The sun set completely over the Kakatiya Set. The logistics staff powered up the massive generators, and hundreds of strategically placed floodlights engaged simultaneously. The harsh, bright yellow lights of the morning rituals were gone. The stone pillars, the carved archways, and the central courtyard were now illuminated by soft, cinematic, warm amber lighting.
Inside the Groom's manor, Siddanth adjusted the collar of his reception attire.
He was not wearing the traditional, unbleached silk *pancha* from the morning. He wore a heavy cream sherwani. The fabric was stiff, structured, and entirely devoid of glittering embroidery, relying entirely on the precision of the cut and the gold thread work along the cuffs and the high collar.
Rahul knocked twice on the open door frame and walked into the room. He held his encrypted tablet in his left hand.
"Boss," Rahul said, stopping a few feet away. "The main gates are open. The corporate convoys have cleared the outer security checkpoint. The first wave of guests is walking into the courtyard now."
"Is the stage secure?" Siddanth asked, checking his watch. It was 6:30 PM.
"The expanded dais is fully structural," Rahul confirmed. "The Throne Room setup is complete. Subba Rao garu and Vikram sir are already waiting near the stairs."
"Alright," Siddanth nodded. He walked out of his room.
Siddanth walked towards Krithika's room, where she was changing her dress.
He stopped near the door. They opened before he could knock.
Krithika stepped out. She wore the final garment of her wedding wardrobe: a deep, incredibly rich Royal Blue Paithani silk saree. The heavy gold borders of the Paithani caught the ambient light from the pathway lamps. She wore a single, thick diamond choker and matching earrings.
She looked at Siddanth in his cream sherwani. He looked at her in the royal blue silk.
"Are you ready?" Siddanth asked, offering his right arm.
"My feet are still numb from the morning," Krithika admitted, stepping forward and looping her arm through his. "But I can stand for a few more hours."
They walked together out of the groom's manor down the gravel path, passing through the massive stone archway and entering the main Kakatiya courtyard.
The space was completely unrecognizable from yesterday. The central Mandapam, where the holy fire had burned, had been completely dismantled. In its place stood a massive, elevated wooden stage. The stage was twice the size of the morning setup, designed specifically to accommodate large corporate groups and extensive photo lines.
At the center of the stage, resting against a backdrop of deep red velvet and thousands of white orchids, was a wide, intricately carved wooden throne.
Vikram Deva, Sesikala, Subba Rao, and Suma stood at the bottom of the wooden stairs leading up to the stage. They were talking quietly among themselves, greeting the early guests who walked past.
"They are here," Vikram Deva noted as Siddanth and Krithika approached.
"Before you sit down," Subba Rao instructed, gesturing to a silver tray held by a nearby assistant. "The garlands."
This was the final formal exchange. During the Wedding, they had exchanged traditional, heavy yellow and red flower garlands. For the reception, the aesthetics demanded a different approach.
The assistant stepped forward. He held two massive, thick garlands made entirely of deep red roses and white orchids, perfectly matching the floral backdrop of the stage.
Siddanth picked up the first garland. It was surprisingly heavy. He turned to Krithika. He raised the thick band of roses and placed it carefully over her head, ensuring it rested evenly over the heavy silk of her royal blue Paithani saree.
Krithika picked up the second garland. She raised her arms, lifting the heavy flowers over Siddanth's head, and placed the garland around his neck, settling it against the high collar of his cream sherwani.
The parents clapped politely.
"Go up," Sesikala instructed. "The line is forming."
Siddanth and Krithika walked up the wooden stairs and stood directly in front of the carved wooden throne.
"Family first," the lead photographer announced from the floor below, adjusting his heavy camera rig.
Vikram Deva and Sesikala walked up the stairs. They stood on Siddanth's right side. Subba Rao and Suma walked up and stood on Krithika's left side. The photographer snapped several rapid pictures of the six of them.
"Where is Anjali?" Suma asked, looking around the empty stage. "We need a picture with the sister."
