Snakes alive! With hugs and goodnight hisses!

Gaston de ROSAYRO

Snakes by far are one of the most demonised and notorious creatures in the world. They are great targets of blame and are extremely misunderstood. In some cultures, they are even thought as demons and mascots of the Devil! There are few people who understand the true nature of snakes to realise they aren’t out to bite you for fun.

For those who disagree I will try to make you all snake lovers by the end of this discourse. Snakes are enigmatic. They are magnificent and beautiful. I think humans could learn a lot from snakes about how to survive in really adverse conditions, not unlike some of our laid-back Civil Servants do. And, oh yes, I have had some painful encounters with them as well. I mean from some modern-day Civil Serpents as well as my captured snake menagerie.

I wrote last week about my collection of water-snakes when I was around ten or eleven. I sold them at 10 to 12 bucks each although I kept one or two favourites among them as pets. I introduced you to the docile, non-venomous Checkered Keelback I named Oslo. The other with a more mean disposition, a dog-faced water-snake I christened Jake, possessed a mild venom which rarely affected humans.

A year or so later I graduated to trapping Russel's Vipers, and sold them for Rs. 75 apiece, a princely sum at the time. Okay I am not ashamed to say that I was bitten by at least three varieties of serpents. Dozens of times by the more so-called low-class ones such as water snakes. Once by an equally considered lower-ranking rat-snake (garandiya). And once almost fatally by an elite thith-polonga on my right ankle. I still bear the scar of my adversary which I managed to capture despite the overwhelming pain and panic I was going through. I was only twelve at the time and only survived because of my quick thinking.

I ripped off my shirt and used it as a tourniquet above the bite wound. Then sat on the cross-bar of my bicycle and asked a terrified friend to rush me home. Fortunately for me I had the gumption to cauterize a pen knife on a candle flame, cut into the wound and place an African snake-stone on the lesion. It stuck to the abrasion like a leech and finally fell off in about five minutes after absorbing the venom. The snake-stone was later plunked into a glass of fresh cow’s milk which turned a bilious yellow as it released the offending venom. Then repeatedly into more fresh milk until every ounce of the toxin was extracted and it was ready for further use.

That lesson made me more wary and extremely adept when attempting to capture them. My method of capturing a snake is to pin down the forked-tongue creatures with the forked edge of a stick. In the absence of a stick you can trample its head lightly with your shoe. Then squat carefully and hold it firmly behind the head with thumb and forefinger.

But you have to be careful and hold it firmly by the sides of the neck as iy squirms in desperation. If you hold it above and underneath the neck it could turn its head laterally and literally run its fangs into you. I was none the worse for my adventure except for a painful limp and the ignominy of friends and siblings calling me ‘Nondi Pucks.’ But the limp lasted only two weeks until the wound healed.

Actually despite this setback I must say that the poor snake is a much reviled creature by people who have never handled or studied them. My adorable pets were often referred to as ‘revolting slimy things’. But contrary to such unfounded beliefs snakes, unlike worms, are dry skinned and indeed almost velvety to touch.

Try touching them sometime. Try moving your palm stroking the serpent’s skin. You will actually revel at its silken smoothness. They represent some of the most elegant creatures ever created in every way. You never find a snake with unsightly angles and corners. The movements of the snake are silent and graceful, they make no disturbing noise.

They slither silently and gracefully and move with hardly a rustle. And they do not fight and quarrel with one another, which is more than can be said of the Human race. In fact, the malicious nature so often attributed to snakes is entirely non-existent. A snake will often try to get away but will attack if threatened or confronted.

We loved out household maid Menika. She was a sort of surrogate mother to us. Menika adored us as well but she was at first terrified of my pets. But during the course of time she grew quite fond of my Oslo. She even fed him rice and slivers of raw fish on occasion. During a party one night Menika and her new assistant, a comely village lass named Soma were at the kitchen sink washing the dishes. Soma had no inkling of the existence of Oslo who slithered up to her partner Menika and was inquiringly waiting for his promised treat.

Soma, the new retainer dropped a plate of a prized dinner set which smashed into smithereens and took off like a bat out of hell. Scores of guests rushed out to see what the hullabaloo was about.

My grandfather with his wry sense of humour explained that the woman was simply unused to having a snake that helped clean the dishes. He described Oslo as a ‘Dish Viper.’

I once sent my little sister and my female cousins into hysterics by promising to show them a magic trick. I slipped Oslo into a silken scarf which I tucked loosely inside my shirt. I then confronted the giggling gaggle with an identical scarf which I kept dusting to prove there was nothing inside. I then spun around, adeptly extracting the scarf containing Oslo and replacing it with the empty one.

Then imitating the dramatic tones of a master magician I intoned the mystical incantation “Abracadabra!” The seven-year-olds looked on wide-eyed as I flung the scarf with the snake into their circle with a flourish. Once again I uttered the chant “Abracadabra!”

The scarf moved as Oslo took his cue and slithered out as I slightly amended the mantra to “Abracad-cobra!” Needless to say I got into a heck of a lot of trouble over that escapade and the girls did not speak to me for weeks on end.

But I managed to convince cousin Suzie who was paranoid of rats that no rodent would ever approach our territory as long as Oslo was around. She petted Oslo one night as he came slithering into my room. She said quite innocently: “I like Oslo and he likes me.

He’s quite cute and smooth to the touch. But he loves you the best.” I asked her how she came to that conclusion. She replied quite logically: “Because he comes over every night to give you a hug and a goodnight hiss!”

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