Date: September 13, 2013
Location: The Deva Farmhouse, Shamshabad, Hyderabad
Event: 5th Day of Vinayaka Chavithi (Ganesh Nimarjan)
The morning of the fifth day began long before the sun had fully risen over the Shamshabad estate.
Inside the Deva farmhouse, the quiet calm of the early hours was swiftly replaced by a flurry of organized, festive activity. Today was the day of the Nimarjan—the immersion of the clay Ganesha idol into the water, marking the end of the deity's stay in their home.
Siddanth stepped out onto the front porch, holding a steaming cup of filter coffee. He was dressed simply in a worn-out grey t-shirt and loose track pants, completely prepared for a day of heavy lifting and colored powder.
On the lawn, the massive wooden mandap stood exactly where it had been erected five days ago. The clay idol of Lord Ganesha looked serene in the early morning light, surrounded by the slightly wilting remnants of the previous night's floral offerings.
"Ramesh!" Vikram Deva called out, walking around the side of the house holding a thick coil of sturdy jute rope.
"Coming, sir!" Ramesh, the head groundskeeper, jogged over from the driveway.
"Did you check the air pressure on the tractor tires?" Vikram asked, handing the rope to one of the other estate workers. "The idol is heavy. We need the flatbed completely stable for the drive to the lake."
"Checked and filled, sir. I'll bring it around to the front now," Ramesh nodded, hurrying off toward the equipment sheds at the back of the property.
A few minutes later, the loud, rhythmic, diesel chugging of a Mahindra tractor broke the morning silence. Ramesh slowly reversed the bright red tractor, attached to a large, open wooden flatbed trailer, right up to the edge of the front porch, parking it parallel to the mandap.
By 8:00 AM, Deva friends arrived.
A silver car pulled into the driveway, and Arjun, Sameer, and Feroz stepped out. They were all wearing simple cotton kurtas that had clearly seen better days, fully expecting them to be ruined by the end of the procession.
"Morning, Uncle," Arjun greeted cheerfully, touching Vikram's feet as they walked up to the porch.
"Good to see you boys early," Vikram smiled warmly, patting Arjun on the shoulder. "We have a lot of work to do before the sun gets too hot. The tractor needs to be decorated before we move the idol."
Sameer stretched his arms, letting out a loud, exaggerated yawn. "I didn't even know 8:00 AM existed on a Friday, Uncle. But for Siddanth, we make sacrifices."
Siddanth walked down the porch steps and handed Sameer a massive, heavy sack filled with fresh yellow and orange marigold garlands. "Less talking, more decorating, Sam. Start tying these to the side railings of the trailer."
Before Sameer could complain about the manual labor, a Deva's car pulled in right behind Arjun's car. It was driven by a worker in the farm.
Krithika and Anjali hopped out, followed closely by Riya and Kavya. They were all dressed in vibrant, comfortable cotton kurtis—Krithika in bright yellow, Anjali in a deep pink, while the twins wore matching shades of light blue.
"We brought the extra gulal!" Anjali announced happily, holding up two large plastic shopping bags filled with packets of brightly colored powder.
Krithika walked over to Siddanth, taking in his extremely casual attire. "You look like you're about to paint a house."
"I'm about to spend three hours sitting on the back of a tractor in the sun," Siddanth replied, smiling. "Comfort over style today. Grab a garland and help Feroz with the front grill."
For the next two hours, the group transformed the utilitarian farm tractor into a vibrant, moving chariot.
Vikram directed the workers to construct a sturdy, temporary wooden canopy over the flatbed using bamboo poles. Siddanth and Arjun climbed up onto the trailer, tying thick bunches of green banana leaves and mango leaves to the bamboo pillars to provide shade for the idol.
Krithika, Anjali, and the twins worked on the sides of the trailer, painstakingly draping the heavy marigold garlands in overlapping, scalloped patterns, securing them tightly with twine so they wouldn't fly off in the wind.
Riya and Kavya were laughing, trying to keep Anjali from sneaking bites of the leftover sweets meant for the evening.
Sameer, despite his initial complaining, was meticulously arranging bright red rose petals in a decorative border around the base of the flatbed where the idol would sit.
At 10:30 AM, Sesikala emerged from the kitchen carrying a large tray of hot tiffins for everyone.
Riya quickly stepped up to help her, taking the heavy steel plates filled with fresh idlis and puris and passing them around to the hungry group. Sesikala stood on the porch, looking at the decorated tractor with a highly critical eye.
"The front left pillar needs more mango leaves, Siddhu," Sesikala instructed, pointing. "It looks bare compared to the right side."
Siddanth dutifully grabbed another bunch of leaves and tied them to the pillar, securing the knot firmly. "Better, Amma?"
"It will do," she nodded approvingly, handing him a cup of tea. "Finish quickly. The poojari will be here in half an hour for the final aarti."
