Soul Index

With the dogs’ howling cut off behind them, Aru and Mini went from utter darkness to blinding light. Aru squinted around, trying to get her bearings.

When her eyes finally adjusted, she saw that they were standing in a line. One glance around immediately told her they’d come to the right place. These people were definitely not alive.

One person was on fire. He yawned and went back to poking at the inside of a toaster with a fork with a very sheepish expression on his face. Then there was a very sunburned-looking couple in hiking gear sporting some nasty bruises and scratches. And beside Aru, moving quickly and calmly, was a bald girl in a hospital gown clutching a silk rabbit. Everyone was packed tightly together, and the crowd kept growing. Before her, she could just make out the letters of a hanging office sign that said:

There was a lot of murmuring around them.

“I can’t understand what anyone is saying,” said Mini.

Aru caught fragments of words. It didn’t sound like English. “Mini, do you speak any Hindi?”

“I can ask for money and say I’m hungry?” said Mini.

“Wow. So useful.”

“It was useful!” said Mini. “When I went to India and had to meet all my mom’s relatives, those were the only two phrases I needed.”

“They never taught you more?”

“Nope,” said Mini. “My parents didn’t want me and my brother to get confused in school, so they only spoke English. And my lola got mad when my mom tried to teach me Hindi, because my name was already Indian and she thought my mom was trying to make me forget I was Filipina too, and it became this huge fight at home. I don’t remember it, because I was little. My mom tells it one way, my lola tells it another. Ugh.” She took a deep breath, and then brightened. “I do know some curse words in Tagalog, though! They’re really awful, like this one—”

But before Aru could hear what Mini was going to say, a large speaker materialized in the air, shouting, “NEXT!”

Beside them, a tall pale man wandered forward. A glint of shrapnel stuck out of his leg.

“Gel eht ni yretra gib,” he said pleasantly. “Nodrap!”

“Quick, Mini, ask for money in Hindi and see what happens!”

“Um, Aru, I don’t think he’s speaking Hindi.”

“Maybe he’s speaking Russian? Sounds like Russian…” Aru looked up at the man. “Comrade?”

The man just smiled the kind of uneasy smile one uses when one is utterly confused. Mini got out her compact, and Aru caught on right away. If it could see through enchantments, maybe it could see through languages, too. Mini flipped it open. The mirror was now a tiny screen where the man’s words scrolled in blue and were translated into English underneath.

“He’s speaking backward!” said Mini. She held up the compact to show the words in small, green print:

“Why would the dead speak backward?” asked Aru.

Mini tilted the compact from one side to the other, as if she were trying to catch and read all the things that the dead spoke around them.

“Maybe because they can’t go forward in life anymore?”

The man frowned. “Daed kool t’nod uoy?”

The compact read YOU DON’T LOOK DEAD.

Aru typed out a response, and then pronounced it haltingly. “Sknaht! Snimativ eht s’ti.” Thanks! It’s the vitamins.

“NEXT!” boomed the speakers.

They shuffled forward once more. The neon sign for KARMA & SINS glowed. Up front, the people in line were doing all kinds of things. Some of them were crossing themselves. Others were crawling forward on their hands and knees, murmuring under their breaths.

Beside Aru, Mini stood rigid. “How can you even look at that?” she asked, her voice hushed. She sounded as if she was about to cry.

“Look at what? It’s just a sign, like something outside a lawyer’s office,” said Aru. “Why? What do you see?”

Mini’s eyes widened. She turned her head away. “Right. I see that, too.”

Mini didn’t know how to lie, but she didn’t sound entirely truthful. Aru suspected she was seeing more than just the sign for KARMA & SINS. Whatever it was, Mini didn’t like it.

The line ahead of them slowly dwindled. Now Aru and Mini stood near the front.

“Do you think the Kingdom of Death looks the same to everyone?” asked Aru.

“I doubt it,” said Mini. “Maybe it’s like that Costco. We’re all seeing something different.”

“Huh. Where’s the hippo that chomps on people?”

“Pretty sure that’s Egyptian mythology, Aru.”

“Oh.”

Aru wished that she had a better idea of what to expect when they went through the next door.

All she knew was that the celestial weapons were housed somewhere inside this place. But where? And where were they going to find the Pool of the Past? What if she mistook it for a different pool that was ten times worse? Like the Pool That Looks Like the Past but Is Actually Eternal Torture.

So far, the Kingdom of Death was just standing in an absurdly long line. Like at an all-you-can-eat buffet, or at the DMV, where her mother sometimes dragged her, and the workers looked equal parts smug and furious.

The door in front of them opened. “Evom!” shouted a grumpy old woman behind them. She was carrying an orange tabby cat in her arms.

Mini held up the compact for Aru to see: MOVE.

Aru spelled out the right response in her head and then shouted it as they walked through the door: “Edur!”

Inside the room, a kind-eyed man with a bulbous nose sat at a desk. He reminded Aru a little bit of her school principal at Augustus Day. Mr. Cobb sometimes subbed for their Social Studies teacher, and he always managed to slip in a story about the Vietnam War, even when their class unit was on ancient civilizations.

The man stared at them. On his desk, seven miniature versions of himself ran back and forth carrying pens and stacks of paper. They argued among themselves.

“Report, please,” said the man. “You should have received one upon expiration.”

Mini inhaled sharply. “Dad?”

The seven miniature men stopped running and stared at Mini.

