WHISPERS OF DEATH : Ishvarashapa

**1899, British India, Bengal.** The village of Ambika Kalna is gripped by an unspeakable horror. Corpses appear with no visible wounds—only lifeless eyes, hearts mysteriously stilled, and walls daubed in blood: ***“He is watching… He sees me… I see myself.”*** The nightmare spreads to Calcutta, where victims claw at their own faces or hang themselves with eerie calm, their final acts framed by shattered mirrors. No connection binds the dead, save the chilling refrain and the unshakable sense of being *seen*.



**Isarish**, a mercilessly logical investigator, is tasked with unraveling the carnage. A man of contradictions—brilliant yet apathetic, devout yet haunted by doubt—he wields scripture as deftly as evidence. A Muslim who prays in shadows, his faith is a blade that cuts both ways: solace in ritual, torment in unanswered questions. To him, the curse is a puzzle, not a phantom… until he stares into the mirrors left behind and glimpses the fractures in his own soul.



The **Curse of God**—*Ishvarashapa*—leaves no marks, only madness. It whispers through reflections, turning victims into judges of their hidden sins: hypocrites choke on their lies, the greedy starve amidst plenty, the cowardly drown in their fear. Isarish traces its path from Ambika Kalna’s trembling priests to Calcutta’s colonial elite, finding no killer, only a pattern of despair. Is this a mortal orchestrating terror through poison and psychosis—or a divine reckoning, forcing sinners to confront what they bury?



**In the glass, truth waits. But is it God’s… or mankind’s?**

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"What if your reflection held every lie you’ve ever told—and God sent a madman to make you **read them aloud?"