Cobra: Part Four

Snake, snake, everywhere…

Part three

If a tenth part of the stories related about the super abundance of snakes in the island were true, one might expect to find them in every house, in every compound, or on every lawn, as well as upon the branches of every tree.

Where jungle is being cleared, numerous snakes are found, as they are in even temperate climes. Now and then, they are met with upon the ramparts and esplanades of forts, but where one snake, so found, is venomous, ten are harmless."

This is the way in which J. W. Bennett in Ceylon and its Capabilities (London: 1843), reassures his readers (who were, of course, potential visitors to the island, investors, coffee-planters and the like) about the common misconception among foreigners that a profusion of venomous snakes was to be found there.

It was an erroneous impression that gained credence despite the fact that almost every long-term resident expressed surprise at how few snakes were, in general, to be seen.

("I have frequently returned from a journey of several hundred miles through the jungle without observing a single snake," etc.).

Several decades before Bennett, John Davy had similarly tried to bolster his readers' confidence in An Account of the Interior of Ceylon and its Inhabitants, with Travels in that Island (London: 1821). ("My object in making these remarks," he thoughtfully explains, "is to endeavour to remove senseless horrors, which apprehension of snakes in Ceylon too often gives rise to; and which, if not opposed and subdued, detract more from the comfort and happiness of life than can well be imagined."

Sir James Emerson Tennent, writing in Sketches of the Natural History of Ceylon (London: 1859), not only attempts to dispel this misconception but also to provide an explanation for its currency.

"It is perhaps owing to the aversion excited by the ferocious expression and unusual action of serpents," he suggests, "combined with an instinctive dread of attack, that exaggerated ideas prevail both as to their numbers in Ceylon, and the danger to be apprehended from encountering them."

Nevertheless, Tennent does concede that snakes had increased perceptibly in areas where the extension of cultivation and the activities of hunters had reduced the number of snake-predators such as the pea-fowl and jungle-cock.

"The deer are also enemies of the snakes," he adds, "and the natives who have had opportunities of watching their encounters assert that they have seen the deer rush upon a serpent and crush it by leaping on it with all four feet."

This, incidentally, is also the method by which pigs and buffaloes kill snakes.

Bennett claimed that despite having lived in Ceylon for many years, and having travelled the island extensively, he had never come face to face with a cobra in his path, although he had seen some by the wayside. Tennent must have understood why this was so, because he was aware of the cobra's favoured habitat as well as its somewhat lethargic and retiring temperament.

"The hill near Kandy, on which the official residencies of the Governor and Colonial Secretary are built, is covered in many places with the deserted nests of termites, and these are the favourite retreats of the sluggish and spiritless cobra, which watches from the apertures the toads and lizards on which it feeds," he states.

"Here, when I have repeatedly come across them, their only impulse was concealment."

Apart from mentioning the cobra's familiar haunt, Tennent also cites an unusual occurrence where a cobra was discovered on the crown of a coconut palm.

It was believed that the toddy that flowed from the tree at the time attracted the snake.

In the realm of literary fiction, on the other hand, a cobra was found to be living up a banyan tree by the young Hans, the hero of R.L. Spittel' s Wild White Boy (Colombo: 1958). Hans befriends the cobra and it ends up by drinking water from the palm of his hand.

As with other snakes, the cobra suffers from thirst, especially during the dry season, which is why it is sometimes found in bathrooms and wells. I mentioned earlier that the cobra, like the ratsnake (garandiya ), seems to prefer to live in the vicinity of human habitation, particularly in rural areas.

This is no doubt due to the abundance of young chickens, eggs, rodents, amphibians and other tasty morsels to which it is partial, as well as a supply of water.

There is a belief that the rat-snake mates with the cobra, and is, in fact, the male cobra. This conviction was, apparently, not confined to the Sinhalese, for Frank Wall writes in The Snakes of Ceylon (Colombo: 1921) that, "It is surprising to me that, that even some educated English people seriously contemplate such an absurdity."

As he goes on to explain: "These snakes are of similar habit and seek out similar quarters, but companionship is merely a matter of accident."

While it is possible for a cobra and the occupants of a house to co-exist in reasonable harmony, coming across such a feared snake by surprise in a confined space requires nerves of steel and must be a traumatic experience for those who have an aversion to snakes.

However, it must always be remembered that the cobra is not inclined to bite, even if trodden on by accident, so long as it remains unhurt.

"I have encountered many, and find that at close quarters, if suddenly disturbed, or if stepped on, it quickly erects itself, hisses loudly, sways backwards and forwards, and awaits an opportunity to strike," comments Wall.

"If one keeps still, the menace is quickly over, and the snake drops its head and slinks off.

An incautious movement, however, causes it to turn, erect itself once more, and challenge the intruder again."

Bennett had a nocturnal encounter with a cobra inside a rest-house bedroom on two occasions. Fortunately, he appears to have had a respectful but no-nonsense attitude towards venomous snakes.

