The low, guttural groan echoed through the dining hall first.

"I am fucking exhausted," Thakurji said, his voice scraping against the quiet clatter of silverware. He leaned back in his carved wooden chair, the muscles of his broad shoulders visible through the fine linen of his kurta as he stretched. His dark eyes, heavy with the weight of managing the estate's sprawling acres, scanned the table but landed on his wife. "The sun today was a demon. The soil is dry. The accounts are a mess. My body aches."