Early in the morning Dilli went to Great Grandpa's farm.The cattle shed stood quiet under the Sun—two large rooms facing the mighty Godavari, wrapped by coconut groves on three sides. From its roof, the river glimmered silver, as though whispering secrets of dusk yet to come. Dilli stood there, wide-eyed, imagining it already—his first workstation, a place where machines would hum alongside the rustle of palms, where dreams would take root.
He turned to his Great Grandfather, Subbaraju, seated in his old cane chair, his presence as imposing as the river itself.
"Tathayya," Dilli said, his voice soft yet burning with urgency. "I want this place. Let me use the cattle shed as my workstation."
For a long moment, Subbaraju just stared at him. The old man's eyes, sharp despite the years, flickered with both pride and disbelief. This wasn't the request of a boy. It was the demand of someone far older in spirit.
"Again?" Subbaraju muttered, shaking his head. "Every time you come to me, you ask something that shakes the roots of this house."
Then, suddenly, he barked toward the cattle where his sons, Dilli's father's uncle's were rearing buffaloes his voice echoing:
"Bring Prasad immediately! Tell him to come at once!"
Servants and two elders scattered.
Moments later, the growl of a motorcycle broke the silence. Gadhiraju arrived on his silver Honda Unicorn, his heart pounding. He leapt off the bike, half-expecting to see his grandfather ill. But what he saw instead froze him—his son, standing calmly beside the old man.
"Ah," he muttered under his breath. "So the little devil is at it again."
Before Dilli could speak, Subbaraju rose with surprising strength, grabbed his son by the arm, and pulled him inside, shutting the heavy door. Outside, Dilli shuffled his feet, caught between excitement and nerves, while the two grandfathers sat together.
Inside the dim hall, Subbaraju fixed his son with a penetrating stare.
"Speak. What has this boy been doing? His eyes carry storms I've never seen in a child."
Gadhiraju sighed deeply, shoulders slumping as though releasing weeks of weight.
"Tathayya… he has changed completely. In just one week. He talks of research, of machines, of building a company called ITMedic International. He demands computers, storage, a lab… even a commercial building in the village. And now he wants the cattle shed as his workstation."
He paused, lowering his voice.
"He even shows money, Tathayya. Lakhs, deposited in the bank. I don't know where it comes from. Stocks can't explain it. He lies about clients, about gifts from companies… but one truth is certain: he has become someone else. Sometimes, I wonder… is he really my son, or has some old soul taken his body?"
The words trembled in the air.
Subbaraju closed his eyes. For a long time, he didn't speak. His wrinkled face was carved with thought, his hand resting on his stick. Finally, he whispered:
"You think what I am thinking… that perhaps something greater, or stranger, has touched him. Maybe a soul beyond his years, maybe destiny itself."
He looked straight into his son's eyes, his voice firm.
"But even if it is so, remember this: possessed or not, he is still our blood. Still our boy. And if fate has chosen him, then who are we to stand against it? Better to stand behind him, even if it costs us everything."
Gadhiraju's chest tightened, his eyes moist. For the first time, he felt his father was seeing the same impossible fire he saw in Dilli.
"Then… what shall we do, Tathayya?" he asked quietly.
Subbaraju's face hardened into resolve.
"Vacate the farmhouse. Clean the cattle shed by tomorrow morning. If he wants a workstation, he shall have one. From today, that boy works with the blessing of his ancestors."
When the door opened, Dilli leapt to his feet. Before words could escape, Subbaraju spread his arms slightly. The boy ran forward, hugging his great-grandfather tight.
"I love you, Tathayya," Dilli whispered, voice breaking.
For the first time in years, Subbaraju's stone face cracked. A tiny smile tugged at his lips as he pinched Dilli's cheek.
"You only love me because of the favor, isn't it?"
Dilli's cheeks flared red like a tomato.
"What are you speaking, Tathayya? I respect and love you more than my father!"
Gadhiraju coughed loudly, raising a brow. Dilli blinked, flustered, then corrected himself quickly.
"I mean… my father used to be harsh to me, but you have always been gentle. So how can I not love you at least as much as him?"
He winked cheekily at his father, who could only shake his head in half-amusement, half-frustration.
Subbaraju roared with laughter, a sound so rare that even the servants peeked through the doors.
"Good! Good! Good!" he boomed. Then turning to his son, he declared,
"If you feel arranging the amount is too much, come to me. Nothing is more important than my great-grandson. Take care of him well, and protect him as long as you breathe."
The room fell quiet again, but in that silence, three generations stood bound by something greater than blood—a shared decision to gamble everything on a boy whose destiny had already begun to outgrow them.