Page 59 of Aru Shah and the End of Time

They charged through a cloud bank. On the other side, there was nothing but a vast expanse of ocean. But it was unlike any ocean Aru had ever seen. It was not blue or gray or even greenish. It was as white as milk. A small stone island stuck out of the middle like a lump of oatmeal in a cereal bowl.

“That was once the pedestal from which the Ocean of Milk was churned,” said the horse.

Just like that, Aru knew where she was. In the museum’s panorama back home, there was an illustration of the Ocean of Milk. Long ago, a powerful sage cursed the gods, causing them to lose their immortality. Weakened and in trouble, they churned the ocean to get the nectar of immortality. When they started churning, poison burst into the air. The gods asked Shiva—the Lord of Destruction—to get rid of it. He drank it down, and the poison turned his throat blue.

Aru always liked lying down in the panorama theater where it was cold and dark and silent, watching the stories of the gods and goddesses rotate around her. Which is how she knew that there had been a battle long ago over the nectar of immortality. The gods had not churned the ocean by themselves—they had needed the help of the asuras, the demons. But when the ocean finally gave up the secret of immortality, the gods tricked the asuras and took all the nectar for themselves.

Aru shuddered. She wondered how long a demon could hold a grudge. They might not be able to live eternally like the gods, but they could be reincarnated from one life to the next. Forever and ever…

The seven-headed horse began to descend. It slowed to a moderate clip once they reached the island’s shore. Past the sand dunes yawned the entrance of a large tunnel.

Aru thought it would look old and creepy inside, but it turned out to be just an abandoned office space. Marble cubicles had been cut into either side of the tunnel. They were all unoccupied. Some contained corkboards pinned with photographs. A headset, like the kind a telemarketer might use (except these were made of gold and studded with diamonds) had been left behind on each desk. Every so often, she saw a vending machine. But they didn’t offer candy or chips. Instead they had things like “seven hours of sleep,” “a good daydream,” “averygood daydream” (with, Aru noticed, a strange winking face beside it), “a shot of eloquence,” and a miniature antibacterial hand sanitizer.

Posters, covered with a thin layer of dust, still adorned the tunnels. A gleaming city of gold was featured on one of them. Scrawled across it were the words:

COME VISIT THE CITY OF LANKA!

THE PREMIER DESTINATION OF

DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES!

SERVICE: GOLD!

FOOD: GOLD!

ENTERTAINMENT: NOT GORY, BUT

DEFINITELY HAS MOMENTS OF GORE!

Another poster advertised an underwater city with a very attractive naga model, who was winking and baring shiny fangs:

THE CITY OF SNAKES!

COME FOR THE SCENERY, STAY FOR

THE SLITHERING BEAUTIES!

But wherever Aru looked, there was no sign of Mini.

“This is the tourism headquarters of the Otherworld,” explained the horse. “But it’s currently closed. Nobody will disturb you while you’re here.”

One part of the tunnel was boarded up. A large sign proclaimedNO TOUCHING!andCAUTION: UNDER RENOVATION.A bitter smell wafted between the planks of wood hammered over the opening.

But there was enough space under the boards that someone the size of Mini (but not necessarily mini-size) might be able to squeeze through to the other side.

It was here that the horse stopped. “This is where I leave you, daughter of Indra.” It knelt so she could dismount.

“Thanks for the lift,” said Aru. Her legs felt wobbly when she slid off.

“Call on us when you have need.”

Hmm…What constitutedneed? Because she’d really love to show up to school on a seven-headed horse. All those sleek black cars would probably explode on the spot. The horse seemed to guess at what she was thinking, because it whinnied.

“Urgentneed,” it clarified.

“Wait. What’s your name?”

“Uchchaihshravas,” it replied.