The sky above the Shamshabad estate was a vast, cloudless expanse of pale, bleached blue. The dry summer wind carried the distinct, sweet, intoxicating fragrance of ripening fruit.
It was mango season.
While the world outside the high iron gates remained locked down and paralyzed by uncertainty, the agricultural heart of the farmhouse was beating with frantic, joyful activity. The estate boasted acres of meticulously cultivated mango orchards—heavy, drooping branches laden with Banganapalli, Himayat, and Dasheri varieties. Because transport and commercial supply chains were heavily restricted, the harvest this year was an internal operation, aimed at storage, preserving, and quiet distribution to the local villages and estate workers.
For the Deva family, the harvest was not a spectator event this year.
Deep inside the northern orchard, the canopy of broad, dark green leaves provided a thick layer of shade against the morning sun. The air hummed with the sound of cicadas and the rustle of leaves being pushed aside.
Siddanth Deva was standing near the top rung of a tall, wooden A-frame ladder. He wore a faded, worn-out grey cotton t-shirt that was already sticking to his back with sweat, paired with old track pants and sturdy boots. He was covered in a fine layer of orchard dust, his hands stained slightly with sticky, aromatic tree sap.
He reached high into the canopy, his fingers closing gently around a pale yellow Banganapalli mango. He twisted the stem with practiced precision, ensuring the fruit detached cleanly without tearing the skin, and lowered it carefully into the woven bamboo basket hanging from the side of the ladder.
"Don't drop them, Siddu," Vikram called out from the base of the neighboring tree. "If they bruise, they will rot in the storage crates within three days."
"I haven't dropped a single one, Nanna," Deva called back, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. "I am placing them gently. You worry too much."
"I worry because I know how clumsy you were in this orchard twenty years ago," Vikram chuckled, reaching up with a long bamboo pole fitted with a specialized net and a small blade at the end. He expertly hooked a high-hanging fruit, tugged the pole, and caught the mango safely in the netting. "You used to shake the branches like a monkey to get them to fall."
"I was ten years old," Deva defended himself mildly, climbing down a few rungs to deposit his full basket into a larger wooden crate resting on the dry earth.
Subba Rao, wearing a comfortable white kurta with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, walked over carrying a stack of empty crates. The revenue officer had taken to the labor of the harvest with surprising enthusiasm. He set the crates down, removing his spectacles to wipe them with a cotton handkerchief.
"The yield is spectacular this year," Subba Rao noted, looking down the long rows of trees. "The unseasonal rains in March didn't damage the blossoms as much as we feared."
"The soil drainage on this side of the estate saved us," Vikram agreed, resting his bamboo pole against a trunk. He looked like a man in his element. He loved the land far more than he loved any of the luxury the farmhouse provided. "We will have enough to send crates down to the staff quarters, and Sesikala will have more than she needs for her pickling."
A few yards away, Krithika and Anjali were managing the sorting.
They had set up a large tarpaulin sheet under the shade of a tamarind tree. As the estate workers and the men brought the heavy wooden crates over, the sisters carefully sorted the fruit. The underripe, firm green mangoes were set aside in a specific pile for Sesikala's famous avakai pickle, while the perfectly ripe, soft yellow fruits were packed in straw for immediate eating.
Anjali sat cross-legged on the edge of the tarpaulin, wearing a loose cotton tunic, her hair tied back in a messy braid. She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek, leaving a faint smudge of dirt.
"I am melting," Anjali complained good-naturedly, picking up a heavy mango and inspecting it for blemishes. "It has to be forty degrees out here. Why couldn't we do this at six in the morning?"
"We did start at six in the morning," Krithika pointed out reasonably, arranging a layer of dry straw at the bottom of a new crate. "You just refused to get out of bed until nine."
"I require adequate rest to function," Anjali huffed, placing the mango into the crate. She looked over at Deva, who was carrying another heavy basket toward them. "Look at him. He doesn't even look tired. He looks like he's enjoying this."
Krithika looked up as Deva approached. The faded shirt strained tightly across his shoulders as he lowered the heavy basket to the ground. His face was flushed with the heat.
"He is enjoying it," Krithika smiled warmly. "He spends his life living out of suitcases, sitting in hotel rooms, and making decisions that affect millions of dollars. Out here, the only decision he has to make is whether a piece of fruit goes in the green box or the yellow box."
Deva set the basket down, flexing his hands to relieve the cramping in his fingers.