He was unfazed. “You don’t have my nose, so I don’t think so…” he said. “Plus, I think one of my wives would have told me. But there is an ultimate test.” He coughed loudly. “Yesterday, I bought eggs at a human grocery store. The cashier asked me if I wanted them in a separate bag. I told her, ‘No! Leave them in their shells!’”

Mini blinked. Aru felt a rush of pity for this man’s children.

The man sniffed. “Nothing? Not even a smile? Well, then, that settles it. All my offspring have my nose and sense of humor.” He chuckled. “I must say, though, that’s a rather clever ploy to get out of death, claiming to be my child.” He turned to one of his tiny selves. “Write that one down for my memoir!” Then he turned back to Aru and Mini. “Now, how about those records?”

“We don’t have any,” said Aru.

“Of course you do. You’re dead, aren’t you?”

“Well, about that—” said Mini. She was waving her hand, ready to explain their strange situation, when the compact fell from her palm and landed on the desk with a loud thunk.

The man leaned over to take a look. All seven miniature versions of him dropped what they were holding and raced to the compact.

Aru scanned the table and saw a small brass plaque that read: CHITRIGUPTA. There was also a mug that read: FOURTEEN WORLDS’ BEST DAD. Behind him were bookcases and file cabinets and mountains upon mountains of paperwork. It took a moment for Aru to remember Chitrigupta from the stories. He was the one who kept a record of everything a soul had ever done, both good and bad. This was why karma mattered. Her mom used to say, Chitrigupta will see and write down everything.

Aru wasn’t sure she believed in karma. What goes around comes around sounded suspiciously convenient to her. But the one time she’d said Karma isn’t real, she’d walked outside and a bird had pooped on her head. So who knew?

“Where did you get the mirror, child?” asked Chitrigupta.

Most adults would have gone straight to accusing a kid of stealing. But not Chitrigupta. Aru liked that.

“It was given to me during the Claiming.”

“The claiming…Wait. The Claiming?” Chitrigupta’s eyes widened. “I don’t think there’s been a Claiming since…” He rose from his chair. “Bring up the records!”

The room spun into chaos. Aru and Mini stepped back as the seven miniature versions of Chitrigupta jumped onto him and disappeared. He slumped back into his chair, and his eyes glazed over. Then they flashed and crackled, and words streamed across his gaze.

When the text finished scrolling, he leaned forward again. Tears shone in his eyes. “Never been a girl before,” he said, looking between Mini and Aru. “How unusual…”

Aru braced herself, waiting to hear the usual lines that they couldn’t possibly be heroes, or that they were too weak, too young, or too…girly.

“And how refreshing!” he said. His shirt changed to say: THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE. “Upend the patriarchy! R-E-S-P-E-C-T! Et cetera, et cetera. And you got past Ek and Do, too. Well done, well done.”

Mini brightened. “So can you help us? We need to wake up the celestial weapons and then we have to go to the Pool of the Past to find out how to stop the Sleeper from ending Time forever.”

“Oh, that does sound dire,” said Chitrigupta. He reached for his mug and sipped from it. “Sadly, I’m not allowed to help. Not even the Dharma Raja could help you, little ones.”

Mini turned red. “Does he…does he know we’re here?” she asked.

“Undoubtedly.”

“Doesn’t he want to…I dunno…meet me?”

At this, Chitrigupta’s face softened. “Oh, child, I’m sure he does. But the truth is, he will eventually meet you one way or another. Your soul is what matters—it is the immortal thing, not the body. The gods no longer get involved with mortal affairs.”

“Can’t you make an exception?” asked Aru.

“If I could, do you not think I would have helped the heroes who came before you? Bright, shining things they were. Like living stars. I can only do for you what I did for them.”

“And that is…?”

Chitrigupta sighed. He spread out his hands. Two ivory-colored tokens—flat squares with screens, like tiny iPhones—appeared on the table. “I wish there were more, but you two simply haven’t lived long enough.”

Aru picked up one of the tokens. She saw little images of herself flashing on its surface. In one she was holding open the door for a young woman carrying a stack of books. In another, she was washing the dishes in the apartment. In the next, she was pulling a blanket over her sleeping mother.

“What are these?” asked Mini.

“Good karma,” said Chitrigupta. “They should allow you to get past at least some of the things buried within these halls. You see, there are many rooms in the Kingdom of Death. Many places you may enter but not exit. All I can tell you is that you must follow the signs and find your own way. The celestial weapons are kept near the Pool of Reincarnation. Right next to the Pool of Reincarnation is where you will find the Pool of the Past.”

“There’s only one way to get to them?” asked Aru. She was thinking about the handy trick Boo had shown them, where all they had to do to go somewhere was reach for a place with intention.

Thinking about Boo made her heart tighten. Was he okay? She hoped he was somewhere safe, blissfully asleep. Deep down, however, she feared that wasn’t the case….

“Oh, I don’t know about that. There are hundreds of ways. Some paved, some pebbled, some pockmarked.”

One of Chitrigupta’s miniature selves hopped onto his shoulder, climbed onto his face, and scratched his nose while he spoke. Aru tried not to let her eyebrows soar up her forehead.

“Even I do not know what you will find in the Halls of Death,” said Chitrigupta. “Things and places move through death differently than humans do. Things that were once real are now mere stories in this kingdom. Forgotten things endure their own death, for they are never reincarnated into something new.”

Forgotten things?

Aru wanted to believe this meant they would find objects like deflated basketballs, mismatched socks, or bobby pins. Or that pen you could have sworn you put into the pocket of your backpack but wasn’t there when you went to look for it. But she knew that was wishful thinking.

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?”