The Snake-charmer's Daughter

-- Sarat Chandra Chatterjee

WE had to walk fully four kose* to school. There were ten or twelve of us. On our long trek, we had to pass through three villages, I used to meet a fellow villager on my way to school. His name was Mrityunjoy. He was our senior by years. He was in an upper form. None of us knew when and how he had got there, but we had always seen him there. We had never heard of his ever being in a lower form, nor that he had ever been promoted to a higher one. An orphan, he had neither brothers nor sisters. His only property was a fruit garden at the end of the village and a tumble down cottage set in its midst. He had an uncle, however, whose chief occupation was to spread all sorts of infamous tales about him. He used to say that his nephew smoked hemp, that he was a drug fiend. A pet story of his was that half the orchard belonged to him and that he would have to go to court about it.

* i.e. eight miles.

Mrityunjoy cooked his own meals and lived on the income of his fruit trees. And he seemed to manage it very well. Whenever we happened to meet him on our way to school, we would see him quietly walking along the edge of the road with his dirty, torn books under his arm. Our main interest in him was due to the fact that there was no one to equal him in bargaining for sweets with the village shopkeeper.

Once we did not see Mrityunjoy for a long time. We heard that he was on his death-bed, that an old snake-charmer of the neighbourhood was treating him, and that the snake-charmer's daughter, Bilashi, had nursed him back to life.

We had often helped ourselves to his sweets. I felt a twinge at the news of his illness. In the dark of an evening I went to see him. I found the door of the cottage ajar. A lamp was burning inside. 

Mrityunjoy lay on a clean bed. His body was reduced to skin and bones. A girl sat facing him at the head of the bed. She rose at the sudden appearance of a stranger. This was the daughter of the old

snake-charmer. Whether she was eighteen or twenty-eight I could not say, but she looked very tired and worn out after her day and night vigil.

'Who is it? Nera?' asked Mrityunjoy, recognizing me.

'Yes,’ I replied.

'Sit down,’ said Mrityunjoy.

The girl remained standing with bowed head. During the conversation I gathered that, Mrityunjoy had been bed-ridden for six weeks, and unconscious for nearly a fortnight. He had begun to recognize people only in the last few days. He could not leave his bed yet, but his life was now out of danger.

As I left, the girl showed me the way with a lamp. She had not spoken a word so far. 'Shall I come with you as far as the road?' she asked softly.

The tall mango tree behind her looked like a solid mass of darkness. The path was lost in the darkness. I could hardly see my own hands, 'No, thank you,' I answered, 'May I have the lamp?'

As she handed me the lamp I caught a glimpse of her face, full of concern for me. 'Aren't you frightened to go alone? Shall I come a little further?' she whispered.

Afraid? To be asked this by a woman! Whatever I might have felt inwardly, I simply said 'No', and walked off.

‘Mind your step! Be careful in these wild parts!' she called out again.

I had no news of Mrityunjoy for nearly two months. But since I had not heard of his death, it was certain that he was still alive.

About this time the rumour went round that Mrityunjoy's uncle, the co-sharer of his property, was stumping about the village predicting the end of the world. How could he ever show his face in the Mitra community of Nalté? That fool of a nephew of his had married a snake-charmer's daughter. The reputation of the Mitra family was at stake. The face of the village must be saved. 

Even today I hang my head in shame when I recall how we acted. The uncle preceded us as the guardian angel of the Mitra family, and we, ten or twelve of us, followed to retrieve the glory of the village.

When we arrived at Mrityunjoy's house, the sun had just set. In a corner of the verandah, the girl was baking unleavened bread. Her face went blue with fear at the sight of so many of us armed with sticks.

The uncle peered into the room. Mrityunjoy was in bed. With little ceremony he bolted the door on the outside and addressed the girl, already half dead with fright. 'Do you know that my father has married me to this gentleman?' she protested, raising her eyes.

'Indeed,' roared the uncle, and we all fell upon her, shouting heroically.

After one shriek, the girl was completely silent. But when we started dragging her away out of the village, she implored: 'Let me go for one minute, gentlemen; I must take the bread inside. Wild animals are about; he is ill; he won't have anything to eat all night.'

Imprisoned within the four walls, Mrityunjoy was pacing up and down the room and kicking against the closed doors. We took not the slightest notice of him and dragged the girl along.

'We,' I say, because I was there all along. But there must be a weakness in me somewhere, for I could not lay hands on her.

A year passed. Unable to bear the mosquito bites any longer, I had just said good-bye to my ascetic life and returned home. One day at noon, passing through the snake-charmers' quarter, about two miles away, I suddenly caught sight of Mrityunjoy squatting on the threshold of a cottage, with a yellow ochre turban on his head and a chain of beads round his neck. Relinquishing his caste, the son of a Kayastha had turned into a snake-charmer.