"Yellow box for these," Deva instructed, pointing to the fruit. He looked down at Krithika, offering a tired smile. "Where are the monsters?"
Krithika pointed a finger toward the massive banyan tree located at the far edge of the orchard, closer to the main house.
A thick, woven picnic blanket had been spread out over the cool grass beneath the sprawling, aerial roots of the ancient tree. Sesikala and Suma were sitting there, acting as the designated supervisors for the youngest members of the harvesting crew.
However, containment was proving impossible.
Aadhya was currently conducting a reign of terror through the lower branches of the nearby trees. She was wearing a small, comfortable denim overall dress, but the original blue fabric was rapidly disappearing beneath a layer of orchard dust, grass stains, and sticky tree sap.
She had decided that the harvest required her personal intervention.
She spotted a single, low-hanging mango that had fallen into the tall grass. It was a massive Himayat, practically the size of her own head. She waddled over to it rapidly, grabbed it with both hands, and hauled it against her chest.
She took three unsteady steps back toward the picnic blanket, the weight of the fruit clearly throwing her off balance.
"Aadhya, carefully," Suma called out, watching her granddaughter wobble.
Aadhya lost her grip. The heavy mango slipped from her hands, hitting the dirt with a soft thud. It rolled a few inches away. Ronnie, who had been dozing in the shade nearby, lifted his head and trotted over. He gave the fallen fruit a thorough, curious sniff before deciding it wasn't worth eating, letting out a soft huff, and sitting down to watch her next move.
Aadhya stopped. She looked at the fallen fruit, let out a sharp, frustrated grunt, stamped her small, bare foot against the earth, and immediately dropped to her knees to retrieve it. In the process, she dragged the front of her overalls directly through a patch of sticky, discarded sap.
"Oh, she is going to need a bath in a bucket of soap," Krithika sighed, watching from the sorting station.
Aadhya finally managed to pick the mango back up. She didn't try to carry it to the blanket this time. She looked at the smooth, yellow skin, clearly associating it with the sweet fruit she was given at the breakfast table.
She opened her mouth, revealing her small, white teeth, and leaned forward to bite into the unwashed, unpeeled, dirt-covered skin of the mango.
"No, no, no," Deva said, jogging across the grass in three long strides.
He reached down just as her teeth grazed the bitter outer skin. He gently but firmly pulled the fruit away from her mouth.
Aadhya's face immediately scrunched up. The taste of the raw skin and the bitter sap hit her tongue. She sputtered, spitting a tiny fragment of the skin out, her eyes watering slightly from the astringent flavor.
Deva crouched down, using the clean edge of his t-shirt to wipe her mouth.
"I told you," Deva chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You can't eat the skin, little monster. It's bitter."
Aadhya looked at the mango in his hand, looked up at him, and pointed an accusing finger at the fruit, letting out a loud, angry babble that clearly blamed the mango for deceiving her.
"I know. It betrayed you," Deva agreed, scooping her up with his free arm. "Let's go see what your brother is doing."
He carried a sticky, dusty Aadhya over to the picnic blanket, with Ronnie happily trailing right behind his heels.
Rishi was sitting in the center of the woven blanket. He was wearing a soft yellow cotton shirt and small shorts. He was clean. He had not ventured into the dirt, and he had no interest in wrestling with heavy fruit.
Sitting cross-legged between his two grandmothers, Rishi was currently holding a ripe, washed mango that Sesikala had given him.
He was holding it with both hands, slowly turning it over and over. His brow was furrowed in concentration. He traced the smooth curve of the fruit with his index finger, inspecting a small, brown blemish near the stem. He looked at it like a tiny, serious botanist trying to understand the nature of the object.
"He has been looking at that same mango for ten minutes," Sesikala smiled fondly, patting Rishi's knee. "He is very observant."
Deva sat down on the edge of the blanket, depositing Aadhya onto the fabric. She immediately lost interest in the fruit and began trying to climb over Deva's legs to reach a water thermos sitting nearby. Ronnie flopped down heavily next to Rishi, resting his chin on the boy's leg and letting out a long, contented sigh.
Vikram and Subba Rao wandered over from the trees, seeking the shade of the banyan, carrying a few more baskets.
Vikram looked down at Aadhya, who currently had a streak of dark mud across her forehead and sticky sap coating her hands.
Rishi looked up from his mango, blinked slowly, looked at Deva, and then very carefully held his pristine yellow mango out, offering it to his father.
The laughter softened into a collective, warm "Aww" from the grandmothers.
