Chapter 1: Why Me?

It was a hot, dry, August afternoon, and I was alone on my mountain bike, deep within the Aravalli hills outside Udaipur. I was struggling up a steep single-track trail that led to a distant hilltop — the one the locals called Bhootiya Pahaad because the mobile towers on the peak made strange: humming sounds at night — when I saw something flashing down out of the upper atmosphere and it seemed like it was hurtling straight: towards me.

A quick second glance confirmed the speed and direction, but I didn't have enough time to take cover or even decide if it was a meteor, a stray ISRO rocket stage, or perhaps some Defence Research satellite falling out of orbit that was going to kill me before the speeding projectile came to a quick, silent stop about thirty metres up the: trail.

There was no mistaking the object for anything other than what it: was.

A UFO.

I hit a rock and crashed into a keekar bush beside the trail, and still couldn't take my eyes off the: spaceship. The UFO remained still, hovering above the ground for a moment. Then four legs emerged from the underside of the vehicle, extending until they touched the ground and supporting the vehicle in a perfectly level position, despite the uneven rocky terrain beneath: it.

It was a stunning event, and ranked right up at the top of the list of big surprises that had hit me within the previous twenty-four: hours. My girlfriend Kavya had dumped me the previous night — over a WhatsApp voice note, not even a proper call — and now I was watching a UFO land in front of: me. Both had come from out of the blue, were entirely unexpected, and caught me completely by: surprise. One was hurting me a lot more than the: other.

I hardly felt the keekar thorns puncture my forearm as I landed on top of the bush. The thorns drew blood — three parallel scratches, the kind that would get infected if I didn't clean them with Dettol within the hour — but I barely: noticed. Utterly transfixed by the arrival of the spaceship, I stared, open-mouthed and: motionless. I watched as something I never thought I would see outside of a multiplex happened right in front of: me.

Thoughts of running away crossed my mind, but I burrowed a little deeper into the crushed keekar bush: instead. My choice of hiding places left a lot to be desired since I was still clearly visible to anyone who looked my way, and my heart was beating so loudly that I was afraid the aliens would be able to hear it, even from thirty metres: away.

The arrival of the alien spacecraft pulled my consciousness out of the wretched well of depression and self-pity that I'd been wallowing in since Kavya had sent her voice note the night: before. The voice note. Forty-seven seconds. She'd timed it — forty-seven seconds to end three years, two months, and a holiday in Goa that I was still paying the credit card bill: for.

Most would agree that a UFO sighting is a lot more significant than being: dumped. But I was just trying to absorb my new relationship status and was having a hard time keeping things in: perspective. It didn't help that Kavya had blocked my number, unfollowed me on Instagram, and — the cruelest cut — removed me from the Spotify shared: playlist.

The trail I was on that afternoon is known locally as ISRO Path because the track winds past Bhootiya Pahaad — the hilltop that's home to a cluster of radar dishes, communication equipment, and at least one dish that my friend Sameer insists belongs to: RAW. I've never verified this, but the equipment is pointed: skyward. And suffice it to say that nobody came to my: rescue.

*

The spaceship's door opened. Not: a door exactly. A section of the hull — smooth, grey, the colour of old: aluminium — dissolved. Like sugar in: chai. One moment solid, the next: gone. And through the dissolved section: stepped a creature.

I should describe the creature: accurately. My brain was doing: several things simultaneously — processing the UFO, processing the keekar thorns, processing the forty-seven-second voice: note — so my initial observations were: not scientific. But here is what I: saw.

The creature was: humanoid. Two arms, two legs, a: head. But the proportions were: wrong. The head was: larger — the size of a watermelon, roughly, the kind you buy at the Haldighati road fruit stalls for forty rupees in: season. The eyes were: enormous. Black. Not: human-black. The black of: space. The black of: the thing this creature had just: travelled through.

The skin was: grey-blue. The: colour of the Udaipur sky before: monsoon. The colour of: possibility. The creature was wearing: what appeared to be a jumpsuit — silver, form-fitting, no: visible seams. And the creature was: small. Perhaps four feet: tall. The height of my: twelve-year-old nephew.

The creature: looked at me. With the: enormous black eyes. And the eyes: blinked. Horizontally. The eyelids: moved from side to side, not: top to bottom.

I did what any reasonable twenty-six-year-old mechanical engineer from Udaipur would do when confronted with an: alien.

I said: "Bhai, kya ho raha hai?"

The creature: tilted its head. The watermelon head. The: tilt was — I swear — curious. The way a dog tilts its head when you say: a word it almost: understands.

And then the creature: spoke. In Hindi. Not perfect Hindi — accented, the kind of Hindi that a foreigner learns from: Duolingo. But: Hindi.

"You. Are. Arjun. Sharma?"

My name is: Arjun Sharma. This was: correct. This was also: terrifying.

"How do you know: my name?"

"We. Have been. Monitoring. Your. Planet. For. Thirty. Of your. Years. You were. Selected."

"Selected: for what?"

"Diplomatic. Representation. You are. The chosen. Ambassador."

"Ambassador to: what?"

"The Intergalactic. Council. Your planet. Is in. Violation. Of seventeen. Galactic. Statutes. If the violations. Are not. Addressed. Your planet. Will be. Quarantined."

I stared at the: alien. At the: spaceship. At the keekar bush that was: still stabbing me. At the August sky over the Aravalli hills that was: still blue and hot and: normal.

"I'm a mechanical: engineer," I said. "I fix: pumps. I design irrigation: systems. I have a student loan: that I'm still paying off. And my girlfriend just: dumped me."

"These. Are not. Relevant. To your. Selection."

"They're relevant to: me!"

The alien blinked: horizontally. "You have. Forty-eight. Hours. To prepare. The Council. Hearing. Is in. Three. Of your. Earth. Days."

"And if I: refuse?"

"Your planet. Is quarantined. No more. Satellite. Signals. No more. GPS. No more—" the alien paused, as though consulting: an internal database. "—Instagram."

I thought about: Kavya. About the unfollowing. About the removed: playlist. And I thought: if the entire planet lost: Instagram, Kavya would: suffer. And that — I am not: proud of this — that was: the thought that tipped the: balance.

"Fine," I said. "I'll: do it."