Aru Shah and the End of Time Page 2

  “I thought you said you had a condo downtown, but this dump was the address in the school directory,” sniffed Arielle. “So you actually live in a museum?”

  Yep.

  “No? Look around—do you see my room?”

  It’s upstairs….

  “If you don’t live here, then why are you wearing pajamas?”

  “Everyone wears pj’s during the daytime in England,” said Aru.

  Maybe.

  “It’s what royalty does.”

  If I were royalty, I would.

  “Whatever, Aru.”

  The four of them stood in the Hall of the Gods. Poppy wrinkled her nose. “Why do your gods have so many hands?”

  The tops of Aru’s ears turned red. “It’s just how they are.”

  “Aren’t there, like, a thousand gods?”

  “I don’t know,” said Aru.

  And this time she was telling the truth. Her mother had said that the Hindu gods were numerous, but they didn’t stay as one person all the time. Sometimes they were reincarnated—their soul was reborn in someone else. Aru liked this idea. Sometimes she wondered who she might have been in another life. Maybe that version of Aru would have known how to vanquish the beast that was the seventh grade.

  Her classmates ran through the Hall of the Gods. Poppy jutted out her hip, flicked her hands in imitation of one of the statues, then started laughing. Arielle pointed at the full-bodied curves of the goddesses and rolled her eyes. Heat crawled through Aru’s stomach.

  She wanted all the statues to shatter on the spot. She wished they weren’t so…naked. So different.

  It reminded her of last year, when her mother had taken her to the sixth-grade honors banquet at her old school. Aru had worn what she thought was her prettiest outfit: a bright blue salwar kameez flecked with tiny star-shaped mirrors and embroidered with thousands of silver threads. Her mother had worn a deep red sari. Aru had felt like part of a fairy tale. At least until the moment they had entered the banquet hall, and every gaze had looked too much like pity. Or embarrassment. One of the girls had loudly whispered, Doesn’t she know it isn’t Halloween? Aru had faked a stomachache to leave early.

  “Stop it!” she said now, when Burton started poking at Lord Shiva’s trident.

  “Why?”

  “Because…Because there are cameras! And when my mom comes back, she’ll tell the government of India and they’ll come after you.”

  Lie, lie, lie. But it worked. Burton stepped back.

  “So where’s this lamp?” asked Arielle.

  Aru marched to the back of the exhibit. The glass case winked in the early evening light. Beneath it, the diya looked wrapped in shadows. Dusty and dull.

  “That’s it?” said Poppy. “That looks like something my brother made in kindergarten.”

  “The museum acquired the Diya of Bharata after 1947, when India gained its independence from Britain,” Aru said in her best impression of her mother’s voice. “It is believed that the Lamp of Bharata once resided in the temple of”—donotmispronounceKurekshetra—“Koo-rook-shet-ra—”

  “Kooroo what? Weird name. Why was it there?” asked Burton.

  “Because that is the site of the Mahabharata War.”

  “The what war?”

  Aru cleared her throat and went into museum attendant mode.

  “The Mahabharata is one of two ancient poems. It was written in Sanskrit, an ancient Indic language that is no longer spoken.” Aru paused for effect. “The Mahabharata tells the story of a civil war between the five Pandava brothers and their one hundred cousins—”

  “One hundred cousins?” said Arielle. “That’s impossible.”

  Aru ignored her.

  “Legend says that lighting the Lamp of Bharata awakens the Sleeper, a demon who will summon Lord Shiva, the fearsome Lord of Destruction, who will dance upon the world and bring an end to Time.”

  “A dance?” scoffed Burton.

  “A cosmic dance,” said Aru, trying to make it sound better.

  When she thought of Lord Shiva dancing, she imagined someone stomping their feet on the sky. Cracks appearing in the clouds like lightning. The whole world breaking and splintering apart.

  But it was clear her classmates were picturing someone doing the Cotton-Eyed Joe.

  “So if you light the lamp, the world ends?” asked Burton.

