The Australian looked them up and down. He quietly read their file. He eventually raised his head and said he was very happy with their application. Govinda could tell his parents were making a good impression with the genial High Commissioner, even if his father was trying a bit too hard.

‘What’s your full name, mate?’

His father’s jaw was clenched. He was leaning in close to the heavy, teak table. Govinda had never seen his father so anxious. ‘My name is Sunil Earl Seth.’

‘And the young fella’s?’

‘His name is Govinda. I very much want him to get out of India.’

An Indian waiter brought in glasses of iced water, which no one touched. Govinda’s mother placed her hand on her son’s shoulder. She held it there gently.

‘So what’s your reason for wanting to move to Australia, Mr and Mrs Seth?’

‘We are educated people eager to make a contribution,’ said Gitanjali. ‘My husband feels that his great personality is being thwarted.’

‘It says here you have relatives Down Under?’

‘Yes, yes. I am telling you, it will be a family reunion.’

‘Family is a good thing. That is in your favour. But tell me, why do you want to leave India so urgently?’

‘How come we want to leave? Naturally for our child. We think Australia is a land of opportunity. We can create a future there for our son. In India everyone has a label. You are Hindu, Christian, Buddhist, Sikh or Muslim but in Australia everyone is equal and everyone can be free. In Australia everyone is Australian.’ Govinda saw his father as being too eager. He looked small like he had when he stood near the rampaging elephant. He was not godlike at all.

Gitanjali lovingly touched her son’s face. He felt perspiration on his mother’s soft hand. But something else was revealed in their conversation with the amiable Australian that had a lasting effect on Govinda. Looking at the papers, the commissioner asked him, ‘How old are you?’

Govinda kept his head down and pretended he hadn’t heard, he was thinking of elephants, bhelpuri, monsoon rain, holi, babus, fishing, singing, school, his teacher, his classmates, ice-cream, Ashok, the race track, the goat, Tenzing, Nitesh. A thought shifted; he realised he did not want to go and, inexplicably, he kicked the commissioner, who bolted upright with a crooked smile.

‘What did you do?’ his father exclaimed.

Govinda stayed quiet; his face burned. ‘I am cold with the air-conditioning,’ he said. The commissioner stood up. He held onto his leg and reached for a glass of iced water.

‘An old sporting injury,’ he said. ‘Do you like sport, Govinda?’

Govinda nodded. The commissioner went to his suitcase.