Although he gives no account of the first incident, he describes the second in detail. Finding the mosquitoes insufferable, he had had his palanquin brought into the room so that he could sleep in it.

But when he opened the door of the conveyance to transfer his pillows, he found he had been "anticipated by a very fine high-caste Naya, which was coiled upon the mat, and showed no disposition to relinquish his berth; but with the ramrod of my gun, and a packthread noose at the end of it, I was soon enabled to secure the animal without injuring it."

A popular belief holds that if one cobra is detected in or close to a dwelling, its companion will almost certainly be discovered nearby soon after. It is a belief that Tennent had an opportunity of verifying on several occasions.

"Once when a snake of this description was killed in a bath of the Government House at Colombo," he recalls, "its mate was found in the same spot the day after; and again at my own stables, a cobra of five feet long, having fallen into the well, which was too deep to permit its escape, its companion of the same size was found the same morning in an adjoining drain."

Tennent had a fondness for providing parallels and cross-references. In this instance he draws the attention of his readers to Pliny, who had noticed the affection that exists between the male and female asp (the asp being a member of the cobra family). He remarked that if one happened to be killed, the other invariably seeks to avenge its companion's death.

As Wall points out, "The cobra seems to show a decided tendency to a social life. Many writers have remarked upon its habit of living in couples, and this is specially true during the breeding season."

He continues by citing instances where a male cobra was found with several females, which leads him to pose the question, does the cobra practise polyandry?

When a cobra is discovered inside a house and is neither killed nor captured by the occupants, a snake-charmer is often summoned.

It is a task that followers of this occupation, the Ahikantakaya, no doubt willingly accept because they like to replace their cobras periodically in order to maintain a level of aggression in the snakes.

The Ahikantakaya are a gypsy-like group who probably migrated from India and settled near Anuradhapura many centuries ago. They are, of course, renowned for their ability to snare snakes, especially cobras, and to make them "dance" to the tunes of their flutes. (In fact, the snakes respond to the mesmeric movements of the charmer's arms, knee and musical instrument.)

One of the first references by a European to snake-charming was by Philip Baldaeus, who writes in A Description of the Great and Most Famous Isle of Ceylon (Amsterdam: 1672 ): "Among the inhabitants of the coast of Coromandel, and the Cingalese and Malabars, are certain fellows who possess the art of making serpents stand upright and dance before them, which they perform by enchanting songs."

Of cobras and snake-charmers Tennent comments, "The cobra is the only one exhibited by the itinerant snake-charmers: and the truth about (John) Davy's conjecture, that they control it, not by extracting its fangs, but by courageously availing themselves of its well-known timidity and extreme reluctance to use its fatal weapons, received a painful confirmation during my residence in Ceylon, by the death of one of these performers, whom his audience had provoked to attempt some unaccustomed familiarity with the cobra; it bit him on the wrist, and he expired the same evening."

I wish Tennent had been more specific about the "unaccustomed familiarity" that the snake-charmer had attempted with his cobra. How and why had the snake-charmer been provoked?

And where was his snake-stone? Had he perhaps sold it just prior to his performance in order to make some extra money? This suggestion is not as unlikely as it may appear, for in the recent past I bought a snakestone under precisely such circumstances. I am fairly certain it was the sole snake-stone the snake-charmer had tucked into his waistband, or anywhere else. (Usually one snake-stone is carried together with a snake-root.) It was only afterwards that I realised to my horror that he may have put economic considerations before his own safety, and that I was responsible should anything happen to him.

Bennett not only provides an excellent description of an early 19th century performance by an itinerant snake-charming duo from India, but also a cautionary tale on buying cobras for those few, daring souls (such as himself) who wished to keep them as pets.

"Europeans cannot be too careful in purchasing cobras from itinerant snake-charmers, for no reliance can be put upon their assurances that the reptiles are harmless," he warns. "I can vouch from experience, that nothing but the fullest proof, upon inspection, that the fangs and poison ducts have been extracted ought to satisfy the intended purchaser."

I shall let Bennett tell his tale in his own words, as it is full of wonderful descriptions and amusing anecdotes.

"A Dutch gentleman who very obligingly assisted me in collecting natural specimens, sent a Bengal samp wallah or snake charmer to see me," he begins. "The man brought with him several cobras for sale, and proceeded to exhibit them. A coolie, who accompanied him, carried two circular baskets at the ends of a pingo, which he placed upon the ground, and commenced playing the Horanawa, or country pipe, whilst the charmer beat with his right hand upon a small Udekki that he held in his left.

"In about a minute or two, the covers of the baskets were gradually raised, and as the snakes left the baskets, the music ( if such a most antimelodious din may be called) increased in quickness; the snakes moved about the circular space allotted to them with part of their bodies erect, and the rest of their lengths coiled, but their hoods, upon which the 'painted spectacles' showed to great advantage, were expanded, and their forked tongues in the continual motion of projecting and retracting.

