Charan Raj’s score is nearly invisible, and rightly so. It doesn’t tell us what to feel. Often, silence dominates—becoming the film’s true soundtrack.

Still, Agnyaathavaasi isn’t without flaws. It’s a slow burn, and its first half may test some viewers’ patience. Janardhan Chikkanna repeats scenes, offering new layers each time. For those expecting momentum, this repetition might frustrate. But for others, it’s a deliberate meditation—the slow unveiling of buried truths.

The climax offers no sudden twist. Instead, it’s a release. The case opens, but no killer is found. What the officer uncovers isn’t a culprit—it’s the weight of things unsaid: the grief of an entire village, the silences between people, the absences in memory.

The final moments leave lingering questions. Did the truth ever leave this village? Or has it always been here, hiding in plain sight, waiting for someone to be quiet long enough to see it?

In the end, Agnyaathavaasi is more than a mystery, as is the usually case for a film from Hemanth M Rao, who serves as a producer here. It’s a meditation on silence, death and the consequences of unspoken truths. It’s about a village that has forgotten how to speak its secrets—and a man who, in trying to uncover them, must confront his own past. And through it all, Pashambara lingers like an echo—its meaning just out of reach, elusive as the truth itself.