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"Welcome, please sit," Bapji said when I arrived in his study. He was a stoutish man in a traditional Rajasthani outfit resembling white pajamas, the long shirt called a kurta, and tight trousers—jodhpurs indeed. And he was barefoot. The room was a repository of family photographs and books and files, and on the coffee table in front of me, videocassettes of Godzilla, Great Journeys, and Yes, Minister. A cricket match was in progress on a television across the room, and it remained on, Bapji glancing at it from time to time throughout our conversation.

"Things have settled down. It was quite busy with the royal visit, as you can imagine. But it was a private visit."

"What other kind is there?"

"A formal visit. In that case it would be state-sponsored. The prince would get one day off—the informal part of a formal visit, so to say. But this one he paid for himself."

"He seemed pretty jolly."

"He's happy. She's happy too."

It seemed to me that Bapji and Charles were about the same age. I said, "You weren't at school with him by any chance?"

"I was at Eton. Then Oxford—Christ Church, the first in my family to go to Oxford. He was at school at Gordonstoun." Bapji smiled. "A grim place—highly spartan. He would have been happier at Eton. His boys went there."

"Had you met the duchess before?"

"I knew her brother, Mark Shand. And she has a sister Annabel. I don't know her."

A servant brought tea and cookies. I asked Bapji about his ancestry—whether it was true, as I'd heard, that his family was descended from the sun deity.

"It's true, we're associated with Surya," he said. "There is no sun worship as such, but you know the yoga position, the surya namaskar. Our family goes back to the Ramayana. We are kshattriya—warrior caste."

This was a delicate way of putting it: the family claims descent from Lord Rama, who is associated with the sun. By contrast, Lord Krishna is associated with the moon.

"This is all documented?"

"Oh, yes. Our family history is well recorded. My ancestors arrived in these parts in 1211. Prior to that, the grandson of Jai Chand ruled, so our family traces their relation to the Rashstra Kuta family, early in the tenth century."

He was speaking of a family tree stretching back a thousand years, from branches to roots.

"I seem to remember being in a sun temple."

"There's one in Jaipur."

It was at the height of Galta Gorge, near a temple I had visited long ago on the outskirts of the city.

"Are you fasting for Navratri?"

"I am doing my best. Fasting depends on choice. Some people eat nothing for nine days—take only water. Some eat one meal. Some eat fruit. And there are Rajputs who kill a goat—as a prasad, an offering. Alcohol is also offered. And, yes, some drink it."

"I hadn't realized that everyone did something different."

"I'll tell you," he said.

"I hope you don't mind my writing this down," I said. "I find this interesting."

He waggled his head in the Indian way, meaning, Okay. And now I realized what was lovable about him, what made him sound trustworthy and unpedantic: it was his lisp, a slight slushiness of delivery, a lopsidedness in his jaw, which made him seem, in spite of his full mustache, like a small boy.

"Each community assigns special values to certain foods. That which makes you strong and excitable is forbidden to Brahmins, because theirs is an ascetic tradition. But a sadhu might smoke hashish"—and he raised his hand and puffed an imaginary joint. "But bhang is not smoked. It is powdered and made into milkshakes, called thandhai."

"What's the mixture?"

"Milk, water, ground almonds, and some other ingredients added to it. And of course the bhang—you call it cannabis? It makes you pretty silly."

"I must try it"

"Some people start laughing. Some people pout," Bapji said. "Opium eating is also part of our culture. That's become a ritual in western Rajasthan. In the past it was common, eating opium."

"No religious sanction against it?"

"No. It's a tradition. We kshattriyas can eat meat and drink alcohol, though within the kshattriya caste there are some differences. Especially at the two ends of the spectrum, you can say—the high castes at one end, and the scheduled and tribals at the other end."

"I thought vegetarianism was the norm," I said.

"There is an untruth abroad that the majority of Indians are vegetarians." He laughed in refutation and wiggled his toes. "It's not true. One Englishman made a study. He found that, on balance, there are more nonvegetarians than vegetarians in India."

"You eat meat, sir?"

"Us, yes, meat eaters! Hunting was part of our tradition. And there was a tradition of a goat being slaughtered in front of the temple." He made a slicing, throat-cutting gesture with one hand. "I saw you at the puja the other day at the fort. Goat sacrifice would have been done there some years ago."

"How long ago?"