Deva smiled, reaching out to gently touch Rishi's cheek. "Keep it, buddy. You found a good one."
They sat under the shade of the banyan tree for another hour, drinking cool water from the thermos, sharing stories, and eating the ripe, sliced fruit that Suma had prepared. The heat of the day pressed down around them, but the deep shade and the gentle breeze moving through the leaves kept them comfortable.
A few days later, the rhythm of the farmhouse shifted again.
The mango harvest was largely complete. The heavy wooden crates were stacked high in the cool, dark storage sheds near the rear of the estate, the sweet scent of the fruit permeating the air.
With the trees picked clean, Vikram's attention turned to the earth itself.
The long, rectangular fields stretching along the western boundary of the estate lay empty. They were currently just hard, dry, baked earth, cracked by the intense summer sun. But the monsoon season was rapidly approaching. The heavy, life-giving rains would soon sweep across the plateau, and the soil needed to be ready to receive the seeds for the next crop cycle.
It was time to plow.
Early in the morning, before the heat reached its peak, the loud, rattling, heavy rumble of a massive diesel engine shattered the quiet of the estate.
Deva sat high in the John Deere tractor.
Deva loved driving the tractor.
He gripped the heavy steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the horizon, feeling the power of the diesel engine beneath his seat.
Behind him, the heavy metal blades of the tiller sank into the earth. The sound was a loud, grinding crunch as the hard topsoil was ripped apart. A thick cloud of dry, brown dust plumed into the air behind the machine. The earth turned over, revealing the rich, dark, slightly damp soil hidden just beneath the baked surface.
He drove down the length of the field, reaching the boundary line. He executed a wide, sweeping turn, feeling the massive tires grip the dirt, and aligned the tractor precisely with the edge of the freshly turned soil, preparing for the next pass.
It was therapeutic.
After completing nearly half the field, Deva spotted movement near the edge of the tree line.
Krithika was walking toward the boundary of the field, holding a large, insulated steel jug of cold water. Walking closely beside her, holding her hands, were the twins. Ronnie trotted faithfully right beside Krithika, occasionally stopping to sniff a clump of overturned dirt before hurrying back to her heel.
Deva smiled. He eased his foot off the accelerator, depressed the heavy clutch, and brought the massive green machine to a halt. He shifted the transmission into neutral and pulled the heavy parking brake lever. He didn't kill the engine; he let it idle, the deep, rhythmic chug-chug-chug of the diesel motor echoing loudly across the empty field.
He climbed down the metal steps, his boots hitting the soft, freshly churned earth.
"You're making good time," Krithika called out over the sound of the idling engine, stopping a safe distance away from the massive tires. She held out the steel jug. "Amma said you probably haven't taken a water break since seven o'clock."
Deva walked over, wiping the dust off his hands onto his track pants. He took the jug, unscrewing the lid, and drank. The water was ice-cold, flavored faintly with crushed mint leaves and lemon. It was what he needed.
"The soil is hard, but the tiller is cutting through it fine," Deva said, lowering the jug and wiping his mouth. He looked down at the twins.
Rishi was standing slightly behind Krithika's leg. The size of the green tractor, and the loud, rumbling noise of the engine, clearly intimidated him. He stared at the massive rear tires, which were taller than Krithika, with warriness. Ronnie seemed to share his skepticism, sitting closely beside the boy and eyeing the rumbling machine with flat ears.
Aadhya, however, had zero sense of self-preservation.
The moment she saw the giant, noisy, brightly colored machine, her eyes went wide with awe. To her, it was the loudest toy she had ever seen.
She let go of Krithika's hand and waddled toward the front tire.
"Aadhya, stop," Krithika said, reaching out to catch her by the back of her shirt.
Aadhya squirmed, pointing a demanding finger up at the tractor. She looked back at Deva, her intention clear.
"Up!" Aadhya demanded loudly over the engine noise. "Up! Nana!"
Deva laughed, looking at Krithika. "She wants to drive."
"She can barely walk in a straight line, Sid. She is not driving heavy machinery," Krithika sighed, though she was smiling.
"Up!" Aadhya insisted, stomping her foot, her lower lip beginning to quiver as she prepared to launch a full-scale tantrum if denied.
Deva set the water jug down on the grass. "Come here, monster," he chuckled.
He scooped Aadhya up. He climbed the metal steps back into the cabin, pulling her securely inside with him, and sat down in the heavy, air-suspended driver's seat. He settled Aadhya comfortably on his lap, his arms wrapping around her small frame to ensure she couldn't move suddenly.
