The Haveli was no longer the silent fortress of a stoic Sarpanch; it was a playground. Aarvi Singh, just barely a year old, was already the undisputed ruler of the household. With her father’s dark, piercing eyes and her mother’s stubborn streak, she had the entire village—and especially Vikram—wrapped around her tiny, henna-stained fingers.

Vikram, the man who once commanded silence with a single glance, could now be found crawling on the Persian rugs of the master suite, letting Aarvi "ride" on his back while she squealed with delight, clutching his khadi kurta.