"I am here!" Anjali yelled from the bottom of the stairs.
She ran up the wooden steps, holding the edge of her dark green lehenga to keep from tripping. She squeezed directly into the space between Krithika and Siddanth, completely ignoring the formal symmetry of the photograph.
"You are stepping on my shoe, Anjali," Siddanth noted, looking down.
"Your shoes are massive. It is impossible to avoid them," Anjali countered smoothly, flashing a bright, professional smile at the camera. "Smile, Devil. You look like you are at a board meeting."
Siddanth shook his head, a genuine smile breaking his stoic expression. The photographer captured the moment perfectly.
The main reception line began to move up the wooden stairs. There was no security controlling the flow, and no organizers barking orders. The guests naturally formed an orderly, single-file line across the Kakatiya courtyard.
Siddanth had invited every single employee working at the NEXUS corporate campuses in Hyderabad, along with their families. The line consisted of software engineers, hardware technicians, supply chain managers, and the company's regional business partners.
There was no heavy corporate jargon exchanged. The interactions were warm and straightforward.
"Congratulations, Siddanth sir," a senior software developer from the mobile division said, walking up the stairs with his wife.
"Thank you, Ravi," Siddanth replied, shaking his hand firmly. "Glad you could make it. Enjoy the food."
Siddanth introduced Krithika to the employees as they walked across the stage. Krithika smiled politely, folding her hands in a Namaste and thanking them for coming. The photographer flashed a picture, and the guests walked down the opposite side of the stage toward the dining pavilions.
It was a test of physical stamina. They stood for forty-five minutes, shaking hands, nodding, and smiling as hundreds of employees passed through.
Down in the courtyard, the line stretched back toward the main entrance archway.
A group of NEXUS hardware engineers was standing patiently in line, chatting amongst themselves, when they noticed a group of people joining the back of the queue.
An older man, wearing a simple, elegant cream-colored silk kurta, was standing quietly behind them. He did not ask to cut ahead. He did not demand VIP treatment. He simply stood in line with his son and several other individuals.
One of the engineers turned his head. His eyes went wide. He immediately nudged his colleague.
The group of engineers turned around completely. They immediately recognized the man whose voice had defined Indian cinema for decades. It was the legendary playback singer, S.P. Balasubrahmanyam.
"Sir," the lead engineer said, immediately stepping out of the line and folding his hands in deep respect. "Please. Go ahead of us."
"No, no," SPB smiled warmly, shaking his head gently. "We just arrived. We will wait in line. It is perfectly fine."
"Absolutely not, sir," another engineer insisted, gesturing toward the front of the line. "We have listened to your songs since we were children. We cannot stand in front of you. Please, go forward."
The sentiment cascaded down the line. As people realized who was standing among them, they naturally stepped aside, creating a clear path and respectfully insisting that the legendary singer move to the front.
SPB folded his hands in gratitude, acknowledging their respect. He walked forward slowly, accompanied by his son, S.P. Charan. Behind them walked three female playback singers and two other male veteran singers from the Telugu and Hindi film industries.
They reached the bottom of the wooden stairs.
Siddanth and Krithika saw him approach. They did not wait for him to walk up the steps. They immediately walked down the wooden stairs to the stone floor of the courtyard.
Siddanth and Krithika bent down. They touched the stone floor near SPB's feet, offering the highest level of traditional respect.
"Stand up, children," SPB said gently, his iconic voice carrying a natural, melodic warmth. He reached out and placed his hands lightly on their heads, offering a deep, silent blessing.
Siddanth stood up. "Sir. Thank you for coming."
"I must apologize for missing the morning Muhurtham," SPB said with a genuine smile. "I had a studio commitment that could not be moved. But I am very glad to be here now. You have built a beautiful venue."
"Thank you, sir," Krithika said, folding her hands.
"The orchestra is already set up on the side stage," S.P. Charan informed Siddanth, pointing toward the far right corner of the Kakatiya courtyard.
