Human beings don’t know very much about us and I cannot but agree with renowned zoologists when they observe that moles are probably among the least understood mammals on the face of the earth. I am really a peaceable creature, happy to subsist on a diet of worms, insects, the occasional mollusc and other worthless creatures that the earth is rich in, if you dig a little deep. Naturally house-proud, I spend my days tending to the tunnels that I have created with my own snout (my personal record, by the way, is clearing 18 feet of earth per hour, I can exert a lateral excavating force equivalent to some 30 times my body weight). Kenneth Grahame, the world-famous author, celebrated a bloke like me as the hero of his Wind in the Willows. I just love the opening line of that classic: ‘‘The Mole had been working hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home.’’

Yes, I’m like that. I like to keep my surroundings clean (some in my family prefer sandy soils; others, soft, squishy wetlands), my pelage lustrous, and my snout out of other people’s business. Which is why I find most distressing this attempt to heap insult on me and my kind. What business has the former honourable minister for external affairs—I believe the gentleman goes by the name of Jaswant Singh—to besmirch me in his book, A Call To Honour? Make no mistake, I generally approve of the activity of unearthing dirt, but it must surely be to some purpose? There the gentleman goes, accusing me of betraying my country, leaking secrets to the Americans, and generally acting sneaky. No, sir, I may live deep in the earth but I would never stoop so low—ask anyone of some standing in the animal world (those pesky mole-rats, excluded) and they would vouch for our impeccable manners, our unimpeachable sense of honour, and our generally retiring ways.

Where is the evidence, is what I ask. Nobody can fling dirt on us and hope to get away. We moles believe that if we have to dig for dirt, there has to be enough of it. In this case, as far as I can gather, not one of the charges have stuck. The honourable Jaswant Singh (who I believe has the most evolved vocabulary in Parliament with the exception, I understand, of a certain Jaipal Reddy) is unable to furnish a single piece of authenticated evidence to prove that I have wronged my country or my species. He cannot name the mole cited in his book for a very simple reason. It is merely a mole on the cheek of his imagination, not a living breathing thing that has sullied its paws in high treason.

It is time then to put this sorry episode behind us and move on. But not before my name is cleared—and I am even prepared to present myself before Parliament in order to ensure this.

Let us, here and now, issue a Call to Honour all moles.