Buddhu flipped up to the ceiling, then hung from his tail. He let out an awful screeching sound, clattering his teeth together while simultaneously scratching his armpits.
“You really are the Princes Buddhu-Bhootoom?”
I’d almost forgotten about Naya. As I apologetically handed her our last green coconut, I saw that she was looking at the animals all worshipful, like one wasn’t a slightly smelly and very hairy hippie of a monkey, and the other wasn’t a nonverbal owl in a monocle. I also realized the owl and monkey on her Bee WHOOO You Are T-shirt looked a lot like the animal princes.
“Arré, you know of the legendary Buddhu-Bhootoom, I see, my secretive and sweaty sister? Yes, indeedie-to-the-celebrimax do!” Buddhu shouted so loud that Bhootoom gave a start, clamping his claws on the horn, which let out a loud beep.
The owl squawked as the monkey went on, “We are the Princes Buddhu and Bhootoom, first of our names, eaters of bananas and also—occasionally, not me, but my brother—of mice. We are the savers of the Kalabati maiden with storm-cloud hair, sailors of peacock barges, and practitioners of sun salutations.”
The monkey gave me a sidelong look. “I have heard the people of your dimension will pay plenty for what they think is mystical and spiritual, yes? You think I could make a side business as a yoga-teacher-slash-spiritual-guru there?”
I was about to tell Buddhu about Athena’s Healing Your Broken Heart Chakra book but didn’t get a chance because Naya basically shoved me out of the way to take like a million selfies with both brothers before furiously sending the photos off into the ether.
“I’m a big fan! Huge! I collected every one of your Teen Taal covers!” Naya opened an app on her phone and started flipping through pictures of a teenybopper-type magazine with the most ridiculous headlines:
Prince Lalkamal at Tiffin: Secrets from the Hottest Royal’s Favorite Meal
If You Were a Rakkhosh, What Kind Would You Be? Take Our Air, Water, Land, and Fire Clan Quiz and Share Your Results Instantly
Ms. Twinkle Chakraborty’s Beauty Care Tips for Teens: How You Too Can Be Gorgeous from Your Armpits to Your Carbuncles
On the Mat with Princes Buddhu and Bhootoom: Tapping into Your Inner Animal to Be a Better Yogi
Underneath these headlines were the faces of the Kingdom Beyond celebrities floating around in space. Buddhu and Bhootoom were doing wacky yoga poses in their shots.
“Oh, look at me! Doing a handstand! A warrior two pose! Flying scorpion!” said Buddhu, flipping from one pose to another as Naya flipped through the pictures. “Oh, I am really so, so flexible, and yet, so strong! Arré, it’s a gift, what can I say?”
Bhootoom hooted, and Naya responded, “Oh, no, I think your feathers look terrific in that photo.” Okay, so I guess everyone but me could understand the little owl.
Naya giggled as she shot me a starry-eyed glance. “Just wait until the others in my Buddhu-Bhootoom fanfic writing group hear about me meeting them!” Naya gushed, before yapping happily with our new monkey and owl friends about the silly filters she was adding to their selfies.
As she chatted, I drove the rikshaw slowly down streets that weren’t even paved, but basically muddy, pothole-ridden lanes. Even though it was blazingly hot, the shutters to the colorful houses overlooking the market streets were almost all closed. A lone woman hanging wet saris on her flat-topped roof hid behind the wet fabric when she heard us driving by. At another point, some schoolchildren passed, uniformed and somber, pulled along in a strange caged wagon behind a bicyclist. One little boy in the cage was singing an off-tune little song, “Elladin, belladin, shoi-lo. Ki khobor ai-lo? Raja ekti ballika chai-lo!” I knew it was a kids’ nursery rhyme, but it still gave me the creeps. Especially the part that was the same as the rakkhoshi’s poem “elladin, belladin” and the part at the end about a king wanting a girl. Why did it remind me of the Serpent King wanting me to join his minions? I scratched at the skin under my bandanna, which was feeling dry and hot. I tried to wave at the singing boy, but he just stared blankly back as the kid-filled cage rattled away down a narrow alley.