The logistics team had constructed a specialized secondary stage specifically for the live music. The instrumentalists—the keyboard player, the tabla player, and the flutist—were already seated and tuned.
"We brought a few friends to make the evening special," SPB gestured to the three female and two male singers standing behind him. "Go back to your guests, Siddanth. We will go set up."
Siddanth shook hands with S.P. Charan and the other singers, welcoming them. SPB and his musical team walked toward the secondary stage.
Siddanth and Krithika walked back up the wooden stairs and resumed their positions in front of the throne. The line of NEXUS employees and business partners continued.
Ten minutes later, a single, clear note rang out from a traditional wooden flute. It was followed by the soft, rhythmic tapping of a tabla.
Then, the voice of S.P. Balasubrahmanyam filled the massive open-air venue.
He sang a classic, deeply emotional Telugu melody. The voice bounced off the stone pillars and washed over the crowd, rich and entirely effortless. The three female singers and two male singers joined him for the chorus, blending their voices in a flawless harmony.
The guests standing in line stopped talking. The catering staff carrying trays of water glasses paused in the aisles. The live performance immediately became the focal point of the evening, providing an elegant atmosphere for the reception.
While the corporate employees mingled in the center of the courtyard, a completely different atmosphere was developing on the far left side of the Kakatiya set.
This was not an impromptu setup. During the architectural planning of the village two months ago, Siddanth had specifically designed a secluded, private room built into the architecture, entirely shielded from the main camera angles and the general guest flow.
It was the VIP Lounge.
The room was spacious, air-conditioned, and heavily soundproofed. Five heavy leather sofas were arranged in a wide semi-circle around two solid oak coffee tables. A fully stocked, professional wooden bar sat against the back wall, featuring premium single malt scotch, imported vodka, fresh ice buckets, and crystal glassware.
Virat Kohli was currently slouched deep into the corner of the largest leather sofa. He was holding a heavy crystal glass filled with amber liquid and three large ice cubes.
Shikhar Dhawan was sitting on the adjacent sofa, leaning his head back against the leather. Ravindra Jadeja, Rohit Sharma, Sameer, Feroz, and Arjun occupied the remaining seats, nursing their own drinks.
"Just this morning," Arjun noted loudly, pointing his glass directly at Sameer and Dhawan, "you two were groaning on the breakfast table, complaining about a massive hangover and severe calf cramps from the street dance."
"We were," Dhawan agreed, taking a slow sip of his scotch.
"And now, at 7:30 PM, you are already drinking your fill again," Arjun laughed, shaking his head. "Your recovery time is alarming."
"Alcohol is a muscle relaxant, Arjun," Sameer argued reasonably, leaning over the oak coffee table to grab a handful of spiced cashews from a silver bowl. "I am simply treating my sore calves with single malt. It is sports medicine."
"Do not let the team physio hear you say that," Virat smirked, swirling the ice in his glass.
Sameer stood up from his armchair. "I need to go find Vikram uncle and Subba Rao uncle. They need to see this setup."
Sameer walked out of the soundproof lounge. He navigated through the crowds in the main Kakatiya courtyard. He spotted Vikram Deva and Subba Rao standing near the bottom of the wooden stairs, greeting the guests as they walked up to meet Siddanth and Krithika.
Sameer walked up behind them.
"Vikram uncle. Subba Rao uncle," Sameer said quietly, tapping Vikram on the shoulder.
They turned around.
"Come with me for a minute," Sameer requested politely. He did not explain what he wanted; he just gestured toward the far side of the courtyard.
Vikram Deva and Subba Rao nodded, excusing themselves from the reception line, and followed Sameer.
Sameer led them behind the carved stone pillars and opened the heavy wooden door to the VIP lounge.
The two older men walked inside. They saw the Indian cricket team sprawled across the leather sofas, holding crystal glasses of scotch.
"Good evening, uncles," Virat greeted them, raising his glass slightly.
Sameer walked directly behind the wooden bar. He grabbed two clean crystal glasses. He did not ask if they wanted a drink. He knew both fathers drank occasionally. He dropped two ice cubes into each glass and poured a generous measure of premium single malt scotch.