Aadhya was in heaven. She slapped her hands against the large, textured steering wheel, her eyes darting across the dashboard filled with glowing dials, switches, and levers.
Deva rested his large hands lightly over hers on the steering wheel. He depressed the clutch, shifted into the lowest, slowest creeping gear available, and released the brake.
The tractor lurched slightly and began to crawl forward at a speed barely faster than a slow walk.
Aadhya shrieked with delight. She felt the heavy vibration of the machine moving beneath them. She gripped the steering wheel, turning it slightly left and right. Deva let her guide the wheel, his own hands maintaining the actual course, correcting the trajectory smoothly.
"You're driving, Aadhya," Deva murmured near her ear, smiling as she bounced on his lap.
Then, her small hand slipped off the top of the wheel and slapped against the center hub.
HOOOONK.
The tractor's horn was not a polite, passenger-car beep. It was a loud, aggressive, heavy-duty industrial blast designed to clear cattle off rural roads. The sound ripped through the quiet morning air, echoing loudly across the entire estate.
Aadhya froze. She looked down at the center of the wheel.
A maniacal grin spread across her face.
She slammed both her hands down on the center hub.
HOOOONK. HOOOONK.
She threw her head back and shrieked with laughter, intoxicated by the volume of the noise she was creating. She hit it again and again, bouncing furiously on Deva's lap.
Deva winced, turning his head slightly away from the steering column, laughing loudly, unable to stop her without ruining her fun. He covered his ears playfully, while his other arm held her tight.
Down on the edge of the field, Krithika was holding her hands over her ears, shaking her head in amusement. Beside her, Ronnie let out a startled bark, retreating two steps back into the grass and shaking his head as the green tractor crawled slowly down the dirt path, blaring its horn like a chaotic, slow-moving parade float.
But standing next to Krithika, the mood was different.
Rishi watched the green tractor moving away. He saw his sister sitting high up in the cabin. He heard the loud, booming horn, and he heard the echoing sounds of her delighted laughter.
The initial fear of the loud machine vanished, replaced by a sudden, crushing wave of toddler FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out).
He had been left behind on the dirt while his sister conquered the giant green monster.
Rishi's lower lip began to tremble. His dark eyes pooled with tears. He took a step forward, reaching his small arms out toward the departing tractor.
"Nana," Rishi whimpered.
The whimper quickly escalated. The realization that he was not included broke his tiny heart. He let out a wail of sorrow. It wasn't the angry, frustrated cry of a denied toy; it was the deep, tragic sobbing of a child who felt abandoned.
Krithika instantly knelt down in the dirt, abandoning the water jug. She scooped Rishi up, wrapping her arms around him tightly, bouncing him against her shoulder.
"Oh, baby, no, don't cry," Krithika soothed, rubbing his back as he sobbed into her collarbone. "It's okay. It's just a loud machine. Nana will be right back."
Ronnie immediately pressed his heavy side against Krithika's leg, letting out a soft, distressed whine as he stretched his neck up, trying to gently lick the tears off Rishi's damp cheek.
Rishi was inconsolable. He pointed a tear-stained finger desperately toward the tractor, crying harder. He wanted to sit on his father's lap too.
Up in the cabin, Deva caught sight of the commotion through the large side mirror. He saw Krithika bouncing a crying Rishi.
The smile vanished from Deva's face. The sharp pang of parental guilt hit him immediately. He had accidentally excluded his son.
"Alright, Aadhya, hold on," Deva said quickly. He pressed the clutch, hit the brakes, and brought the tractor to a halt. He reached over, turning the ignition key to kill the loud diesel engine. The sudden silence ringing over the field made Rishi's crying even more distinct.
Deva prepared to open the cabin door and carry Aadhya down to swap the children, despite knowing Aadhya would likely scream the entire estate down when forced to surrender the steering wheel.
But before he could push the glass door open, a different sound echoed across the fields.
Chug. Chug. Chug. Chug.
It was the distinct, rhythmic, slightly clattery sound of an older diesel engine.
From the pathway leading toward the equipment sheds, Vikram emerged.
He was driving the estate's secondary tractor—a classic, beautifully maintained, bright red Mahindra.
Vikram drove the red tractor slowly toward the edge of the field. He saw Krithika trying to console a sobbing Rishi, and he saw Deva stopped halfway down the row in the green John Deere.
Vikram understood the situation instantly. He pulled the red tractor right up to the edge of the grass, near where Krithika was standing, and shifted the gears into neutral.