When I saw a curious face peeking down at me through a window, I thought I recognized the kati roll dealer who had sold me a delicious lunch when I was last here. “Hello?” I called out, but the man slammed the shutter tight once again. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard him mutter, “Good-bye.”
“What’s the matter with this place?” As we drove down street after street, the thing that didn’t seem to change was the thick sense of gloom.
“It’s been like this since Who Wants to Be a Demon Slayer? began,” said Buddhu. “People have, like, majorly quit work, school, sold their houses, taken out loans, done everything to scrape together enough money to start training with expert tutors. I mean, capitalism’s gnarly, am I right? Since the game show, you can hire tutors in everything from logical word games to rakkhosh fighting. No one wants to miss out on the chance to be a star!”
Buddhu’s words made me squirm a little inside. I’d been having trouble paying attention to anything as ordinary as school since I’d first discovered the truth about my origins. And I’d been whining about missing my new friends the whole time to Zuzu, but never really appreciating her either. Was I that different from these game-show-hungry people?
And then something Naya said made me even more squirmy. “They all want to be like you,” she said. “You saw all those people dressed up like you in line! You’re what they aspire to be! You’re their dream!”
“Wait, that’s not true.” I stopped the auto rikshaw with a screech. We were by a bunch of empty market stalls, and there was absolutely no one around except for one lone paan wallah on his stall platform. The paan vendor, a middle-aged man with a thick helmet of black hair and a potbelly, was sitting cross-legged on the stand, making triangles of silver-paper-wrapped betel nut. His teeth were stained bright red from chewing so much paan himself. He looked up from the food, his jaw working, and let out a thin stream of betel juice from between his crooked teeth onto the dusty road. Gross.
I turned around in the driver’s seat to face Naya. “People want to be like me?”
“Oh, yes,” Naya said, obviously thinking she was telling me something I wanted to hear. “Why wouldn’t they? You are the perfect hero.”
“Perfect?” I gave a snort. “Um, I don’t think so!”
But before I could say anything else, something very strange happened.
The paan wallah let out a whistle, low and long. And then, before I could start up the auto rikshaw again, we were under attack.
They were coming down the alley from behind us, shooting out of doorways I hadn’t noticed, rolling up from a side street. One even popped out from under the paan wallah’s stand. After how deserted the bazaar had been, the sudden ambush by so many people was downright startling. Not just people—skateboarders. Everywhere I looked, there was a skateboarder. Skateboarders here, skateboarders there, skateboarders everywhere. It was like we were drowning in a skateboard sea. I remembered with a lurch how the Raja had said something about skateboarding rebels. This must be them. They were zipping toward us super fast now, their wheels shining sparks in the sunlight. What did they want? Well, this princess wasn’t just going to sit around passively and find out.
In a move I’d just learned from Buddhu the monkey, I swung myself out of the auto rikshaw, planting myself on the roof. There, I nocked my arrow in my bow, widened my stance, and stood at the ready.
I had an amazing vantage point and could see them all rolling toward us. As far as I could tell, none of them was aiming a weapon. The other thing that threw me off was how the boarders were dressed. They were all girls—from what I could tell—and all dressed in pink saris. Pink saris draped traditionally, pink saris over jeans, even pink saris worn like capes over T-shirts, shorts, and high-tops. It was kind of an amazing sight, actually. Girls of all heights and shapes and sizes shredding on their skateboards, wearing braids and scarves and bangles in the color I’
d always associated with dumb passive princess stuff.
One skateboarder did a crazy trick where she popped up three little cement steps, then jumped out in a high arc. Another girl flew over a sideways trash can on the ground and landed with a dramatic yelp. A third girl, slim and graceful, was skateboarding with a small bird perched on one shoulder—not just any bird but a very familiar-looking yellow one. The girl herself was wearing one thick-soled shoe because one of her legs was a little bit shorter than the other. The end of her sari draped over her hair and face, but even before it floated aside, I knew who she was.
Mati!” I took the arrow from my bow, then jumped down from the auto roof to give my cousin a hug. “And Tuni!” I laughed as my old friend the talking bird did a little silly dance in midair. “What are you guys doing here? Why haven’t you been in touch?”
“Tell me, Princess,” squawked Tuntuni, “how does a skateboarder talk to her friends?”
