The Hipster in the Anthill

“Oh no,” said Boo.

“What is it?” asked Aru.

“I hate poems that rhyme.”

The ants rearranged themselves into a new message from Valmiki:

“Poets are so dramatic,” said Boo.

“O lord of learning,” said Mini timidly, “we are yearning for your protection, so to speak. If you talk to us, we will be very…meek. We have a magic key, you see, and even if you hate Boo, I hope you don’t hate…me. We really don’t want to die. This is not a lie. Help us, please. So that we can get the other keys.”

Aru’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. She would never have been able to come up with a rhyme. It would have taken too much time.

The anthill paused, pondering.

Cracks started showing in the anthill.

Gradually, it fractured like thin ice on a pond, and a head emerged. One bright brown eye peered at them. Another blinked open. Then the anthill split in half to reveal an elderly gentleman sitting cross-legged on the ground. His gray-streaked black hair was in a topknot, and he wore a pair of tinted glasses and sported a trim beard. His shirt said: I’M NOT A HIPSTER. He reached for a mason jar that appeared out of thin air. The orangish drink caught the light.

“I would offer you some turmeric tea, but you disturbed me at my apogee. I am trying to write a book, you know. Something about fifty pages or so. But I can’t think of how to start the tale….Perhaps with people on a forest trail?”

“Or you could be super annoying and have it start with them waking up,” suggested Aru.

Mini frowned at her.

“We need some protection,” Aru went on. “It’s urgent, and—”

“You must convey it in rhyme, or I won’t give you my time,” said Valmiki mildly.

Out of nowhere, a typewriter materialized. He began to type furiously. Aru thought it best not to point out that there was no paper in it. Was it just for show? It seemed strange to announce Look at me, I’m writing! but then again, writers were quite strange.

“Be more like your sister!” scolded Boo.

Aru had a feeling this would not be the last time she heard that phrase. She pinched Boo’s beak shut, much to his annoyance.

To be honest, she was more impressed than envious when it came to Mini’s knack for rhyming. The only way she could’ve helped was if Valmiki liked beatnik poetry. They’d just studied that unit in English class, so Aru could snap her fingers in rhythm and start shouting about neon fruit supermarkets, but she didn’t think that would be helpful here.

“We got the sprig of youth from a demon,” said Mini. “But now we need armor from the—” Mini paused to look at Boo.

“Seasons,” he mouthed.

“Seasons?”

Valmiki raised an eyebrow, as if to say You’re stretching the definition of rhyme, but then, you are on an urgent deadline….

Mini hurried on. “Boo said you could protect us from evil; we hope he wasn’t being…deceitful?”

Valmiki leaned back against the anthill and stroked his beard slowly. There are two ways to stroke one’s beard. There is the villanous I-am-devastating-but-also-fond-of-my-beard-texture caress, and then there is the pondering does-this-beard-make-me-look-devastating rub. Valmiki’s was the latter.

“To learn the right thing to say, there is a price you must pay.”

Mini opened up her backpack and held it out. “I have no cash, as you can see,” said Mini. “Perhaps Aru could pay the fee?”

Aru patted her pockets. “I’ve got nothing,” she said, before remembering it was supposed to be a rhyme and adding, “too. How ’bout taking Boo?”

“I’m not for sale!”

Aru sighed. “Another fail…”

Hey, that rhymed!

“I don’t want anything you have to sell; I want the stories you could help me tell.” Valmiki leaned over his typewriter and tented his fingers. “This is a new age of epics, you see,” said the sage-poet. “And I have two Pandavas before me! We have all the legends and poems of yore, but it’s time we offered readers some more. Promise to give me one day of your life, and I will grant you the gift of less strife.”

So Valmiki wanted to write their biographies? Yes, please! That sounded…amazing. Aru was already brainstorming titles for hers:

The Legend of Aru

The Chronicles of Aru

The—

“Aru?” asked Mini. “On this man’s terms can you agree? There is little downside that I can see.”

Oh, right. The Chronicles of Aru and Mini.

“Wait!” said Boo. “Don’t give your life rights away for free! The day has to be mundane, Valmiki. And day is a mortal’s twenty-four hours. Comply, or else you’ll face the gods’ powers.”

Aru hadn’t even thought of that. This was officially the second time she was happy to have a pigeon guardian.

Valmiki shrugged, but he looked a little disgruntled. “You cannot rush a writer’s art!”

“And here you thought you were so smart,” said Boo smugly.

Good thing Boo answered, because the only thing Aru could think of that rhymed with art was fart, and that’s not a word you want to throw around when you’re talking to a legendary sage-poet.

“So, my friends, tell me: Do we have a deal?” asked Valmiki. “A nod is a sufficient way to seal. I will come and claim my payment one day. Until then, Pandavas, go forth and slay.”

Aru grinned, nodding so fast she thought her head might fall off. Mini, as usual, was more thoughtful. She watched Valmiki for a long while before finally nodding.

Valmiki smiled. “This rhyme won’t save your life, which is a light, but it will surely hide you both from sight. Say it once; be sure not to miss a beat, or you will risk becoming monster meat. Now repeat after me, little heroes, for I’d rather you not become zeroes….”

Mini and Aru leaned closer.

“Don’t look, don’t see, there’s no such thing as me,” said Valmiki.

The words wound through Aru, powerful enough that she imagined she could see them floating around her.

Before they could thank Valmiki, he sank back into the anthill and it closed up around him.

“Now that you have the mantra,” said Boo, “let’s try again to reach the second key’s location. The Sleeper shouldn’t be able to find you this time.”

Shouldn’t, but not won’t.

Aru steeled herself, and she and Mini spoke the words aloud. “Don’t look, don’t see, there’s no such thing as me.”

Up to now, Aru had never given much thought to how a word or sentence might taste. Sometimes when she said something mean, there was a bitter aftertaste. But when she spoke Valmiki’s mantra, she felt magic on her tongue, like fizzing Pop Rocks candy.

The last thing Aru saw before she touched the second key symbol on her mehndi map were some new words on the boulder. The poetry ants had spelled out what looked to be the very bad first draft of an epic poem (then again, all first drafts are miserable):