Sameer walked around the bar and handed the glasses to Vikram Deva and Subba Rao.
Vikram Deva took the glass, smiling at the setup. Subba Rao accepted his glass with a small nod of appreciation.
"To the couple," Vikram Deva announced, raising his glass toward the cricketers.
"Happy Married Life," Subba Rao added, raising his glass as well.
"Happy Married Life," the cricketers echoed in unison, raising their own drinks from the sofas.
Vikram Deva and Subba Rao took a long sip of the scotch. They stood near the coffee table, finishing the peg in comfortable silence while the boys chatted around them.
Once his glass was empty, Vikram Deva set it down on the oak table.
"Alright, boys," Vikram Deva said, adjusting his kurta. "Enjoy the lounge. Our relatives are sitting in the adjacent dining pavilion. We have to go share a drink with them and talk to the family."
"We will see you later, uncles," Sameer said, taking the empty glasses.
Vikram Deva and Subba Rao walked out of the heavy wooden door, returning to their hosting duties.
The cricketers settled back into the leather sofas.
A waiter wearing a white uniform and gloves walked cautiously around the stone pillar, entering the private lounge. He carried a large tray loaded with hot appetizers.
"Sir," the waiter said, leaning down near the coffee table. "The chefs sent the first round from the wood fires."
Dhawan sat up instantly, entirely ignoring his cramped hamstrings.
"What do we have?" Dhawan asked, leaning over the tray.
"Traditional Sarva Pindi, sir," the waiter explained, pointing to the flat, crispy rice flour breads pressed with peanuts and lentils. "And Lukhmi from the Old City. Deep-fried minced mutton pastries."
Virat grabbed a Lukhmi pastry immediately. He took a bite. The crispy, golden exterior shattered, revealing the intensely spiced, slow-cooked minced mutton inside.
Virat closed his eyes, chewing slowly.
"Oh my god," Virat muttered. He looked at the waiter. "Leave the entire tray on the table. Do not take it back to the kitchen."
The waiter smiled, set the heavy silver tray down on the oak coffee table, and walked away.
The cricketers descended on the food. The spicy, heavy Telangana appetizers paired perfectly with the single malt scotch.
"I take back every complaint I made about this wedding," Dhawan announced, eating a piece of Sarva Pindi. "The five-hour Baraat. The heavy silk clothes. The early morning wake-up calls. It was all entirely worth it for this pastry."
"Pace yourselves," Sameer warned them, pouring another round of drinks. "This is just the appetizers. Rahul told me the main course has Haleem that has been slow-cooking over a tamarind wood fire for twenty-four hours. And a whole roasted lamb."
Jadeja stopped chewing. "A whole lamb?"
"Stuffed with saffron rice," Sameer confirmed.
"I am not leaving this estate," Rohit declared, leaning back into the sofa. "When the wedding is over, I am just going to hide in one of the guest manors. They can just feed me Haleem until the Afghanistan tour starts."
The heavy, melodic voice of SPB hit a high, sustained note, echoing beautifully across the courtyard. The crowd near the main stage erupted into loud applause.
Virat raised his crystal glass in the air, pointing it toward the main stage where Siddanth was still shaking hands.
"To the Devil," Virat proposed a toast.
The boys raised their glasses, clinking them together over the silver tray of appetizers.
"To the Devil," they echoed in unison.
They settled back into the deep leather sofas, drinking the premium scotch, eating the heavily spiced mutton pastries, and listening to the legendary live music. They were completely insulated from the corporate formality of the reception line, enjoying the exact kind of private, comfortable luxury that Siddanth had specifically designed the Kakatiya village to provide.
On the main stage, Siddanth shook the hand of a local politician. He turned his head slightly, looking past the crowds and the stone pillars, spotting the faint outline of Sameer standing near the vintage bar cart in the shadows.
Siddanth caught Sameer's eye. He offered a single, subtle nod of approval. Sameer raised his glass in response.