The Cockeyed Mystery

13. Aham's Decision

"In the tapestry of secrets and sorrow, the echoes of tragedy paint the portrait of a family's untold story."

***

"Why do you bear such an uncanny resemblance to the enigmatic Lady of Shalott?" Ashish's voice reverberated through the opulent chamber, weaving an air of mystique as he confronted his sister amidst the frenzied commotion of the early morning. The scene before him unfolded like a scene from a gothic tapestry, his entire family gathered in a semicircle, their faces etched with emotions akin to characters in a tragic Shakespearean play. And there she stood, his sister, a living embodiment of the Lady of Shalott, her delicate features reflecting the shattered beauty of the fabled mirror.

A palpable silence hung in the air, pregnant with unspoken secrets and hidden truths. Ashish's eyes darted from one family member to another, searching for answers in their anxious gazes. His sister-in-law's eyes glistened with tears, concealing a truth she dared not utter. His brother's face twisted in a grimace of terror, as if his worst nightmares had materialized before his eyes. And his uncle, a picture of eerie calmness, exuded an unsettling aura that belied the gravity of the situation.

Deep furrows formed on Ashish's forehead as he stepped closer to his sister, his eyes scanning the marbled floor, now stained scarlet with the grotesque splatters of blood. At the center of this macabre tableau lay his despised brother, a lifeless figure immersed in a pool of crimson. The scene resembled a meticulously crafted crime scene, evoking the intricate web of mystery found in the pages of Agatha Christie's masterful novel, "The Hollow."

With measured steps, Ashish approached the blood-soaked floor, his gaze fixated on the cruel instrument of death, a sharp-edged spear that had pierced his brother's chest with chilling precision. It bore the mark of a skilled warrior, an expert in the deadly art of spear fighting.

"The murderer possesses the prowess of a lancer, much like you and me," his uncle remarked, his voice carrying an unsettling calmness.

Ashish's eyes locked onto his brother's lifeless gaze, now forever frozen in the abyss of death. Suddenly, a revelation struck him like a lightning bolt, illuminating the shadows of the room. "Moreover, the culprit must be a masterful swordsman, adept in the intricacies of fencing. Only a true maestro of the blade could deliver such a precise strike, deviating from the traditional 180-degree angle of a lancer."

The shock in his brother's lifeless eyes mirrored the shock surging through Ashish's veins. He scoured the room, desperately searching for any shred of evidence that could unravel the truth behind this heinous act. Yet, the room offered no immediate answers, leaving him frustrated and disheartened. A disheartened groan escaped his lips as he turned to face his motionless family, their postures frozen like statues in the Palace of Maids. "We must notify the authorities and arrange for a postmortem at the city hospital while we prepare for the solemn rites of cremation," he suggested, his voice laden with solemnity as he glanced at the lifeless forms of his loved ones.

"No postmortem shall be conducted," Aham interjected, his tone carrying an uncharacteristic air of authority. "We shall declare that he succumbed to a heart attack. Cleanse this room, Ashish."

Indignation surged through Ashish's veins as anger welled up within him. "Why must I be the one to carry out this menial task? I am not your servant!" he bellowed, his voice echoing with defiance.

"I am not making a mere request; I am issuing a command. Obey my instructions, for I am the ruler and head of this household. In times like these, we must not involve the political parties," Aham retorted, his anger lending weight to his words.

Sunaina's voice rose, tinged with her own anger. "But justice must be served in his memory!"

"Sunaina!" Bhairav Singh's voice thundered with authority. "Know your place! In our household, women do not raise their voices. Understand this!"