The air in the Aranthad residence was tense, every breath carrying unease. Villagers who had purchased ornaments from Devendra Pratap stood gathered alongside the village heads, their murmurs restless. All eyes were fixed on the Aranthads.
A village elder stepped forward, clearing his throat.
“As we all know, many among us—including this household—have been deceived into buying fake jewellery from Devendra Pratap. We trusted him—and were deceived.”
A ripple of anger passed through the crowd.
“He is now in police custody in the distant city of Gurunagar—beyond our reach. His son is still a boy.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
“We cannot expect anything from his wife, Kaamini Rani…” He hesitated, then politely gestured towards Maheshwar Swamy. “…and your daughter-in-law, Rithanya. Their ornaments are also fake,” he added with a grimace.
“She is not my daughter-in-law.”
Maheshwar Swamy interrupted, his voice loud and stern, his jaw clenched in anger.
The village head immediately intervened.
“Yes, we know,” he said, taking control of the situation and gesturing for the elder to sit.
“His mansion in Somapur will be auctioned only after the case is settled in court. Even then, it may not be enough to repay everyone he deceived,” the village head continued.
He took a deep breath and paused.
Silence followed—heavy and suffocating.
Another panchayat member spoke up, his tone practical.
“We plan to send someone to Kaamini Rani’s maternal home. If there are undisclosed assets, we must uncover them.”
Maheshwar Swamy gave a slow nod.
The panchayat member hesitated briefly before continuing, choosing his words carefully.
“Sir… perhaps you could ask your dau—” he faltered, then corrected himself, “—Rithanya, if she knows anything of value that has not yet come to light?”
Maheshwar Swamy’s gaze hardened. He gave him a cold stare, then nodded in agreement.
After a brief pause, he gestured toward a servant.
“Bring her here.”
Moments later, Rithanya entered quietly—steps hesitant, head bowed, hands trembling at her sides. The weight of every gaze pressed down on her.
“Do you know of any other properties or assets your father possessed, other than the mansion?” Maheshwar Swamy asked, his voice serious and probing.
“No…” Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “I… I have no knowledge of any.”
A villager, one of the victims, stepped forward, unable to contain himself.
“What about your father’s relatives? Anyone capable of taking responsibility for our loss?” he demanded, his voice firm and angry.
Rithanya flinched.
“No… I don’t know any such relative,” she replied, her words catching midway.
“What about your mother’s relatives? Where are they?” another asked, pressing further.
Rithanya barely looked up. Her head hung low in humiliation. In their village, women of noble households were not questioned publicly. They were protected.
Yet here she stood, facing the wrath of angry villagers—with no one to stop them.
“No… I don’t know anyone,” she replied quickly, without much thought.
A moment passed.
Suddenly remembering her uncle, she added,
“An… uncle of mine. But… I don’t know where he is.”
Maheshwar Swamy leaned forward slightly, his interest sharpening.
“Uncle? What is his name? Does he have a family?” he asked, his questions coming in quick succession.
“I…” She fumbled for a moment, then continued, “My father would take me, once in a while, to visit my mother’s relative—an uncle I usually met at his office. I called him ‘Officer Uncle.’”
She swallowed hard.
“I don’t know his name, and it’s been years since I last visited him,” she added, already regretting bringing up the topic.
The village head frowned.
“Was he present at the wedding?” he inquired.
“I was expecting him at the ceremony, but he didn’t come,” she replied, disappointment evident on her already pale face.
“Hm.” Maheshwar Swamy exhaled deeply, absorbing the information.
“Go inside,” he instructed, gesturing towards the door.
He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then looked up to address the gathering.
“We cannot remain passive,” he said.
“I have spoken to the inspector at our nearest police station. We will formally file a fraud complaint. That ensures our involvement—and access to every development in the case.”
He turned to his third son.
“Raghav. You will go to the station today. File the complaint in my name,” he instructed, his tone firm and devoid of emotion—even though Devendra Pratap was Raghav’s father-in-law.
Raghav nodded promptly.
Maheshwar Swamy continued, already issuing instructions.
“Ananth. Collect the list of fake ornaments purchased from Devendra—from your mother and the other villagers. Make a consolidated list and give it to Raghav to present to the inspector.”
He then gestured towards the panchayat member.
“In the meantime, inform us if you receive any details from Devendra’s wife.”
He fell silent for a moment, deep in thought. Then something struck him.
He turned back to Raghav, a faint, calculating smile forming—as though fortune had tilted slightly in his favor.
“Also… tell the inspector to inform the Gurunagar police about this ‘Officer Uncle’ and ask them to extract details about him from Devendra.”
Raghav nodded, a knowing smile crossing his face. He understood his father’s intent—to identify a relative of Rithanya who could take responsibility for her.
With the next course of action decided—and a faint ray of hope—the gathering dispersed.
Left alone, Maheshwar Swamy sank into his seat.
His son’s future.
The betrayal.
The mounting losses.
And above all—his tarnished name.
He closed his eyes briefly.
He might recover the lost wealth—but his reputation?
Could he ever reclaim it?
Rithanya stepped inside, her breath uneven, her thoughts spiraling.
Officer Uncle.
The name clung to her thoughts, familiar yet distant.
Would he even remember her?
And if he did… would he step forward now?
Or had she only imagined a closeness that never truly existed?
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Author’s Note:
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