By 11:00 AM, the preparations were complete. The tractor looked spectacular, a moving burst of green, orange, and yellow.
The family, the friends, and all the estate workers gathered around the mandap on the front lawn. The head priest arrived and began the closing rituals.
The atmosphere shifted from bustling activity to quiet devotion. The priest chanted the mantras, offering fresh coconuts, incense, and camphor to the deity. Sesikala placed a small, neatly tied cloth bundle at the feet of the idol. It contained traditional saddhi (curd rice mixed with tempered spices)—a symbolic meal packed for Lord Ganesha's long journey back to his heavenly abode.
The final aarti was performed, the sound of the brass bell echoing clearly in the morning air. Every person present took turns rotating the camphor flame, offering their final, silent prayers to the remover of obstacles.
"Alright," Vikram announced, clapping his hands together as the priest concluded the rites. "It is time to move Him."
Moving a nine-foot-tall, solid clay idol was a serious challenge. It required balance, coordination, and sheer physical strength.
Siddanth, Arjun, Feroz, Sameer, Ramesh, and three other estate workers positioned themselves around the heavy wooden base of the idol.
"On my count," Siddanth said, taking his grip on the front right corner of the wooden pallet. "Lift with your legs, not your backs. We move slowly to the edge of the porch, and then slide it onto the wooden ramp."
"Ready," Arjun confirmed from the back left corner.
"One. Two. Three. Lift."
The eight men strained in unison. The heavy clay idol rose from the ground. Moving with slow, synchronized, shuffling steps, they carried the massive deity across the marble porch.
"Keep it steady, don't let it tilt!" Vikram guided them, walking backward ahead of the group.
They reached the edge of the porch. Two thick, sturdy wooden planks had been laid out, connecting the porch step to the flatbed of the tractor.
"Slide it forward. Easy. Easy," Siddanth instructed, bearing a significant portion of the weight as they carefully transitioned the wooden base onto the planks.
With a final, collective push, the idol slid safely into the center of the decorated flatbed, resting perfectly under the bamboo and banana-leaf canopy.
A collective sigh of relief washed over the group. Siddanth wiped the sweat from his forehead, dusting his hands off on his track pants.
Ramesh quickly used thick nylon straps to secure the wooden base of the idol to the metal tie-down points on the trailer floor, ensuring the statue wouldn't shift or tip over during the drive.
Before anyone could climb onto the tractor, however, loud cheers erupted from the far side of the lawn.
While the idol was being secured, a few of the estate workers had set up a traditional Utlotsavam (Utti). A thick Bamboo was had been slung high between two large mango trees, and suspended with help of thick rope from the center of it was a decorated earthen pot filled with colored water and flower petals.
Ramesh stood near the trunk of one tree, holding the end of the rope, ready to pull the pot up and down to tease the players.
"Come on! Who is going first?" Sameer yelled, grabbing a sturdy wooden stick.
The entire gathering—family, friends, and workers—crowded around the trees, clapping and cheering.
Sameer stepped up, brimming with unearned confidence. He took a massive, wildly uncoordinated swing at the clay pot. Ramesh simply yanked the rope downward. The pot dropped a foot, and Sameer swung at completely empty air, his own momentum spinning him around and causing him to tumble spectacularly into the grass.
The crowd roared with laughter. Arjun stepped up next, carefully timing his swing, but missed the pot by a fraction of an inch as Ramesh pulled it high into the branches.
"Let me try!" Krithika called out, taking the stick from Arjun.
She stood under the rope, eyeing the pot with intense determination. As Ramesh lowered it, she swung hard, but Ramesh yanked the rope at the last millisecond. Krithika missed the pot.
"You have to be faster than that, Shorty," Siddanth chuckled, walking up and taking the stick from her hands.
Siddanth stepped into the center. Ramesh, grinning widely, pulled the rope up and down rapidly, trying to make it as difficult as possible. Siddanth didn't rush. He watched the rhythm of the swinging pot, stepped forward with perfect balance, and brought the stick down in a swift, clean arc.
CRACK.
The earthen pot shattered instantly. A massive splash of yellow-colored water and bright marigold petals rained down, entirely soaking Siddanth and splattering the cheering crowd standing nearby.
"Perfect hit!" Vikram cheered, clapping his hands as the workers whistled in celebration.
"Alright, enough playing in the dirt!" Sesikala clapped her hands, gathering everyone's attention with a warm smile. "Go wash your faces and change your clothes. The auspicious time for the procession is starting!"
The group quickly dispersed to change out of their sweaty morning clothes.
Ten minutes later, Siddanth returned wearing a simple, bright yellow cotton kurta and jeans.
Krithika emerged wearing a comfortable, deep red cotton salwar kameez, her hair tied back in a secure braid.
The rest of the friends and family soon gathered back on the front lawn, dressed in their fresh festive wear.
