Aru Shah and the End of Time (Pandava Quartet #1)(54)

Mini was looking beyond both of them to the door behind Chitrigupta. It was made of polished onyx.

“When was the last Claiming?” asked Mini.

“Just before World War II.”

“That can’t be right…” Aru said. “Boo mentioned something about the last Pandava brother being a yoga teacher or something.”

“Oh, him,” said Chitrigupta. He rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t get that man to leave all the other dead people alone! He kept insisting on leading everyone through breathing exercises. Made some people want to die all over again, which is saying something. He was a latent Pandava. His divine powers were hidden, even to him, and there were no calamities that forced his inner godhood to awaken. Sometimes you don’t even know how special you might be. Sometimes it takes moments of horror or happiness to, if you will, unleash that knowledge.”

“So the last ones, in World War II…did they make it through the Kingdom of Death and get to the celestial weapons?”

Chitrigupta sighed and leaned back in his chair. Even though he looked like a young man, there was something very old and tired in his eyes. His smile was sad when he said, “We had a war, didn’t we?”





Dare, Disturb, Deign


Chitrigupta refused to send them off without any food.

“I think I might be your uncle,” he said, whizzing about the office. “Or, at the very least, we all share some divine something or other. I do hope you make it back! I never even had a chance to regale you with my stories or essays. Did I tell you about that time I interviewed a snail? You wouldn’t believe how fast he could talk. Downright speedy.”

From a file drawer, he brought out a box of cookies. He opened it and offered one to Mini, who sniffed it.

“Why does this smell like…books?”

“Ah, they’re wisdom cookies! I’ve made these from scratch before. The secret is to allow the books to hit room temperature before mixing them. Cold writing doesn’t sit well in the mind.”

“Uh, sure?”

“Save it for later,” said Chitrigupta, plucking the cookie from Mini’s hand and returning it to the box. His outfit had changed again. Now he was wearing an apron that said DO NOT KISS THE COOK. YOU HAVE GERMS. “And don’t eat them all at once. That might leave you feeling a little queasy. Or empty.”

“Thanks, Uncle!” said Mini.

“And you don’t want to get dehydrated or—”

“You could die!” said Mini and Chitrigupta at the same time.

They looked at each other with an expression that so clearly said We must be related! that Aru wanted to knock her forehead against the door. Repeatedly.

“Yeah, thanks, Uncle,” said Aru.

Chitrigupta patted both of them on the head, and handed them two small thimblefuls of a bright orange liquid. It looked like a captured flame.

So much for not being dehydrated. This couldn’t even be called a full sip. But Aru swallowed it dutifully.

A warm glow spread through her bones. Her throat no longer felt dusty. Between the sip of whatever this was, and one of the fancy Spring petit fours from the Court of the Seasons, Aru felt clearheaded and sharp-eyed.

“The dead have a tendency to leave us parched and tired. Watered-down soma always does the trick.”

“Soma?” repeated Mini. “As in the drink of the gods?”

“Yes, which is why it needs to be watered down. Undiluted, it can be deadly. Even to demigods.”

“Too bad it can’t make us immortal,” said Aru. “Then we’d definitely get through the Halls of Death alive.”

Chitrigupta eyed her shrewdly. “You must be the daughter of Indra.”

Aru raised her eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

“Did you know that Indra’s Pandava son, Arjuna, was one of the greatest warriors who ever lived?”

Defensiveness prickled through Aru. “Just because Arjuna was an amazing warrior and we have the same soul doesn’t actually mean that I’m a great warrior, too, you know.”

“Aru!” hissed Mini.

“Sorry,” she bit out.

But she wasn’t, and she was sure Chitrigupta knew. He didn’t get mad, though. Instead, he smiled.

“What made Arjuna great wasn’t his strength or his valor, but the way he chose to see the world around him. He looked around, questioned, and doubted. You, too, are perceptive, Aru Shah. What you do with those perceptions is up to you.”

The hairs on Aru’s arm lifted. For a moment, she thought of the giant library in the Night Bazaar, and the book with her name on it. Maybe her imagination wasn’t just something that would keep landing her in trouble. Maybe it could actually help her save people.

Chitrigupta looked away from her and clapped twice. “All right, then, off you go!”

Mini and Aru reached for the door at the same time that Chitrigupta called out, “Wait!”

“Whaaaaat?” asked Aru.

It wasn’t that she was particularly anxious to embark on a journey of near-certain doom, but there was always “just one more thing!” when it came to Indian aunties and uncles. She experienced this whenever her mother dragged her to parties. The relatives would start saying good-bye in the living room, then spend another hour saying good-bye at the door. It was inevitably how they spent half the visit.