I rolled my eyes. Like Dr. Dixon, and now Buddhu too, Tuntuni loved his punny jokes. “I don’t know, how?”
“By air mail!” said the yellow bird, cackling hard. From the handlebars of the auto, Bhootoom the owl spit out a fur ball and rotated his head all the way around. Apparently, he was not a fan of Tuni’s humor, although he didn’t seem to have a problem with his brother’s love of banana jokes.
“Kiran, I’m so sorry we haven’t spoken. You must have been so worried!” That was an understatement for sure, but before I had a chance to say anything, my cousin waved at the animals in the auto rikshaw. “Wonderful job, boys! I knew you could find her!”
“Of course, my wheelie lady! We are, ekdum, totally and utterly flibberty-flabberting at your service, as most always!” Buddhu gave an elaborate bow, and even Bhootoom woke up enough to turn his head 360 degrees as if in agreement.
“And now”—Mati pointed to the owl and monkey princes—“you’d better get back to your stations at the registration center, before the game show producers start to suspect anything.” Mati’s words made the monkey’s face fall in disappointment and the owl squawk unhappily.
“Oh, no, Miss Mati, we don’t want to go back to those terrible jobs!” Buddhu whined. “They are boring and spiritually unfulfilling! Oh, please don’t make us go back! They have terrible senses of humor, and no one there even likes yoga! Or bananas! And everyone steals our food in the tiffin room—even when we label it! We want to be here with you, with the resistance!”
But Mati shook her head like a stern general. Behind her, Tuni flapped in circles and crossed his eyes, obviously egging the brothers on. Bhootoom took the bait, flapping his wings at Tuni. The two birds dived and shrieked, each making “come at me, bro”–type gestures. Unfortunately, Bhootoom kept tumbling through the air because of his “I can only fly backward” problem, so Tuni seemed to be getting the better of him.
Mati ignored the birds and went on, “Prince Buddhu, the resistance needs you at the registration office. Priya will take you back.” This was another one of the Pink-Sari Skateboarders, a girl with camo pants and a tank top, her pink sari tied around her neck like a superhero cape.
I was sad to see the little monkey go, but not as sad as Naya, who seemed absolutely devastated. “Be safe,” she sniffed as she helped Buddhu back into his military coat, galleon hat, and monocle. “Don’t forget me. Keep on with your yoga practice, and never forget that your banana jokes are really funny, no matter what those grumpy guards say.”
“They are, aren’t I?” The money prince dried Naya’s tears with a hairy paw, and even the weird little owl stopped fighting with Tuni to peck at her ponytails.
“Hey, why did the banana go out with the prune?” Buddhu said in a mournful voice.
“I don’t know,” sniffed Naya. “Why?”
“Because … because …” Buddhu’s lip trembled as he delivered the punch line. “Because he couldn’t find a daaaaaaate!” The last word was punctuated by a wail.
Finally, Priya had to pick up both animals and put them forcibly on her shoulders. Buddhu sat there, his tail around the girl’s broad neck, crying into his fur. “You take care of yourself, Princess.”
“I will,” I promised. Bhootoom the owl gave me a mournful hoot. Tuntuni flew in gleeful circles, alternately blowing raspberries and wiggling his tail feathers at the brothers with a rude butt-up-in-the-air motion.
“No wonder you got fired from your job, you birdbrained ex-minister! Your jokes are terrible!”
I almost fell out when I realized this was Bhootoom’s parting shot to Tuni. The owl could speak in human words after all!
Then the owl and monkey princes were off, wheeling away down the road on Priya’s skateboard.
Naya was crying and hiccupping something terrible to see them go, but I only absently patted her arm, because my head was reeling. “Wait, Mati, you sent Buddhu and Bhootoom to get me? And, Tuni, you lost your job? And what’s all this about the resistance? Who are you resisting?”
“I’m sorry, Kiran, it all must seem confusing. There’s a lot we have to catch you up on.” Mati flipped up her skateboard into her hands in a super-smooth maneuver. “Like why you dyed the bottom of your hair green?” My cousin touched my braid. And then, with a little intake of breath, she touched my arm. “And your arm too?”