  Aru glanced at the lamp, as if it might consider contributing a few words. But it stayed silent, as lamps are wont to do. “Yes.”

  Arielle’s lip curled. “So do it. If you’re telling the truth, then do it.”

  “If I’m telling the truth—which I am, by the way—then do you have any idea what it could do?”

  “Don’t try to get out of this. Just light it once. I dare you.”

  Burton held up his phone. Its red light taunted her.

  Aru swallowed. If her mom were down here, she would drag her away by the ears. But she was upstairs getting ready to go away—yet again. Honestly, if the lamp was so dangerous, then why keep leaving her alone with it? Yeah, Sherrilyn was there. But Sherrilyn spent most of the time watching Real Housewives of Atlanta.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal. She could just light a small flame, then blow it out. Or, instead, maybe she could break the glass case and act like she’d been cursed. She could start zombie-walking. Or Spider-Man–crawling. They’d all be scared enough never to talk about what had happened.

  Please, oh, please, I’ll never lie again, I promise.

  She repeated this in her head as she reached for the glass case and lifted it. As soon as the glass was removed, thin red beams of light hit the lamp. If a single strand of hair fell on any of those laser beams, a police car would come rushing to the museum.

  Poppy, Arielle, and Burton inhaled sharply at the same time. Aru felt smug. See? I told you it was important. She wondered if she could just stop there. Maybe this would be enough. And then Poppy leaned forward.

  “Get it over with,” she said. “I’m bored.”

  Aru punched in the security code—her birthday—and watched as the red beams disappeared. The air mingled with the scent of the clay diya. It smelled like the inside of a temple: all burnt things and spices.

  “Just tell the truth, Aru,” said Arielle. “If you do, all you have to do is pay us ten dollars each and we won’t post the video of you getting caught in your own stupid lie.”

  But Aru knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. Between a demon that could end the world and a seventh-grade girl, Aru (and probably most people) would choose the demon any day.

  Without the red beams on it, the lamp felt dangerous. As if it had somehow sensed there was one less barrier. Cold stitched up Aru’s spine, and her fingers felt numb. The small metal dish in the middle of the lamp looked a lot like an unblinking eye. Staring straight at her.

  “I—I don’t have a match,” said Aru, taking a step back.

  “I do.” Poppy held out a green lighter. “I got it from my brother’s car.”

  Aru reached for the lighter. She flicked the little metal wheel, and a tiny flame erupted. Her breath caught. Just a quick light. Then she could enact Plan Melodramatic Aru and get herself out of this mess and never ever ever lie again.

  As she brought the flame closer to the lamp, the Hall of the Gods grew dark, as if a switch had turned off all the natural light. Poppy and Arielle moved closer. Burton tried to get closer, too, but Poppy shoved him away.

  “Aru…”

  A voice seemed to call out to her from inside the clay lamp.

  She almost dropped the lighter, but her fist clenched around it just in time. She couldn’t look away from the lamp. It seemed to pull her closer and closer.

  “Aru, Aru, Aru—”

  “Just get it over with, Shah!” screeched Arielle.

  The red light on Burton’s phone blinked in the corner of her vision. It promised a horrific year, cafeteria coleslaw in her locker, her mother’s face crumpling in disappointment. But maybe if she did this,
if by some stroke of luck she managed to trick Arielle and Poppy and Burton, maybe they’d let her sit beside them at lunch. Maybe she wouldn’t have to hide behind her stories because her own life would finally be enough.

  So she did it.

  She brought the flame to the lip of the diya.

  When her finger brushed the clay, a strange thought burst into Aru’s head. She remembered watching a nature documentary about deep-sea creatures. How some of them used bait, like a glowing orb, to attract their prey. The moment a fish dared to swim toward the little light floating in the water, the sea creature would snatch it up with huge gaping jaws. That was how the lamp felt: a small halo of brightness held out by a monster crouching in the shadows….

  A trick.