Just as they assembled, the distinct, loud, rhythmic beating of drums and the blare of trumpets echoed across the property.
A local teenmaar band—consisting of five men with heavy, brass-rimmed drums—alongside a full brass band dressed in bright red and gold uniforms, marched up to the porch. They immediately launched into a deafening, high-energy rendition of a popular Telugu mass song, instantly spiking the energy in the air.
Sameer grinned, ripping open the first packet of pink gulal. The color war instantly began.
They all started dancing wildly to the blaring brass music right there on the lawn. Handfuls of green, yellow, and red powder were thrown into the air.
Siddanth laughed, managing to smear a bright streak of pink across Krithika's cheeks before she retaliated by dropping a handful of yellow powder directly onto his head.
Anjali, Riya, and Kavya chased Feroz around the tractor, completely covering his clean kurta in blue dust.
In the chaos, Sameer and Arjun even managed to corner Vikram Deva. They playfully smeared a little red powder on his cheeks and practically dragged the patriarch into the center to dance.
Vikram laughed, giving in to the infectious energy and executing a flawless, old-school mass dance step with perfect rhythm, much to the absolute delight of the cheering group.
Emboldened by their success with Vikram, Sameer and Feroz turned their sights on Sesikala, who was standing near the porch steps watching them.
They took one step toward her, their hands full of bright green color.
Sesikala didn't retreat. She simply raised an eyebrow, squared her shoulders, and fixed them with a singular, silent, terrifying glare. It was an unspoken, absolute threat that clearly conveyed one message: If you ruin this silk saree, you will not eat dinner in this house tonight.
Sameer and Feroz instantly froze. They slowly lowered their hands, offered apologetic, nervous smiles, and backed away respectfully. At the end of the day, she controlled the kitchen, and absolutely no one dared to cross the head chef.
Ramesh climbed into the driver's seat of the tractor and fired up the loud diesel engine.
The procession began, but it certainly didn't move fast. For the next two hours, the tractor crawled at a snail's pace down the long, winding driveway of the estate. The entire group danced ahead of the vehicle, completely losing themselves in the infectious drumbeats and blaring trumpets, laughing, singing, and thoroughly covering each other in thick layers of colored powder.
By the time they finally reached the heavy iron gates of the farmhouse, everyone was exhausted, entirely out of breath, but incredibly happy.
"Alright, everyone on the back!" Siddanth called out as they reached the main road and the band concluded their energetic set.
Siddanth, Krithika, Anjali, Riya, Kavya, Arjun, Sameer, and Feroz all climbed up onto the back of the flatbed, finding comfortable spots to sit around the secured idol. Vikram and Sesikala climbed into their car to follow closely behind the tractor.
Once they were out of the gates, the journey to the lake shifted into a wonderfully peaceful, relaxed gear. They were heading to a quiet local lake rather than the chaotic city center. Normally, it was just a fifteen-minute drive from the farmhouse, but with the heavy tractor carrying the idol, it took them a leisurely half hour.
Sitting on the back of the flatbed, with their legs dangling over the edge, the group enjoyed the cool evening breeze. There was no more wild dancing or color throwing; just comfortable, joyful banter.
They joked about Arjun's terrible, uncoordinated dance moves, shared stories, and laughed endlessly as Krithika tried in vain to wipe the stubborn pink powder out of Siddanth's beard with a tissue.
They arrived at the local lake just as the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the water.
Unlike the massive, chaotic immersion points in the heart of Hyderabad, this lake was serene and relatively quiet. There was no heavy traffic, and only a little over ten other small local idols were queued up along the banks.
Ramesh expertly maneuvered the tractor into the short line. Vikram and Sesikala walked over from their car to join the group at the flatbed. Because it was a local spot, they only had to wait for about fifteen minutes, enjoying the quiet evening air, before a municipal worker blew a whistle, signaling their turn.
Ramesh started the engine and slowly pulled the tractor up to the designated concrete platform beneath a medium-sized crane.
The group climbed down from the flatbed. Four local workers, wearing rubber boots, slipped thick, heavy-duty canvas slings underneath the wooden base of the Ganesha idol, attaching them securely to the crane's steel hooks.
"Stand back, please!" the safety officer called out.
Siddanth gently grabbed Krithika's hand, pulling her a few feet back. Vikram, Sesikala, and the rest of the friends gathered tightly around them.
The crane operator pulled a lever. With a mechanical groan, the steel cables pulled taut. The nine-foot clay idol slowly, majestically lifted off the wooden flatbed of the tractor. It hung suspended in the air for a moment, the marigold garlands swaying gently in the evening breeze.
The entire group, led by Vikram, raised their hands and shouted with absolute, full-throated devotion.
"Ganapati Bappa Morya!"
"Pudhchya Varshi Lavkar Ya!"
