Amita was trying to juggle, but she felt that her hands were stiff. Something was very wrong. Amita the Juggler caught her reflection in the mirror. The juggler’s heart was pounding like crazy. Her mind refused to believe it. A wooden doll in a bright sari stared at her from the mirror. The girl cried in horror. “What has happened to me? Who am I? A doll?”
The juggler stomped her feet in an attempt to distract herself from the image she saw.
“Don’t panic. I can still think, talk, and walk. Not bad! Under these circumstances. I have to remember every moment of the previous days that led up to this moment.”
Her mind was muddy water, and one idea splashed up from it, clear and exclusive. “I shouldn’t have eaten so many gulab jamuns at the party! They did taste weird! I felt dizzy and sleepy after the treat. Oh, but those soft spongy flour and milk balls, fried and soaked in syrup, were so sweet. So wickedly irresistible!” Amita’s thoughts were confused; her mind hummed. The girl flinched as she heard someone knock on the door. She asked with caution, “Who is it?”
“It’s me. Barry the Parrot.”
“Come on in,” the girl said, “but you have to swear not to tell anyone about what happened to me.”
“You have my word.” Barry replied and snapped the door open. He stared at her with undisguised amazement.
“Well, you’re amazing as ever, but I won’t deny that you look a little bit different,” the parrot added with caution.
“I know I look weird. But I can’t imagine who did it to me and why. My body is stiff; my thoughts are mixed up.”
“Don’t give up. I’ll find out. That’s what friends are for!”