He gave me a warm greeting. Bilashi, too, who had gone to fetch water from the pond, was highly pleased to see me. 'They would have killed me that night but for you! How you must have suffered on my account!' she kept repeating.

They had moved here on the very next day, I learnt, and built up their home and were happy. I need not have been told of their happiness; I could see it in their faces.

I was told that they had a commission to catch snakes that day and were ready to leave. I jumped up and offered to go with them. I have had two ambitions since childhood, to tame cobras and to master the mysteries of magic, and I was elated beyond measure at the thought of having Mrityunjoy for a teacher.

They both objected; it was no easy job and was fraught with dangers. But I grew so persistent that, within a month, Mrityunjoy was obliged to accept me as a disciple. Having learnt the snake- catching formula and tied an amulet to my arm, I was soon a full-fledged snake-charmer.

Of the formula I only remember the last few lines: 

O Cobra, mount of Manasa,

O Mother Manasa,

Pierce the earth, churn the earth,

Take Dhonra's venom,

Give him thine,

Oh Dudhraj, Maniraj,

Whose command is it?

Command of Bishahari.

I have no idea what it means, but a day came when it was put to the test. Until then I enjoyed fame all over the district for snake catching. 'Yes,' they all agreed, 'Nera is a capital fellow! He must have learnt the magic secret in the days of his asceticism at Kamakhya.'*

* Shakta shrine in Kamrup (Assam), well-known as a centre of Tantra and magic.

Only two people did not take me seriously. My guru never said anything, either good or bad. Bilashi, too, would sometimes smile and say: 'These are dangerous reptiles; be careful how you handle them.' Indeed, even now, I tremble to think how careless I was with them.

The truth of the matter is that it is not difficult to catch a snake. It will not bite, whether its venom-tooth has been taken out or not, once it has been kept in a basket for a few days.

The most lucrative trade of a snake-charmer is selling roots at the sight of which snakes are supposed to run away. But before they are sold, the mouth of the snake used for demonstration must be singed with red hot tongs. This does the trick. Afterwards, he will run away from anything you show him.

I noticed that whenever Mrityunjoy had a commission to catch snakes, Bilashi would raise all sorts of objections. When her husband was not about she would send the people away altogether. But Mrityunjoy could not resist the temptation of making money.

One day we had gone to catch snakes at a milkman's house, three or four miles away. Bilashi accompanied us as usual. Before we had dug far into the mud floor of the hut we saw a hole. Neither of us had noticed anything, but, bending low, Bilashi picked up a bit of paper. 'Be careful how you dig,' she said. ‘There's more than one snake; a pair certainly, may be more.'

'Couldn't be. They only saw one come in,' replied Mrityunjoy.

'Don't you see they have made a nest?' persisted Bilashi, pointing to the piece of paper.

'Rats might have brought it in,' answered Mrityunjoy.

'Possibly. But, I tell you, there are two of them.' Bilashi insisted.

Bilashi was right. The day ended in heart-rending tragedy. In about ten minutes Mrityunjoy emerged from the hut with a huge cobra and handed it over to me. As I returned after putting it in the basket, Mrityunjoy came out again, groaning with pain. The back of his hand was bleeding profusely.

We were all dumb-founded at first. Then Bilashi rushed up wailing and tied Mrityunjoy's hand with one end of her sari. She gave all kinds of roots to chew. Mrityunjoy carried his own amulet. I tied mine on his hand too, hoping that the poison would not travel any further. I began chanting vigorously and repeatedly Bishahari's Command Formula. A crowd gathered and people rushed to inform all the snake-charmers of the neighbourhood. Bilashi's father was also sent for.

The chanting of the incantation continued without a lull, but to little effect. Mrityunjoy began to vomit and to talk through his nose. Bilashi fainted. I realized that the appeal to Bishahari was falling on deaf ears.

Other snake-charmers arrived, and we all began, sometimes together, sometimes separately, to pray to thirty million gods and goddesses. But Mrityunjoy's condition grew worse. When gentle words were found unavailing, some began to abuse the poison in such filthy language that if the poison had ears, it would certainly have left the land on that day, let alone Mrityunjoy.

After half an hour's struggle, Mrityunjoy, conqueror of death, was dead. Bilashi, who had taken her husband's head on her lap, seemed to have turned into stone.

She did not outlive her husband by more than a week. Coming round to her house one day, I learnt that she had committed suicide, and according to the scriptures she must have gone to hell.