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

by Roshani Chokshi

On Mondays she had come to expect occasional visitors seeking temporary shelter from bad weather. Or people who wanted to express their concern (in the gentlest way possible) that the Museum of Ancient Indian Art and Culture honored the devil.

Apparently she herself was divine-ish, but whenever she looked in the mirror, all she noticed was that her eyebrows kept trying to join up. And it stood to reason that if you were even a little bit divine, you should not have a unibrow.

Maybe that’s why superheroes wore capes. Maybe they weren’t actually capes at all, but safety blankets, like the one Aru kept at the bottom of her bed and pulled up under her chin before she went to sleep. Maybe superheroes just tied their blankies around their necks so they’d have a little bit of comfort wherever they went. Because honestly? Saving the world was scary. No harm admitting that. (And she could have done with her blankie right about then.)

“I used to play pranks on the priests, too. So they cursed me,” he went on. “It was a tiny curse. The kind designed for mischievous immortal children.” “They punished you with a curse?” asked Mini. “Just for being a kid?” added Aru. That didn’t seem very fair. “They said I would never remember how strong and powerful I am until someone reminded me,” said Hanuman. “Sometimes I wonder if it is a curse that we are all under at some point or another.”

But let’s not get into the question of metaphysics. Many things can coexist. Several gods can live in one universe. It’s like fingers on a hand. They’re all different, but still part of a hand.”

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.

All of her nightmares were the same. She dreamed about coming home and finding the apartment empty, cleaned out. Her mother hadn’t even bothered to leave a note saying good-bye. Aru had that nightmare whenever her mom left for business trips.

However, I can tell you that what lies beyond is a place of sadness. For, you see, it is the Bridge of Forgetting. Only there might you find what you are seeking with the weapons. There is a reason why I have not disappeared: I am not yet forgotten. But I reside in the Kingdom of Death because I am not considered ‘true.’ I am myth. One day, perhaps, I too will cross the Bridge of Forgetting like so many other stories before me.”

We’re going to be overrun. Forced into that awful samsara cycle of lives! As punishment! This is what we get for thinking that scaly orange skin and fake hair could keep that former demon out of elected office. It’s all your fault—

“It is not failure to fail.” Aru started to cry. She understood what Boo meant. Sometimes you could fall down and still win the race if you got up again, but that wasn’t how she felt right now.

Aru used to think that friends were there to share your food and keep your secrets and laugh at your jokes while you walked from one classroom to the next. Sometimes, though, the best kind of friend is the one who doesn’t say anything but just sits beside you. It’s enough.

Some people might find it strange that Mini was already calling her Auntie when they’d only just met (although Mini did know a lot about Aru’s mom by now). But that’s how the girls had been raised. Anyone who was a friend of your parents was automatically called “auntie” or “uncle.”