CHASING THE LURE OF A ROYAL PAST WITH GREYHOUND RACING IN PUNJAB

FARIDKOT, India — A column of four-by-fours turned off a dusty road in rural Punjab last week, past ox carts and farmworkers holding sickles, and came to a stop in an unmarked field. Servants circled around to the backs of the vehicles and unloaded, ever so carefully, the animals everyone had come to see.

There were greyhounds from Canada, from Ireland and England, and a few from the United States. The track of plain tractor-groomed dirt belied the colossal investment represented by the dogs, many of which are housed in air-conditioned kennels and fed buttermilk and chicken.

Dogs are a big deal in this part of Punjab, about 20 miles from the border with Pakistan. So is single-malt Scotch, skeet shooting and wild-boar pickle. The guardians of these traditions can be found seated in a row of chairs arranged at the finish line: wealthy Sikh landowners who, despite the Indian government’s attempts to dismantle the feudal system, are keeping alive the ways of the maharajahs and nawabs who came before them.

One of the most prominent among them, Kushaldeep Singh Dhillon, was scanning the track for a glimpse of a 17-month-old brindle bitch named Baby Doll. This was complicated, at times, by the number of young men coming by to bend down and touch his feet.

“All the big families are into dogs,” said Mr. Dhillon, who is known as Kiki. “You import the best dog. You have the best handler. It’s not the horse competing, or the dog competing, it’s the man’s name competing.”

Mr. Dhillon estimates the cost of a top greyhound at half a million rupees, or $7,500. This is a fraction of what he will pay for a Marwari stallion, a Perazzi shotgun or a big-game hunt in South Africa, but still, it adds up.

“Very few families have been left with all this, I’ll be very frank,” he said. “This is a bit of an expensive thing, the dogs, the upkeep.”

The trainers arrive first, laying thick blankets on the ground for the greyhounds, which bruise easily. Then come the dogs’ owners, recognizable by their quilted vests and Gucci sunglasses, walking at the head of V-shaped formations of cousins, like geese.

Many wealthy families here own chains of gas stations in the United States or Canada, and most have relatives there. One imposing man, who turned out to be a police officer, explained in rapid-fire fashion that “I am doing duty as a gunman for Kiki Dhillon” and that “my in-laws are settled in Modesto.”

Like every aspect of life here, dog racing was violently interrupted by the partition in 1947, which divided Punjab and forced Sikh landowners to choose between living in the Muslim state of Pakistan, and possibly being forced to convert, or parting with vast tracts of land that were now under the new state.

Those who chose India had to contend with a government intent on land redistribution; in 1972, new laws banned ownership of plots of irrigated land exceeding seven hectares — about 17 acres — and, to add insult to injury, outlawed hunting. Greyhounds, as a result, can be legally raced only using a mechanical lure, in this case a bedraggled dead rabbit affixed to a dinner plate.

 Mr. Dhillon’s 95-year-old uncle, Karam Singh Dhillon, ran the hounds with the maharajah of Faridkot as a young man, and could recall the king’s horsemen galloping into the fields and planting red pennants to denote the presence of a rabbit.

The older Mr. Dhillon had agreed to attend Monday’s race out of affection for the dogs, but when asked his opinion, grimaced as if he had just eaten a lemon.