With a smooth, controlled motion, the crane swung its arm out over the water and lowered the cables. The massive idol descended into the dark, rippling lake. The heavy clay base hit the surface with a loud, satisfying splash. It sank quickly, slipping beneath the surface and leaving only a few floating marigold petals and banana leaves in its wake.
The immersion was complete.
Sesikala folded her hands, closing her eyes for a final, silent prayer. Vikram patted his son on the back, a content smile on his face.
"Alright," Vikram sighed, turning to the group. "The work is done. Let's go home."
Siddanth, Krithika, Anjali, the twins, and the boys eagerly climbed right back onto the empty flatbed of the tractor for the return journey.
The ride back to the farmhouse was filled with the quiet, deeply satisfying exhaustion of a festival well celebrated. They sat huddled together on the wooden boards as the tractor rumbled down the dark, empty roads, the cool night air providing immense relief after the long day in the sun.
Ramesh finally pulled the tractor through the heavy iron gates of the Shamshabad estate, parking it in the driveway next to the garage.
The group climbed down from the flatbed. They were an absolute disaster. Their clothes were heavily stained with sweat, street dust, and thick, caked-on layers of neon pink, green, and yellow powder from their earlier two-hour dance session on the driveway.
They began walking up the marble steps toward the front door of the villa, looking forward to hot showers and clean clothes.
"Stop right there."
The sharp, authoritative command echoed across the porch.
The entire group froze in their tracks.
Standing directly in front of the main wooden doors was Sesikala Deva. She had arrived a few minutes earlier in Vikram's car and was now standing on the porch holding a thick, high-pressure garden hose attached to the outdoor faucet.
"Amma, what are you doing?" Siddanth asked, looking at the hose with mild concern.
"Look at you people," Sesikala scolded, gesturing with her free hand to the absolute mess of colors and mud covering them from head to toe. "You look like you rolled around in a paint factory. There is absolutely no way any of you are bringing that dirt into my clean house. The marble floors will be ruined."
"Aunty, we'll walk straight to the bathrooms, I promise!" Sameer pleaded, shivering slightly in the cool night breeze.
"No," Sesikala said, her tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. She turned the metal valve on the faucet. "Boys first. Arms out. Turn around."
Before anyone could protest further, Sesikala squeezed the nozzle, aiming directly at the men.
A high-pressure blast of freezing cold water shot across the porch, hitting Sameer squarely in the chest.
Sameer let out a high-pitched shriek, frantically jumping backward. "Aunty! It's freezing!"
Sesikala showed absolutely zero mercy. She expertly wielded the garden hose, blasting Arjun and Feroz, who yelped and tried to use each other as human shields to escape the icy water.
Siddanth burst out laughing at the sight of his friends desperately trying to dodge the water, but his laughter was cut short when the cold, high-pressure stream hit him directly in the back, soaking his yellow kurta instantly.
"Amma! Okay, okay, we're clean!" Siddanth yelled, raising his hands in surrender as the cold water washed away the thick layers of pink and green powder.
Sesikala kept the hose on them for another thirty seconds until the runoff water turned clear. She finally lowered the nozzle.
"Alright, you four are done," Sesikala ordered, pointing a stern finger at the front door. "Go inside, straight to the bathrooms. Do not touch the walls, and do not drip water on the carpets."
Siddanth, Arjun, Sameer, and Feroz didn't need to be told twice. Shivering in the cool breeze, they hurriedly grabbed their shoes and scrambled inside the house.
Krithika, Anjali, and the twins stood on the porch, laughing hysterically at the boys' misery.
Sesikala turned slowly, fixing the four girls with a calm, ruthless smile. She raised the hose again.
"Your turn."
Krithika's laughter instantly vanished. "Aunty, wait, we can just—"
Sesikala squeezed the trigger.
Krithika, Anjali, Riya, and Kavya screamed, grabbing each other and jumping around wildly as the freezing cold water blasted the neon colors out of their hair and off their kurtis. The front porch turned into a massive puddle of multi-colored, muddy water running off into the grass.
After two solid minutes of relentless hosing, the girls stood on the porch, completely drenched, shivering, but entirely free of the thick festival dirt.
Sesikala turned the faucet off, looking at the dripping, miserable group with a highly satisfied, victorious smile.
"Much better," Sesikala nodded, dropping the hose onto the grass. She pointed to the door. "Now you girls can go inside too. There are fresh towels in the guest bathrooms."
Siddanth, who had grabbed a dry towel from inside and poked his head back out the door, wiped the cold water from his eyes, shaking his head with a fond, defeated smile. He looked at Krithika, whose hair was plastered to her face, laughing uncontrollably alongside her sister and her friends.
The festival was officially over. It had been loud, chaotic, and incredibly messy, but standing there shivering on his own front porch surrounded by the people he loved most, Siddanth couldn't imagine a more perfect day.