on the Persian carpets.
The courtyard was now nearly full. The ambient noise of hundreds of people talking softly filled the space.
"Siddanth babu," the head priest announced, checking the progress of the rituals. "We will now perform the Kanyadaan. We invite the parents of the bride to the Mandapam."
The Kanyadaan ritual is performed by the bride's parents before she is officially brought out to the Mandapam. During this sacred step, the groom is not treated merely as a man, but as an embodiment of Lord Vishnu.
Subba Rao and Suma walked up the short wooden steps onto the Mandapam platform.
Subba Rao carried a large, wide brass basin. Suma carried a heavy silver kalasham (pitcher) filled with holy water, infused with tulsi leaves, milk, and turmeric.
"Extend your feet, Siddanth babu," the priest instructed quietly over the microphone.
Siddanth extended his feet. Subba Rao placed the wide brass basin directly underneath it.
Subba Rao lowered himself directly to his knees on the wooden platform in front of Siddanth. Suma knelt beside her husband.
Siddanth sat completely still, maintaining his stoic expression, his hands folded in his lap as he assumed the role required by the Vedic tradition.
Suma slowly tilted the heavy silver pitcher. A steady, thin stream of the cool, yellow holy water poured directly over Siddanth's right foot, splashing gently into the brass basin below.
As the water poured, Subba Rao reached out with both hands. He washed Siddanth's feet. He cleaned the heel, the arch, and the toes, scrubbing gently with his hands, displaying humility and respect.
"By washing the feet of the groom," the priest chanted softly, translating the Sanskrit verses for the crowd, "the parents of the bride acknowledge him as the divine preserver. They surrender their daughter to his care, trusting him to protect her exactly as the Lord protects the universe."
Subba Rao finished washing the feet.
They stood up. They folded their hands in a deep Namaste toward Siddanth. Siddanth folded his hands in return, acknowledging the immense respect and the heavy burden of the Kanyadaan.
The parents stepped back off the Mandapam platform, their sacred duty fulfilled.
It was 9:45 AM.
The head priest checked the heavy silver pocket watch resting on the brass plate. He looked at the position of the sun. He looked at Siddanth.
"The Muhurtham time is rapidly approaching," the priest announced. He picked up his microphone. His voice cut through the ambient chatter, instantly silencing the massive crowd.
"Raise the Terasala," the priest commanded.
Two assistant priests quickly stepped onto the Mandapam. They unrolled a thick, solid white cloth—the Terasala. They held the cloth vertically, directly in front of Siddanth's face, stretching it across the center of the wooden platform.
The white curtain completely blocked Siddanth's view of the aisle and the entrance. He could only see the white fabric and the shadows of the priests holding it.
"Bring the bride to the Mandapam," the head priest instructed into the microphone.
The traditional Nadaswaram music started again, playing a much faster, highly joyful tune. The tempo of the drums increased.
Sitting behind the white cloth, Siddanth heard the massive wooden doors at the far end of the courtyard swing open. A loud cheer erupted from the guests seated on the dais.
Traditionally, a Telugu bride is carried to the Mandapam seated inside a heavy, woven bamboo basket called a butta. She is carried down the aisle by her maternal uncles.
Siddanth listened to the approaching footsteps. The music was loud, but his heightened hearing picked up the thud of boots marching in perfect synchronization down the stone pathway. It did not sound like older uncles struggling with a heavy load. It sounded like a military drill.
The footsteps reached the edge of the carpets. They stepped up onto the two-foot wooden platform of the Mandapam.
The priests holding the white cloth adjusted their grip, keeping the barrier firmly in place.
Siddanth looked down at the gap between the bottom of the white cloth and the wooden floorboards. He saw the heavy, woven bottom of the bamboo basket being gently lowered onto the wood.
Then, he saw the feet of the men who had carried it.
Siddanth narrowed his eyes. He leaned forward slightly on his peeta.
"Why are you guys carrying the butta?" Siddanth asked quietly, directing his voice under the white cloth.
On the other side of the Terasala, Virat Kohli wiped a small bead of sweat from his forehead. He gripped the front right pole of the bamboo basket. Shikhar Dhawan held the front left. Ravindra Jadeja held the back right pole. Ravichandran Ashwin held the back left.
Virat looked down at the gap under the cloth and grinned.
"We assessed the situation at the Bride's manor, Sid," Virat explained practically, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and intense pride. "Subba Rao garu's brothers are all at retiring age. They are good men, but they lack strength. Krithika's cousins are mostly women and boys in teenage."
Dhawan nodded in agreement, rolling his shoulders to ease the strain. "We looked at the weight of the bamboo basket. We looked at the distance from the manor to the Mandapam. We realized the uncles would definitely drop her halfway down the aisle."
"It was a basic logistics failure," Ashwin added analytically, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, we intervened. We are professional athletes. We simply stepped in when the team needed us."
"We brought her safely to the crease, Captain," Jadeja summarized, wiping his hands on his kurta.
Siddanth shook his head behind the cloth, laughing silently at their completely serious, tactical explanation for hijacking a sacred wedding tradition.
Krithika sat inside the massive bamboo basket. She was holding a single, fresh green coconut in her hands. Her head was bowed slightly. She looked at the four cricketers standing around her like a royal guard.
"Thank you," Krithika said softly, her voice carrying deep, genuine emotion. She looked directly at Virat. "Thank you, Virat anna."
Virat's grin softened. The title 'anna'—older brother—carried immense weight.
She looked at Dhawan. "Shikhar anna. Jadeja anna. Ashwin anna."
The four cricketers stood completely still.
"My family didn't have enough fit men to carry the basket," Krithika continued, smiling up at them. "But I think I have enough brothers now. You have become part of my family today."
Dhawan placed his hand over his heart, clearly moved by the statement. Ashwin smiled warmly.
"You are our sister now, Krithika," Virat said, his voice entirely sincere, stripping away all the usual banter. "It is our duty to carry you. If he ever gives you trouble, you call us. We will teach him a lesson."
Krithika laughed, gripping the green coconut tighter.
"Alright," Siddanth interrupted gently. "Your work is done. Go find your seats."
The four cricketers backed away from the basket and walked off the platform, finding their places among the rest of the team on the raised dais.
Krithika was carefully helped out of the bamboo basket by her aunts. She was guided to the wooden peeta situated directly opposite Siddanth on the other side of the white cloth.
She sat down.
They were less than three feet apart, separated only by the thick white Terasala. Siddanth could hear the slight rustle of her heavy silk saree and the faint chime of her gold bangles.
The ambient chatter in the courtyard died down completely. The classical music faded into a low, continuous drone. The hundreds of guests sitting on the dais and the carpets leaned forward slightly, watching the center of the stage.
The sun was directly overhead. The Mandapam smelled of burning camphor, fresh marigolds, and anticipation.
The clock struck 10:00 AM.
The waiting was over. The Muhurtham had arrived.