Akash wrote to say he’d made it to our Motherland, that the first person he saw was the Queen. She was eating Quality Street from a golden cup. Akash said she offered him the one in the emerald wrapper even though he’d actually wanted the amethyst one but boys from the colony (his words) could not ask the Queen for such things so he took the green gem, swallowed it whole, and asked her what next. The Queen blinked. Akash asked her if she didn’t mind loaning him some of her jewels, she had so many. She gave him three diamond-encrusted platinum batons. He mailed a photo of himself in a loincloth, posing with his gifts, looking like Shah Jahan. His mother asked, but will he send us any real money. Ten years later, Akash returned to the village. He told us he’d accidentally left the batons on the plane. We took him through the front door, then the kitchen, and showed him his mother, lying on the ground like a peaceful prune. Akash said it was a shame his Amma never got to meet the Queen, she really was a lovely lady. In two days, Akash was back in his Motherland and we never saw him again. Someone’s cousin told us he had turned himself into a turbaned Guru and many fair-skinned women sat around him, their eyes closed, chanting Our King, Our King. At least he finally succeeded.