‘Draupadi! She was wife to all the five Pandava brothers. Arjun, the third brother, won her at an archery contest. When he brought her home and said, “Mama, see what I’ve got!”, his Mama without looking back replied: “Be a good boy and share it with your brothers.” So like an obedient Indian son he did as he was told.

‘After the Pandavas had settled the hash of the Kurus, they retired to the Himalayas: all good Indians go to the Himalayas to die when they grow old. It is possible that the people living on that mound are descendants of the Pandavas who stayed at home.’

‘Last time I was here they’d dug up grey earthenware pottery at Tilpat. I examined the specimens: certainly 1000 BC or earlier.’ She speaks in a tone of authority and emphasizes it by pouring the dregs of her coffee on the ground. The flunky runs up to take her cup. We gaze at Tilpat which is lit by the sun. It is a huddle of mud-huts around a few brick-houses and a temple.

A herd of cows and buffaloes come from Tilpat towards us. Boys run around to prevent them straying into cultivated fields. Girls follow picking up blobs of steaming dung and putting them in their baskets. Cows eye the Rolls-Royce and shy away. Buffaloes snort at its fenders and meander along. Boys let the cattle scatter in the palm grove. They put their staves between their legs and sit down on their haunches a few feet away from us. The girls line up behind them.

‘What do they want?’ demands Lady Hoity-Toity.

‘What do you want?’ I translate.

‘Nothing,’ replies one of the boys, ‘just looking.’ I repeat the reply in English. A villager alights from his bicycle and asks what is going on. ‘Nothing,’ reply the boys. The cyclist joins them. More villagers come along. Within a few minutes we have quite an audience.

‘Bhai! Is this a tamasha? Is it a zoo?’ I ask them with kindly sarcasm.

They snigger, they shuffle. But continue to sit and stare. A lad asks me, ‘Is this a mem or a sahib?’

The girls look at each other and giggle. Men grin. The lad gets cheeky. ‘Arre, it wears a pantaloon like a sahib! It has nothing in front or behind. How can anyone tell!’ More giggles and smirks. Hoity-Toity senses he has said something about her. She takes my arm in a firm grip and demands to be told. I tell her. She drags me towards the lad. ‘Ask him to come round the bush and I’ll show him.’ I tell the lad. He is overcome with embarrassment. Hoity-Toity grabs the fellow by his ears and hauls him up to his feet. ‘Come and see for yourself.’