The parrot was outraged and exclaimed. “Didn't I tell you to be more careful on roads?”
“Calm down, Barry. I'm fine.”
“Where's Krish?”
“He found a tiny elephant statue and went to show it to the experts. Promised to be back soon.”
“What else did you find here in the elephant's dressing room?”
“Donut's diary! I'll show it to you.”
The door creaked open and the peacock flew into the room.
“Oliver said he wanted to get some sleep. I helped him find a good hotel near the central park,” Krish said. “Barry, it's good to see you here. Did you visit Amita? Is she all right?”
“She doesn't look well,” said the parrot and sat down next to Raja. “The girl will tell you the rest when she sees you.”
The peacock inquired, “What about the seller of the candy shop? Raja, have you interviewed him?”
The chipmunk sighs in disappointment and replied, “The seller told me nothing of importance. He just talked about the countless boxes being delivered to Sparky from the shoe shop next door.”
“Does the clown buy new shoes every day? Why?” Barry the parrot wondered.
“A millipede of a clown!” laughed the chipmunk.
“Maybe Sparky is preparing a new circus trick that requires many pairs of shoes?” Krish said.
“Barry, take a look at the poem in Donut's diary!” exclaimed Raja. “I have a feeling we're missing something.”
“All right. Show me the verse. Let's see what other puzzles are in here,” said Barry excitedly. “I'll read it aloud.”
The lion cubs chewed on someone else's shoes,
Only half remaining, their mischief amused.
But punishment looms, severe and stern,
Yet the cubs prepare for a newfound turn.
The red wig, once green with anger's flame,
Crafts revenge mixtures, magic in its name.
Saffron and sandalwood form the base,
A brewing scandal, a captivating chase.
Hidden within our shoes, secrets lie,
Stage props kept safe, out of prying eye.
Amita dons her red nose, laughing loud,
But how dare you disrupt the playful crowd!
The elephant dances in his hat, in vain,
For amusement and jest, a harmless game.
Yet my hour nears, revenge shall unfold,
No hand-to-hand combat, a different mold.
Magic weaves like strings for marionettes,
The chief instigator reduced to ash, no regrets.
A tale of retribution, a lesson learned,
In this short verse, a twist unearned.
“I’m terribly interested in the lines about the magic of sandalwood, which turns a living creature into a doll!” exclaimed the parrot. “That explains a lot! I must show it to Amita.”
“What does it explain?” asked puzzled Raja.
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