Froth dissolved to liquid, and dripped from its wet, black jaws.

The bear meant me no harm. Somehow, I was sure of it. The eyes of the beast were speaking of something else. It was seconds only, but in that thudding stillness the communication of an animal sadness, undiluted by reason and complete in its passion, was so intense and pure, from eye to eye, that it seemed much longer, and I wanted it to go on.

The dogs slashed at one another, whining and howling an agony of hate and fear, wanting to rip at the bear, but more afraid than enraged. Children screamed, and people scrambled to avoid the thrashing dogs. The bear turned, ponderously slow, but then lashed out swiftly and swept a massive paw at the dogs. The dogs scattered, and a number of young men seized the opportunity to drive them further away with stones and sticks.

The bear swayed from side to side, scanning the crowd with those large, dolorous eyes. With a clear view of the animal, I noticed that it wore a leather collar studded with short spikes. Two chains were fastened to the collar, and they trailed away into the hands of two men. I hadn't seen them until then. They were bear-handlers, dressed in vests, turbans, and trousers, all of which were a startling electric blue colour. Even their chests and faces were painted blue, as were the metal chains and collar of the bear. The bear turned and stood to face me again.

Impossibly, one of the men who held its chains spoke my name.

"Mr. Lin? You are Mr. Lin, I am thinking so?" he asked.

The bear tilted its head as if it, too, was asking the question.

"Yes!" a few voices in the crowd called out. "Yes! This is Mr.

Lin! This is Linbaba!"

I was still standing in the doorway of my hut, too surprised to speak or move. People were laughing and cheering. A few of the more courageous children crept almost close enough to touch the bear with darting fingers. Their mothers shrieked and laughed and gathered them back into their arms.

"We are your friends," one of the blue-faced men said, in Hindi.

His teeth were dazzling white, against the blue. "We have come with a message for you."

The second man took a crumpled, yellow envelope from the pocket of his vest and held it up for me to see.

"A message?" I managed to ask.

"Yes, an important message for you, sir," the first man said.

"But first, you must do something. There is a promise for giving the message. A big promise. You will like it very much."

They were speaking in Hindi, and I was unfamiliar with the word vachan, meaning promise. I stepped from the hut, edging around the bear. There were more people than I'd imagined, and they crowded together, just out of range of the bear's paws. Several people were repeating the Hindi word vachan. A babble of other voices, in several languages, added to the shouts and stone throwing and barking dogs to produce the sound effects for a minor riot.

The dust on the stony paths rose up in puffs and swirls, and although we were in the centre of a modern city, that place of bamboo huts and gaping crowds might've been a village in a forgotten valley. The bear-handlers, when I saw them clearly, seemed fantastic beings. Their bare arms and chests were well muscled beneath the blue paint, and their trousers were decorated with silver bells and discs and tassels of red and yellow silk.

Both men had long hair, worn in dreadlocks as thick as two fingers, and tipped with coils of silver wire.

I felt a hand on my arm, and almost jumped. It was Prabaker. His usual smile was preternaturally wide and his dark eyes were happy.

"We are so lucky to have you live with us, Lin. You are always bringing it so many adventures of a fully not-boring kind!"

"I didn't bring this, Prabu. What the hell are they saying? What do they want?"

"They have it a message for you, Lin. But there is a vachan, a promise, before they will give it the message. There is a... you know... a catches."

"A catches?" "Yes, sure. This is English word, yes? Catches. It means like a little revenge for being nice," Prabaker grinned happily, seizing the opportunity to share one of his English definitions with me.

It was his habit or fortuity, always, to find the most irritating moments to offer them.

"Yes, I know what a catch is, Prabu. What I don't know is, who are these guys? Who's this message from?"

Prabaker rattled away in rapid Hindi, delighted to be the focus of attention in the exchange. The bear-handlers answered him in some detail, speaking just as swiftly. I couldn't understand much of what was said, but those in the crowd who were close enough to hear broke out in an explosion of laughter. The bear dropped down on all fours and sniffed at my feet.

"What did they say?"

"Lin, they won't tell who is sending it the messages," Prabaker said, suppressing his own laughter with some difficulty. "This is a big secret, and they are not telling it. They have some instructions, to give this message to you, with nothing explanations, and with the one catches for you, like a promise."

"What catch?"

"Well, you have to hug it the bear."

"I have to what?"

"Hug it the bear. You have to give him a big cuddles, like this."

He reached out and grabbed me in a tight hug, his head pressed against my chest. The crowd applauded wildly, the bear-handlers shrieked in a high-pitched keening, and even the bear was moved to stand and dance a thudding, stomp-footed jig. The bewilderment and obvious reluctance on my face drove the people to more and bigger laughter.

"No way," I said, shaking my head.

"Oh, yes," Prabaker laughed.

"Are you kidding? No way, man."

"Takleef nahin!" one of the bear-handlers called out. No problem!

"It is safe. Kano is very friendly. Kano is the friendliest bear in all India. Kano loves the people."

He moved closer to the bear, shouting commands in Hindi. When Kano the bear stood to his full height, the handler stepped in and embraced him. The bear closed its paws around him, and rocked backwards and forwards. After a few seconds, it released the man, and he turned to the tumultuous applause of the crowd with a beaming smile and a showman's bow.

"No way," I said again.

"Oh, come on, Lin. Hug it the bear," Prabaker pleaded, laughing harder.

"I'm not hugging it any bear, Prabu."

"Come on, Lin. Don't you want to know what is it, the messages?"

"No."

"It might be important."

"I don't care."

"You might like that hugging bear, Lin, isn't it?"

"No."

"You might."

"I won't."

"Well, maybe, would you like me to give you another big hugs, for practice?"

"No. Thanks, all the same."

"Then, just hug it the bear, Lin."

"Sorry."

"Oh, pleeeeeeese," Prabaker wheedled.

"No."

"Yes, Lin, please hug it the bear," Prabaker encouraged, asking for support from the crowd. There were hundreds of people crammed into the lanes near my house. Children had found precarious vantage points on top of some of the sturdier huts.

"Do it, do it, do _it!" they wailed and shouted.

Looking around me, from face to laughing face, I realised that I didn't have any choice. I took the two steps, reached out tremulously, and slowly pressed myself against the shaggy fur of Kano the bear. He was surprisingly soft under the fur-almost pudgy. The thick forelegs were all muscle, however, and they closed around me at shoulder height with a massive power, a non human strength. I knew what it was to feel utterly helpless.

One fright-driven thought spun through my mind-Kano could snap my back as easily as I could snap a pencil. The bear's voice grumbled in his chest against my ear. A smell like wet moss filled my nostrils. Mixed with it was a smell like new leather shoes, and the smell of a child's woollen blanket. Beyond that, there was a piercing ammoniac smell, like bone being cut with a saw. The noise of the crowd faded. Kano was warm. Kano moved from side to side. The fur, in the grasp of my fingers, was soft, and attached to rolls of skin like that on the back of a dog's neck. I clung to the fur, and rocked with him. In its brawny grip, it seemed to me that I was floating, or perhaps falling, from some exalted place of inexpressible peace and promise.