Oh, yes they’re the epitome of all evil! Venomous or not. From the serpent in the Garden of Eden, to Ka with his hypnotic hiss in The Jungle Book, from the little boy in Rumer Godden’s The River (I think it was that book…) to the Anaconda horror shows (how many are there?), from black mambas in flush tanks to cobras under your pillow… Ssstuff of nightmares.
And no, don’t say they’re harmless or innocent, they kill around 46,000 every year in India alone. Besides, they slither and wriggle in that sinuous, slimy way. And have you seen them pole dance with each other, when in love? Nothing could be more suggestively sensual. For God’s sake, they don’t even blink.
Just flicker that famous forked tongue as they decide what to do with you: Spit venom in your eyes, embrace you lovingly and squeeze? Or simply give you a hypodermic prick and inject you with a dose of golden venom that will liquefy and rot you inside out or paralyse your muscles one by one. And then they dislocate their jaws and swallow you whole. How gross is that.
So many of us scream and swoon at the sight of one, so slimy they must be, glistening with slithery goo, and yet divas and Don Juans flaunt snakeskin purses and shoes and money belts. Because, truly, snakes are beautiful: Scales lacquered and polished to perfection, brown, bronze, black, beige, scarlet, yellow, emerald, pink, silver, gold, you name the hue. And the eyes, beady, unblinking — if you focused like a snake, you could achieve anything in life and rule the world. Alas, we’re still hopelessly confused and muddled and squinty.
They kill so many, we worship them. What we should be doing is ensuring that every person venturing into a paddy-field or tea garden is clad in stout footwear, no matter how clumsy and galumphy that might be. We defang them and play the been to them, so that they dance and sway, even though they’re stone deaf and are merely following the instrument’s movement. In America, you need a licence to keep a Chihuahua but you can keep an anaconda without telling anyone until the day Fluffy or Sonnyboy junior go missing.
We worship them, offer them milk (which is not their normal diet) and yet, if one is spotted in the garden, the sticks and stones are out. (There’s a long list of living beings that suffer such bipolar treatment: elephants, tigers, rats, monkeys, turtles, women, children — what is wrong with us?) As for snakes, sensibly, they keep out of our way as much as possible.
In over 30 years of walking the Ridge in north Delhi, I have seen (usually continued…
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