Samar was cycling home, his bicycle basket laden 
with shopping bags. It was a hot, summer afternoon 
in Mumbai, and other than the occasional bus honking 
far away on the main highway, everything was quiet 
in the leafy by-lanes of the city.
Samar, or Sam, as he liked to be called, was eleven 
years old, and was enjoying the last day of his summer 
holidays.
This year, his mother had entrusted him with 
running errands for her, and he was quite happy to 
be pedalling in and around his apartment complex, 
dropping off the sewing, or picking up magazines 
from the nearby library for his mother.
Sam chose to take the shortcut home via the 
back gate of the apartment complex. The lane had 
massive banyan trees growing on both pavements, 
and they provided plenty of shade from the otherwise 
scorching sun.
The one thing he feared, however, was the 
huge colony of crows that nested in those branches. 
Cycling under them was a sport of Olympic proportions.

You simply had to be fast and clever to avoid getting 
hit by crow poop. Many an unlucky soul had attempted 
to enter the building from the back gate, only to be 
showered with smelly drops of green and white 
nastiness.
But Sam counted himself 
among the cleverer ones. He 
had on his favourite 
red cap to shield 
his face from the 
mocking crows. 
He kept his eyes up on the leafy canopy and dodged 
every time he saw some leaves rustle.
This time, however, poor Sam should have kept his 
eyes on the road, instead.
His zig zagging bicycle, already out of balance with 
the heavy groceries, managed to get its front wheel 
snagged on a fallen branch. And he swerved right into 
something tall and dark.
Sam lost his balance and toppled off his cycle. The 
fallen bike skidded to a halt and he saw fruits tumbling 
out of the basket, rolling away in all directions.
His own yelp (for he had managed to graze his 
knee very badly) was surpassed by a shocked grunt 
let out by someone else. He remembered he had hit 
something, and turned to find himself facing two 
horrible looking men. They were huge, oily fellows. 
One of them had a long scar down his face, and the 
other had tattoos on his neck.

Sam tried to run, but Scarface caught hold of him 
by the collar.
“Where do you think you are going?” yelled the 
man, his face barely an inch away from Sam’s.
The man flicked Sam’s cap off his face, to get a better 
look. Sam tried to wriggle free and was about to shout 
for help, when the man covered the boy’s mouth with 
his free hand. Now, Sam was tall for his age, and quite 
athletic, but he was no match for the man.
The boy suddenly heard the most menacing, blood-
curling growl coming from behind him. The man 
smirked and shoved him aside, throwing him towards 
whatever evil creature lay in wait.
Sam flicked his eyes towards the society gate.
It was tea time, there was no watchman.
No one to help him.
He bravely looked behind him, and saw a white, 
shaggy dog, the size of a small bear, baring his fangs 
at him. The growl was so low-pitched, you wouldn’t 
have heard it, if it didn’t make the hair on your hands 
stand up.
Sam stood transfixed in his place, as the dog took a 
step closer. He couldn’t outrun the dog and the men, 
not with his hurt knee.
He closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. 
He felt the dog walk towards him and surprisingly go 
past him. He peeped and saw the dog was hunching 
and growling with his back towards Sam.