He smiled broadly, leaning over the side of the open seat.
"Why are you crying, Rishi?" Vikram's deep, warm voice called out over the rhythmic chugging of the engine.
Rishi sniffled, lifting his head from Krithika's shoulder. He looked at his grandfather sitting on the bright red machine.
"Nana's tractor is enclosed in a glass box," Vikram announced dismissively, waving a hand toward Deva's distant green machine. "It is boring. You cannot even feel the wind. Come ride with Thatha. We have a real tractor."
Vikram reached his large, weathered hands down toward Krithika.
Rishi didn't hesitate. He leaned away from his mother, reaching his arms out. Krithika smiled, lifting the boy up, and Vikram scooped his grandson securely into the driver's seat, settling Rishi firmly on his lap, wrapping a protective arm around his waist.
The transformation was miraculous.
The tears stopped instantly. Rishi wiped a wet cheek with the back of his hand. He looked down at the exposed metal dashboard of the Mahindra. He placed his small hands on the black steering wheel.
Vikram engaged the clutch and slowly rolled the red tractor forward, moving onto the freshly plowed dirt.
He drove it parallel to Deva's path, bringing the red tractor right up next to the green one.
Up in the glass cabin, Deva rolled his window down. He looked across the short distance between the two machines.
Rishi looked at Deva. He looked at Aadhya, who was staring back at him through the glass.
Rishi sat up a little straighter on his grandfather's lap, gripping the steering wheel firmly, looking at his sister with an expression of triumph. He had his own tractor now.
Deva burst out laughing, shaking his head at the superiority radiating from his son.
"You ready to race, Siddu?" Vikram called out cheerfully, resting a hand over Rishi's on the steering wheel.
"I have a heavy tiller attached, Nanna," Deva called back, turning the key to fire the massive green engine back to life. "You have an unfair advantage."
"Farmers don't make excuses!" Vikram laughed, engaging the gears.
For the next ten minutes, a wholesome scene played out under the bright summer sun.
The two tractors drove side-by-side down the long, dusty stretch of the field, moving at a slow, synchronized crawl. The heavy tiller on Deva's machine churned the earth into dark ribbons, while Vikram's red tractor rolled smoothly beside them.
The noise was deafening—the combined roar of the two heavy diesel engines echoing across the estate.
Inside the green cabin, Aadhya was bouncing on Deva's lap, slamming her hands against the horn, shrieking with wild, uncontrolled laughter, thrilled by the noise and the vibration.
On the open red tractor, Rishi sat in quiet majesty. The wind ruffled his dark hair. He held the steering wheel with seriousness, turning it carefully whenever Vikram's larger hands guided the machine, feeling responsible for the navigation of the heavy equipment. He looked like a tiny, solemn farm manager surveying his lands.
Standing safely on the grassy boundary, Krithika pulled out her smartphone.
She filmed the two heavy machines moving side by side through the dust, with Ronnie sitting obediently by her feet, his tail thumping against the grass as he watched his family. She filmed Deva laughing inside the glass cabin, holding their wild daughter. She filmed Vikram smiling proudly, holding their serious son in the open air. Three generations of the Deva family, bound together by the earth, the noise, and the simple, undeniable joy of a summer morning.
By the time the sun began to dip toward the western horizon, painting the sky in deep shades of bruised purple and fiery orange, the day had officially concluded.
The heavy machinery was parked silently in the sheds, cooling down in the evening air. The newly plowed fields stretched out behind the farmhouse, the dark, churned earth ready to drink in the impending monsoon rains.
The household was enveloped in a pleasant, heavy exhaustion.
The dirt, the sweat, and the sticky mango sap had been scrubbed away. Deva had spent twenty minutes in the shower, letting the hot water ease the dull, satisfying ache in his shoulders and lower back from hours of driving the heavy tractor.
Dinner that night was an unusually quiet affair.
The twins had exhausted their energy. The fresh air, the sun, and the sheer adrenaline of the tractor rides had drained them. Aadhya fell asleep sitting in her highchair before she had even finished her small bowl of mashed rice and dal, her head drooping forward until Krithika gently caught her. Rishi was equally exhausted, rubbing his eyes constantly, offering zero resistance when Deva picked him up.
They were carried upstairs and placed into their cribs, falling into sleep the moment their heads touched the soft mattresses. Ronnie trailed behind them, his usual energetic trot reduced to a tired shuffle, before collapsing onto his rug in the master bedroom with a loud, whistling sigh.