  The moment the flame caught, light exploded behind Aru’s eyes. A shadow unfurled from the lamp, its spine arching and reaching. It made a horrible sound—was that laughter? She couldn’t shake the noise from her head. It clung to her thoughts like an oily residue. It was as if all the silence had been scraped off and thrown somewhere else.

  Aru stumbled back as the shadow thing limped out of the lamp. Panic dug into her bones. She tried to blow out the candle, but the flame didn’t budge. Slowly, the shadow grew into a nightmare. It was tall and spidery, horned and fanged and furred.

  “Oh, Aru, Aru, Aru…what have you done?”

  Wake Up

  Aru woke up on the floor. The lights flickered. Something about the room smelled off, like it was rusting. She heaved herself up on her elbows, eyes seeking the lamp. But it was gone. There was no sign that it had even been there except for the glass shards on the floor. Aru craned her neck to look behind her….

  All the statues were facing her.

  Ice trickled down her spine.

  “Poppy?” she called, pushing herself to a stand. “Arielle? Burton?”

  That’s when she saw them.

  All three were still huddled together. They looked like a movie that had been paused in the middle of a fight scene. Poppy’s hand was on Burton’s chest. He was on his heels, tipping backward, about to fall. Arielle’s eyes were screwed shut, her mouth open in a silent scream. They were suspended in time. Aru reached out and touched them. Their skin was warm. A pulse leaped at each of their throats. But they didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

  What had happened?

  Her gaze snagged on the red light in Burton’s pocket. The phone. Maybe she could rewind the recording. But the phone wouldn’t budge from his pocket. Everything was frozen. Except her.

  This was a dream. It had to be. She pinched herself.

  “Ow!” she said, wincing.

  She was definitely awake. In a way, so were her classmates. But then, how was everything so…still? A creaking sound echoed outside the Hall of the Gods. She stood up straighter. It sounded a lot like a door.

  “Mom?” she whispered, running out. Her mother must have heard the noise and come downstairs. She’d know what to do.

  At the entrance to the Hall of the Gods, Aru saw three things that made no sense:

  Her mother was frozen, too, both feet off the ground as if she’d been caught in mid-jog. Her black hair hadn’t even fallen against her back. Her eyes and mouth were open wide with panic.

  The whole room looked strange and lightless and flat. Because nothing had a shadow.

  The creaking sound hadn’t come from the door. It had come from the elephant.

  Aru watched, stuck somewhere between awe and horror, as the stone elephant that had been standing in the museum for decades suddenly sank to the ground. It lifted its trunk—the same trunk Aru had been using as a backpack hook for years—to its forehead. In one swift, creaking movement, its jaw unhinged.

  Panicked, Aru ran toward her mom. She reached for her hand, trying to yank her out of the air. “Mom! The elephant is possessed. You really need to wake up!”

  Her mom didn’t move. Aru followed her gaze. She’d been staring straight at the Hall of the Gods the moment she was frozen.

  “Mom?”

  A voice boomed from the hollow of the elephant. Deep and rough and wizened. Aru shrank.

  “WHO HAS DARED TO LIGHT THE LAMP?” called the voice. It was as dark as a thunderstorm. Aru thought bolts of lightning might shoot out of the elephant’s mouth, which, under any other circumstance, would have been very exciting. “WHO HAS DARED TO WAKE THE SLEEPER FROM HIS SLUMBER?”

  Aru shuddered. “I—I did…but I didn’t mean to!”

  “YOU LIE, WARRIOR! AND FOR THAT I AM SUMMONED.”

  The sound of flapping wings echoed from the elephant’s open mouth. Aru gulped.

  This was the end, Aru was sure of it. Did birds eat people? It probably depended on the size of the bird. Or the size of the person. Not wanting to test the idea, she tried burying her face in her mother’s side, but she couldn’t fit under her stiff arm. The sounds from the elephant rose steadily. A shadow lengthened on the ground. Huge and winged.

  Whatever had been speaking flew out of the elephant’s mouth.

  It was…

  A pigeon.

  “Ew!” Aru exclaimed.

  Her mother had often reminded her that pigeons were “rats with wings.”

