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Aru laid on her couch, boredom seeping through her limbs. She stared up at the wall, willing something exciting to happen. Predictably, nothing did.
Aru sighed, turning back to the bag of candy she had long since emptied. “I should really throw that away,” Aru thought out loud. The words seemed hollow in the empty room.
Aru flexed her hand, grimacing as the tell-tale tackiness from the candy made her skin stick together. Scratch the bag, I need to wash my hands. Like, yesterday. Aru rolled off the couch, eager to have something to do.
“Ow,” Aru frowned, landing on the ground in a heap. “It was the heat’s fault,” she muttered to no one. And it was true— the heat this summer had been unbearable, her only saving grace being the rickety fan her mother had bought for under five dollars. The fan creaked as she passed by.
Aru rolled her eyes with a smile, resisting the urge to pat it on the head like a dog.
As Aru ran her palms under the cool water, she heard the faint sound of people talking. Switching off the faucet, Aru wiped her hands on her shorts. She crept to the side door, propped wide open. Peeking over the edge, Aru listened carefully, keeping note of any approaching footsteps.
Just like a spy, Aru thought giddily before frowning and looking down. I mean, not in a tank top and shorts, but the best spies are the ones nobody expects, right?
Regardless, she had an objective: find out what was happening. Aru pursed her lips. Not very heroic. Whatever, I’ll change it later.
“Yes, the painting is 30 by 40 inches,” Krithika said, clearly measuring her voice to be agreeable. “Please, check if you need. I have measuring tape if you’d like. I even have the fresh ingredients for a strawberry smoothie if that’s required as well?”
Aru winced. Maybe not measuring enough.
Aru peeked around the door just in time to see the delivery man raise his hands in bored acquiescence. He strolled back to the truck parked outside. Aru blinked; she hadn’t even noticed the vehicle until he had opened the back.
Aru looked back to her mother, seeing her massaging her temples. Aru instantly felt a need to help her. Drawing herself up, Aru approached Krithika who was now muttering about the cost of some random painting.
“It’s been so much longer than a millennium, how do I put a price on that? Especially if it’s her— oh,” Krithika started, looking down to Aru tugging on her pants. Her eyes softened, as it always did when it came to her daughter. “I thought you were in the living room.”
Aru looked up, worried by how tense her mother seemed to be. “What’s happening? Why is there a truck here? And what painting are you talking about?”
“One question at a time,” Krithika smiled. She gestured behind Aru. “I’m selling that painting over there. It’s just—,” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “—difficult, you see? To put a price on something that priceless.”
Aru considered her mother’s statement for a moment. “If it’s so priceless, then why are we selling it?”
“Well, this painting is what we call an artifact.” Artifact, Aru mouthed. “And I just don’t have the tools or security to care for something this ancient.” Krithika looked at the painting wistfully. “No matter how much I want to.”
Krithika cleared her throat. “The truck’s here to transport it. The painting is huge, the frame even wider, so there needs to be apt padding and safety.”
Aru nodded, processing the information. Obviously, the painting was very important and needed security to transport it, like movie stars needed security from the paparazzi.
Aru strode forward. What made this painting so special?
She immediately got her answer.
Aru stood open-mouthed at the grand illustration in front of her. Grand doesn’t even begin to cover it.
First, there was the golden frame holding the painting in place. It was metallic and shone brightly, illuminating the walls around her. Upon closer inspection, it held the most intricate designs, all of them curling around the painting like jungle vines. The corners were most detailed, patterns criss-crossing each other, forming their own mini image.
With how opulent it was, Aru wouldn’t be surprised if it was solid gold.
And that was just the border. The image itself was another thing entirely.
It was a painting of what Aru thought was the everyday life of royalty. On one side, there was a lush, green forest surrounding a sparkling lake that reminded her of blue diamonds. Moving to the other side, there was a colorful palace in the background. There were tiny details and people that Aru wishes she could study and look at forever, if it weren’t for the main subject in the painting.
A woman, in the most magnificent red sari, laden with gold and other precious stones.
Aru’s mouth went dry just looking at her. She was— she was striking. Ethereal. Godlike. She didn’t think there was enough or any word, infact, that could describe how that woman looked.
Each paint stroke, Aru noted, was made with love. They were delicate and deliberate, painting a new story every time she looked. From the wisps of hair framing her face to the mehendi painted hands, Aru could not look enough.
“Mesmerized?” Krithika commented over her shoulder. Aru startled; she had forgotten her mother was there.
There were so many things she wanted to ask, but she settled for a simple, “Who is she?”
A hand brushed over her shoulder. “Remember the tale I told you? Of Mahabharata and the Pandavas?” She waited for a nod. “Well, this is their wife, Draupadi.”
Draupadi. The name rattled in Aru’s mind, and as she looked at the painting once more, she felt—
She felt love.
Not the kind of love that she shared with her mother, though just as strong. No, this was the kind that filled her body, her soul. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt like this. All she knew was that she wouldn't look away. Aru didn’t think she could, even if she tried.
Still, as Aru looked at Draupadi’s face, there was something that nagged at her, Something wrong.
Aru leaned forward, examining closer.
“Aru,” Krithika warned. “You can’t get too close to the painting. It might damage—”
“Her eyes.”
Krithika blinked. “What?”