I looked down, and saw that while my bandanna still covered my serpent scar, the part of skin showing under the bandanna edge had now turned a little greenish too. I put my hand quickly over the spot. “It’s nothing. A side effect of Essence-Tyme.”
Mati nodded. “I’ve heard you can get seasick through Essence-Tyme, but I’ve never heard of skin color or hair changes. But I guess it’s possible.”
Around us, the other Pink-Sari Skateboarders spun and jumped and did tricks. Naya, for her part, got busy taking photos of the girls doing aerials. For posting on her Instagreat account, I bet. Some of the girls were leaping with their skateboards high enough to reach some more of the Who Wants to Be a Demon Slayer? billboards with Lal’s and my faces on them. One of the girls pulled out some pink spray paint and spray-painted the words Who’s the monster now? over Lal’s and my giant faces. Finally, she spray-painted her tag—an image of a pink skateboard with the letters PSS on it.
“Cousin, we don’t have a lot of time.” Mati leaned toward me, speaking urgently. “There’s already talk. People recognized you from that five-second Suman Rahaman TV interview.”
“You saw that? But it just happened!” I wondered with a start if my parents had seen it too.
“It was live. Everything they record these days is. So you’ve got to be careful, Cousin. Pretty soon, people are going to realize that person on TV didn’t just look like you, it was you. And then everyone in the kingdom is going to come looking for you—Princess Kiranmala! Here to win back the famed Thinking Stone for the Raja!”
Mati said this in such a sarcastic way, and I was a little surprised. I’d never seen my gentle cousin be anything more than sincere and earnest. This was new.
“I just want to save Neel,” I said bluntly. “It’s my fault he’s in that terrible demon detention center. Waiting around there like some kind of an animal for a Roman gladiator to fight.”
“I know, Kiran, it’s awful he’s in there,” Mati said, but another one of the skateboarders, a girl with thick arms and her sari draped traditionally, interrupted her.
“This is about more than one prince,” she snapped. “This is about injustice to an entire peoples. Or have you forgotten about that?”
I wasn’t sure what the girl was talking about. I guess she was worried that the Serpent King wasn’t really ever going to hand over the stone to the winner. That this whole thing about him partnering with the Raja and the Kingdom Beyond was a big lie.
“Chandra is right,” Mati said, gesturing to the girl. “This is about more than just Neel—it’s about injustice. But for now, I just wanted to make sure you were prepared for what comes next. As soon as they put you on the show, all eyes will be on you. There won’t be
a lot more time to talk openly like this. I mean, you’ve seen the billboards.”
I felt my face get hot. The billboard that the skateboarder had just spray-painted over was the one with the slogan about Lal and me stealing kisses and hugs. I wondered if that’s why Mati was acting so weird. Was she jealous that people were mistakenly pairing off Lal and me?
As if reading my mind, Tuntuni made obnoxious kissy sounds with his beak. “Kiran and Lal steal kisses and hugs!” he snickered.
“Oh, shut up, Tuni!” I snapped. “Bhootoom’s right. No wonder you got fired!”
The bird sniffed, looking offended. “The royal cabinet was downsizing! It had nothing to do with me! My last-quarter performance reports were top-notch! The Raja let me go with an excellent severance package and references!”
“Never mind all that.” Mati grabbed my hands again. “Kiran, once you’re in the contest, there will be cameras on you all the time. You can’t let on you’re competing because of Neel. You can’t even let on that you know Neel’s been captured.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “That makes sense.”
“There’ll be three rounds, or tests, each more dangerous than the last. You’ll know they’re beginning because you’ll get a harmonigram message. I’m not sure about the first two, but the third test is the gladiator round, where the contestants face an opponent in a huge Who Wants to Be a Demon Slayer? arena. It’ll be set up with TV screens all around so the whole multiverse can watch.”
“Do you know anything else?”
“Our spies tell us that Sesha doesn’t just have demons involved with the contest. He apparently has hired a lot of daini, petni, and shakchunni in his game show too.”
“Witches and ghosts!” I exclaimed. “Well, at least I’ve read K. P. Das’s textbook cover to cover. What I want to know is how do I get Neel out of that underwater prison before we’re forced to fight each other in the third test?”
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