  “Where is he?” demanded the pigeon. “One of the ancient five warriors lit the Lamp of Bharata—”

  Aru tilted her head, a question flying out of her before she could stop herself. “Why does your voice sound different?”

  From inside the elephant, the bird had sounded like it could convince a mountain to turn into a volcano. Now it sounded like her math teacher that one time he had tried to perform a cappella but had stepped on a Lego piece. For the rest of the day he’d spoken in an anxious, sulky voice.

  The pigeon puffed out its chest. “Is there something wrong with how I sound, human girl?”

  “No, but—”

  “Do I not look like a bird capable of great devastation?”

  “I mean—”

  “Because I shall have you know that whole cities revile me. They say my name like a curse.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “It’s a powerful thing,” sniffed the bird. “And between good and power, I will always choose the latter.”

  “Is that why you’re a pigeon?”

  Could a bird narrow its eyes? If not, this one had certainly mastered the illusion.

  “The lamp was lit. The Sleeper will start to awaken. It is my sacred duty to guide the Pandava brother who lit it.”

  “Pandava?” Aru repeated.

  She knew that name. It was the last name of the five brothers in the Mahabharata poem. Her mother had said that each of them held great powers and could wield fantastic weapons because they were the sons of gods. Heroes. But what did that have to do with the lamp? Had she hit her head without noticing? She felt around her scalp for a bump.

  “Yes. Pandava,” sneered the pigeon. It puffed out its chest. “Only one of the five Pandava brothers could light the lamp. Do you know where he went, human girl?”

  Aru lifted her chin. “I lit the lamp.”

  The bird stared. And then stared some more.

  “Well, then, we might as well let the world end.”

  In-ep-tee-tood

  Aru had read somewhere that if you stare at a chimpanzee, it will stare back, smile…and then attack you.

  She hadn’t read anything about what kind of consequences might follow from staring at a pigeon.

  But she did know that gazes were powerful things. Her mom used to tell her stories of Gandhari, a queen who chose to go through life blindfolded out of empathy for her blind husband. Only once did she take off the blindfold, to look at her eldest son. Her stare was so powerful it could have made him invincible—if he’d been naked. But no, he was too embarrassed to go without his underwear. He was still superstrong, just not as strong as he could’ve been. (Aru sympathized with him. That must have been a horribly awkward moment.)

  And so Aru maintained eye contact with the pigeon…but took one
step back.

  Finally, the bird relented. It hung its head. Its wings drooped.

  “The last dormant Pandavas were so brilliant!” it said, shaking its head. “The last Arjuna was a senator. The last Yudhistira was a famous judge. The last Bhima was an Olympic athlete, and Nakula and Sahadeva were famous male models who wrote fabulous best-selling self-help books and started the world’s first hot-yoga studios! And now look at what has become of the line: a girl child, of all things.”

  Aru didn’t think this was particularly fair. Even famous people had been children at some point. Judges weren’t born wearing wigs and carrying gavels.

  And that led to another question: What was the bird going on about? All of those names—Arjuna, Yudhistira, Bhima, Nakula, and Sahadeva—were the names of the five most famous Pandava brothers. There was one more—Karna—the secret Pandava. In the stories, the other Pandavas didn’t even know he was their brother until the war had begun.

  And why did the bird say dormant? Didn’t that mean sleeping?

  The pigeon flopped onto its back and draped one wing dramatically over its beak. “So this is to be my fate,” it moaned. “I used to be going places. Top of my class, you know.” It sniffed.

  “Um…sorry?”

  “Oh, that’s useful!” The pigeon lifted its wing and glared at her. “You should’ve thought about that before you plunged us into this mess! Just look at you…The horror.” It covered its face with both wings, muttering to itself. “Why must every generation have its heroes?”

  “Wait. So there’s been five Pandava brothers in every generation?” asked Aru.

  “Unfortunately,” said the bird, throwing off its wings.

  “And I’m one of them?”

  “Please don’t make me say it again.”

  “But…how can you be sure?”