Aru turned to her, eyes blazing with surety. “Her eyes. They’re wrong. The shape, the feel. It’s not the same.” Aru looked back at the painting. Yeah, I’m right, she thought with growing certainty. Her eyes weren’t the same.
“Aru.”
Aru hummed. She looked up, expecting to see her mother with a raised eyebrow or disbelief, but was faced with something unreadable. “Mom?”
“Aru, how do you know that?” Krithika asked, voice hard.
She frowned. “What do you mean, how do I know? I just do.” And that was really it. She just knew. It was innate, something she couldn’t pinpoint.
“Aru,” this time Krithika sounded more concerned, more panicked. Her mother shook Aru’s shoulder’s. “Listen to me. This is very important.” She searched her daughter’s face, looking for anything amiss. “How. Do. You. Know.”
Aru felt irritated. What was with these questions? “I—” Aru began, but she didn’t get far before she gasped, mind flooding with memories. Memories that were hers but not hers at the same time.
Memories of a pair of eyes. Looking at her with excitement, despair, determination, anger, joy.
Grief.
Love.
So many snapshots of moments, forever seared into her retinas.
Aru stumbled away, whispering voices crowing her thoughts. It’s too early, one hissed. She cannot handle the burden at this age, it will break her!
What right do we have? Another argued. To take away memories that were never ours to begin with.
This will strain the prophecy, an older, more grave voice. We must.
And then, nothing. No voices, no squabbling. Just her and her thoughts.
Aru blinked, chasing away black dots.
“—ru? Aru!”
“Mama?” Aru shot up (when had she fallen?) gripping her mother’s hands. Krithika looked terrified before tugging her into the tightest hug she had ever received.
She reluctantly pulled away, cupping Aru’s face into her hands. “Oh, Aru…”
Aru growled in frustration. There was something, something there but not anymore. Something taken. “Mama, I remembered something. I swear, it was there but now,” Aru gestured helplessly. “I don’t remember.”
Krithika searched her face, looking for a sign of anything out of place. She let out a shaky breath, pushing the hair out of Aru’s eyes. “I know, I believe you.”
“Hello?” The delivery man called from the truck. “Can I get the bill now?”
Krithika looked about ready to tell him where he could stick his bill before Aru reassured her. “It’s fine. I’m fine. You should get it.”
Krithika huffed, giving her one last look before turning to the stairway inside the museum. The delivery man approached once she had gone up, carefully loading the painting onto a ramp.
Aru followed, unwilling to part with the painting just yet. “Where are you taking her?”
The man raised an amused eyebrow. “Her? Well, I’ll be transporting her to a vault at my workplace.”
“And where do you work?”
“The Otherworld Museum for Extremely Valuable and Old Items, or OMEVO, for short,” the man said, hauling the painting into the back.
Aru rushed forward on instinct, holding the bottom of the painting with reverence. “Careful with that,” She stressed.
The man, she should really learn his name, considered her for a moment. “You know, you could work there when you’re older. If you wanted.”
Aru blinked, feeling pride for just a moment before shoving it down. “No, I have to help my mom here.” She met the man’s eyes with a confidence she wished she could feel. “But I’ll be famous in the future, so remember to keep a lookout.”
The man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “That’s the spirit. Here,” he pulled out a beautiful peacock feather from behind his ear and handed it to Aru. “Keep this. For luck.”
He hopped in the truck, hesitating for a moment before saying, “You know, you’re pretty smart. And you’ve got guts.” He looked at her, eyes seemingly boring into her soul. “But don’t forget to have a heart.”
Aru shivered. But she felt confident that she would remember. After all, when she heard something once, she remembered it forever. She nodded, meeting the man’s eyes.
He beamed, seemingly pleased. “You’ll do wondrous and heroic things Arundhati.”
Aru was about to thank him before pausing. She hadn’t told him his name, had she? Had her mother?
“Here!” Krithika called, waving some papers as she jogged to the head of the truck. She handed him the pen, smoothing down the front of her shirt. The man nodded in acknowledgment, signing the papers with flourish.
“Well, that’s that.” The engine sputtered to life. “Please don’t hesitate to call us if you find any other otherworldly artifacts Ms. Shah,” he drawled, nodding to Krithika, then to Aru.
And off the truck went. “Wait!” Aru called, ready to run after the vehicle if her mother hadn’t yanked her back by the arm.
“Aru,” Krithika scolded. Aru winced, tugging fruitlessly on her arm. Why do mothers have the strongest grips?
“I didn’t get to ask his name,” she said, like that answered everything. Krithika simply shook her head, dragging her inside.
Back in the museum, Aru sulked on the couch, trying to throw the candy wrappers into the wastebasket. She was upset, not over the lack of name like her mother thought, but over the loss of the painting. She missed it but she didn’t know why. Krithika looked up from the documents on the table, sighing as she saw the very clear pout on her daughter’s face. Taking off her spectacles, Krithika hugged her daughter.
“How would you like to get some ice cream,” she asked gently. “Just the two of us.
Aru scrambled up. “Really?”
“Really.” Aru whooped and was already halfway to the door. Krithika grinned. She was very fond of Aru’s excitable nature. However, looking at her trying to tie her shoes in haste, she felt the fear from earlier return. Krithika frowned. That was a close call, too close. What if she remembered her past lives?
What if she remembered Suyodhana?
Krithika's heart skipped a beat.
She looked at Aru once more. “Please, just please remain a child for a little longer,” she whispered. “That is the only selfish request I ask.”