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After the show inside the tent had commenced, Sarang Seth came out and stood next to the ticket counter. His six-foot-tall wrestler’s body was the kind that commanded immediate attention. On his head he wore a Kolhapuri pheta. His Jodhpuri coat reached up to his knees, below which could be seen a crisp, muslin dhoti. He was shod in brown Puneri shoes that curled up and back stylishly at the toe.

The air inside the tent was thick with excitement. The ball was set rolling with ten young girls marching in with flags, breaking into dance as they proceeded. Along with them arrived other performers somersaulting backwards and forwards. Then came the horses – Arab, Turk and some of the snow-white Russian stock – proud animals strutting about arrogantly. Some among the spectators whispered, “This Sarang Seth has always had a fetish for horses, you know! Even before he went into the army.”

These foreign horses of multiple colours – roan, brown, black and milky-white – were given the best possible feed; as a result, they looked handsome, strong and agile. People hadn’t seen such a majestic bunch even in the stables of kings and nobles.

The tent was lit up with thousands of...

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