"Not easy," I murmured. "And with a goddamn wanted poster for the blue guys and the bear. Jesus!"

"Will you help us, Lin? We feel very sorry for that bear. Love is a special thing in the world. When two men have so much love in their hearts, even so it is for a bear, it must be protected, isn't it?"

"Well..."

"Isn't it?"

"Sure it is," I smiled. "Sure it is. I'll be glad to help, if I can. And you can do me a favour as well."

"Anything."

"Try to get me one of those wanted posters with the picture of the bear and the blue guys. I gotta have one of those posters."

"The poster?"

"Yeah. It's a long story. Don't worry about it. Just, if you see one, grab it for me. Have you got a plan?"

The taxi pulled up outside the slum as the evening, emptied of its sunset and pale enough to unveil the first few stars, drew squealing, playing faronades of children back to their huts, where plumes of smoke from cooking fires fluttered into the cooling air.

"The plan," Johnny announced as we walked quickly through the familiar lanes, nodding and smiling to friends along the way, "is to dress up the bear in a disguise."

"I dunno," I said doubtfully. "He's real tall, as I remember, and kinda big."

"At first, we put a hat and a coat on him, and even an umbrella hanging from his coat, like an office-working fellow."

"How did he look?"

"Not so good," Johnny replied without a trace of irony or sarcasm. "He still looked quite a lot like a bear, but a bear with clothes."

"You don't say."

"Yes. So, now the plan is to get a big Muslim dress, you know the one? From Afghanistan? Covering all the whole body, with only a few holes to see out of it."

"A burkha."

"Exactly. The boys went to Mohammed Ali Road to buy the biggest one they could find. They should be-ah! Look! They are here already, and we can try it, to see how does it look."

We came upon a group of a dozen men and a similar number of women and children gathered near the hut where I'd lived and worked for almost two years. And although I'd left the zhopadpatti, convinced that I could never live there again, it always gave me a thrill of pleasure to see the humble little hut, and stand near it. The few foreigners I'd taken to the slum-and even the Indians, such as Kavita Singh and Vikram, who'd visited me there - had been horrified by the place and aghast to think that I'd chosen to stay there so long. They couldn't understand that every time I entered the slum I felt the urge to let go and surrender to a simpler, poorer life that was yet richer in respect, and love, and a vicinal connectedness to the surrounding sea of human hearts. They couldn't understand what I meant when I talked about the purity of the slum: they'd been there, and seen the wretchedness and filth for themselves. They saw no purity. But they hadn't lived in those miraculous acres, and they hadn't learned that to survive in such a writhe of hope and sorrow the people had to be scrupulously and heartbreakingly honest. That was the source of their purity: above all things, they were true to themselves.

So, with my dishonest heart thrilling at the nearness of my once and favourite home, I joined the group and then gasped as a huge, shrouded figure emerged from beside the hut and stood among us.

"Holy shit!" I said, gawking at the towering, immense form. The blue-grey burkha covered the standing bear from its head to the ground. I found myself wondering at the size of the woman that garment had been intended to cover, because the standing bear was a full head taller than the tallest man in our group. "Holy shit!"

As we watched, the shapeless form took a few lumbering steps, knocking over a stool and water pot as it swayed and lurched forward.

"Maybe," Jeetendra suggested helpfully, "she is a very tall, fat ... clumsy kind of a woman."

The bear suddenly stooped and then fell forward onto its four paws. We followed it with our eyes. The blue-grey, burkha-clad figure trundled forward, all the while emitting a low, grumbling moan.

"Maybe," Jeetendra amended, "she is a small, fat... growling woman."

"A growling woman?" Johnny Cigar protested. "What the hell is a growling woman?"

"I don't know," Jeetendra whined. "I am only trying to be helping."

"You're going to help this bear all the way back to jail," I muttered, "if you let it go out of here like that."

"We could try the hat and coat again," Joseph offered. "Maybe a bigger hat... and... and a more fashionable coat."

"I don't think fashion's your problem," I sighed. "From what Johnny tells me, you have to get Kano from here to Nariman Point without the cops spotting you, is that right?"

"Yes, Linbaba," Joseph answered. In the absence of Qasim Ali Hussein, who was enjoying a six-month holiday in his home village with most of his family, Joseph was the head man of the slum. The man who'd been beaten and disciplined by his neighbours for the brutal, drunken attack on his wife had become a leader. In the years since that day of the beat- ing, Joseph had given up drinking, regained his wife's love, and earned the respect of his neighbours. He'd joined every important council or committee, and worked harder than any other in the group. Such was the extent of his reform and his sober dedication to the well-being of his family and his community that, when Qasim Ali nominated Joseph as his temporary replacement, no other name was tendered for consideration. "There is a truck parked near to the Nariman Point. The driver says that he will take the Kano and carry him out of the municipality, out of the state, also. He will put him and the bear-wallahs back in their native place, back in U.P., all the way back to Gorakhpur side, near to the Nepal. But that truck driver, he is afraid to come near this place to collect the Kano. He wants that we take that bear to _him only. But how to do it, Linbaba? How to get such a big bears to that place? Sure thing a police patrol will see Kano and make an arrest of him. And they will be arresting us, also, for the help of escaping bears. And then? What then? How to do it, Linbaba? That is the problem. That is why we were thinking about the disguises."

"Kano-walleh kahan hey?" I asked. Where are Kano's handlers?

"Here, baba!" Jeetendra replied, pushing the two bear-handlers forward.

They'd washed themselves clean of the brilliant blue dye that usually covered their bodies, and they'd stripped away all of their silver ornaments. Their long dreadlocks and decorated plaits were concealed beneath turbans, and they wore plain white shirts and trousers. Unadorned and decolourised, the blue men seemed spiritless, and much smaller and slighter than the fantastic beings I'd first encountered in the slum.

"Tell me, will Kano sit on a platform?"

"Yes, baba!" they said with pride.

"For how long will he sit still?"

"For an hour, if we are with him, near him, talking to him. Maybe more than one hour, baba-unless he needs to make a wee. And if so, he is always telling first."

"Okay. Will he sit on a small, moving platform-one on wheels-if we push it?" I asked them.

There was some discussion while I tried to explain what kind of platform or table I had in mind: one mounted on wheels for carrying fruit, vegetables, and other goods around the slum and displaying them for sale. When it was clear, and such a hawker's cart was found and wheeled into the clearing, the bear-handlers waggled their heads excitedly that yes, yes, yes, Kano would sit on such a moving table. They added that it was possible to steady him on the table by using ropes, and that he wouldn't find that secure fastening objectionable if they first explained its necessity to him. But what, they wanted to know, did I have in mind?

"On my way in with Johnny just now, I passed old Rakeshbaba's workshop," I explained quickly. "The lamps were lit, and I saw a lot of pieces from his Ganesh sculptures. Some of them are pretty big. They're made from papier-mache, so they're not very heavy, and they're all hollow inside. They're big enough, I think, to fit right over the top of Kano's head, and to cover his body if he's sitting down. With a bit of silk for trimming, and a few garlands of flowers for decoration..."