"The snakes were irritated to strike at the charmer's arms and knees, and blood flowed; after which he took the reptiles by the neck and held their mouths close to his forehead, which however was mere display, because in that position they were harmless; he then declared them to be perfectly innocuous, or what he called kutcha.

"Under this impression, I bought one of the snakes, and in the full belief that it had been deprived of its power of mischief, I occasionally placed it upon the table, and as the animal moved about, displaying its hood, my wife would pass and repass her hand under its mouth, without the slightest dread or idea of danger.

"Some months had elapsed, after the purchase of the snake, when some French officers paid me a visit, and upon their evincing great dread of the animal, I, in order to convince them it was groundless, grasped the animal by the back of the head, as it lay upon the table, without any other precaution than that of covering my hand with a handkerchief; and having employed a pair of nail scissors to open the mouth, I discovered to my horror, which may be imagined, but cannot be described, the fangs perfect, and the animal in full possession of its deadly power.

"The snake had coiled itself so tightly round my left arm and neck, that, feeling a numbness coming on, and being certain that I could not much longer retain my hold, I, upon the spur of the moment, again forced open the animal's mouth, and extracted the fangs and poison ducts from its jaw, which having done, I flung the snake into the air with all my force, and afterwards replaced it in the basket where it had been kept: there it lived for several months, and appeared to suffer no illeffects from the forcible removal of its fangs.

"Feeling certain that the charmer had shown me one snake and sold me another, I caused every search to be made for the impostor, but he had long previously left the island."

Bennett's unfortunate experience with his pet cobra seems to have coloured his opinion of snake-charmers in general, as can be seen from the uncharacteristic manner in which he dismisses their alleged powers.

"It is no less extraordinary than true, that many, whom, one would suppose, from their education and position in society, to be free from superstitious notions, will positively support the vulgar opinion of snake-charming, and cite scripture and the ancients as their authority; but why this power should have survived the age of miracles, or why it should be believed in the nineteenth century, I have yet to learn," he writes with obvious feeling.

To explain how the snake-charmers were able to survive such close interaction with their deadly performers, Bennett suggests that, as a precaution they "saturate their hands and faces with a vegetable juice to which the snakes have a natural repugnance, (for even the rattle-snake dreads the wild pennyroyal, and dies from its application) perhaps of the very plant resorted to by the mongoose."

John Davy is far more rational in his conclusions about snake-charmers. "These men do possess a charm, though not a supernatural one, viz. that of confidence and courage," he maintains.

"Acquainted with the habits and disposition of the snake, they know how averse it is to use the fatal weapon nature has given it, and that it never bites without much preparatory threatening. Anyone possessing the confidence and agility of these men can imitate them. They will play their tricks with any hooded snake, whether just taken or long in confinement, but with no other kind of poisonous snake."

Nor will snake-charmers use young cobras, for they are easily excitable and much less predictable than adults. A baby cobra is fully able to defend itself soon after entering the world, but unlike an adult it has no control over the amount of venom delivered by its bite, therefore it always injects a full dose.

"When the young cobra is hatched, it is very small, very irritable, and exceedingly dangerous," Wall states. "A full-grown cobra can be handled with perfect safety, but a young one, ten or eleven inches long, is so active, and its body so small, that it can scarcely be touched with impunity."

Apart from displaying the courage and confidence mentioned by Davy, snake-charmers exploit a particular characteristic of the cobra: namely, the way it becomes absorbed by movement. It is the incessant and mesmeric movement of the snake-charmer's arms and knees that provides the necessary stimulus for the cobra, and keeps it excited and erect.

Snake-charmers also take advantage of the fact that the cobra's effective striking range is very limited. Wall comments: "Charmers from long practice estimate this range wonderfully, and contrive to evade their captive's menace with remarkable precision, withdrawing their hands often only a few inches from the spot where the stroke is delivered."

That's the end to this admittedly freewheeling article on cobra lore and literature. I trust it will convince the majority with a natural aversion to snakes that the cobra is not necessarily the aggressive and lethal reptile that it is often perceived to be, and that it deserves respect, not least because of the significant place it holds in the island's psyche and culture.

Finally, on a more serious note, always remember that however grave the symptoms arising from a cobra bite, there is always hope . It has been estimated that some 50% of cobra bite victims survive the ordeal, many without recourse to medical attention. As Davy notes, the effects of the bite of the cobra "vary a good deal according to circumstances not easy to calculate."

There are plenty of documented instances of more-or-less complete recovery. My favourite, cited by Wall, concerns an Irishman who declared he was impervious to all snakes owing to his nationality. (St. Patrick is said to have driven the snakes from Ireland, although, in truth, nature denied the island an ophidian population).

This brave Irishman put a cobra into his shirt before a large audience, but his faith proved to be ill-founded, for the snake bit him on the chest and he suffered great pain. Nevertheless, he survived.

Concluded

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