The One With The King Cobra

The place where I grew up, Parlakhemundi, was a hotbed of adventure. We used to spend our days like the Hardy Boys and the Famous Five, solving crimes and catching criminals. Just kidding, apart from the occasional fight about whose turn it was to hog the remote control, we seldom saw any action.

Except for that one time when we were face to face with a full grown king cobra.

Our home is located in a cul-de-sac - a small pond marked the end of the road, making the entry into our street the only exit. The pond, its surrounding shrubs, and other wayward plant growth also ensured a steady stream of slimy reptiles and insects and other creatures paying us unwanted visits every once in a while. With time, we grew accustomed to their presence, and would greet them with a brisk nod of the head and a strong whack with the nearest broom/wooden stick/similar object.

So it was, that on a perfectly calm evening, without any knowledge of the impending storm that was to follow, I cycled home from my Maths tuition. I noticed a few kids lined up on our street, goggling into a neighbor's home. My Mom told me the good news the moment I stepped in.

"A king cobra has been found just inside Murthy Uncle's gate. Do NOT go there."

Predictably, the next few seconds found my brother and me racing off like rockets to the place of the scene. The Murthys had a huge gate and the cobra had nestled just inside it, coiled like a rope, its hood wide open. Now, make no mistake, the snake was huge - a fully grown king cobra, it probably was around 6 feet in length. KKR Uncle (Dad's friend and another neighbor) was sitting some way off holding a large stick (we all stocked large sticks in our houses for the same reason). Every time the cobra made an attempt to move he would pound the ground with the stick. Snakes detect vibration, and that made the cobra stay where it was. The next course of action hadn't been decided yet.

By this time a small crowd started gathering outside the gate, everyone standing a short distance away. The decision was made to let the snake go - it was some auspicious day and some elders announced it would be bad to kill the snake. The gate was opened completely so the snake could slither out and make a run for the nearest bushes, and then for the pond or wherever else it was supposed to be that night. By then it had become dark, the road illuminated by streetlamps and light streaming from within the houses. Everyone was gathered a few feet from the Murthys' place, intensely waiting for the snake to make its appearance. It happened like in a movie - the gate was yanked open by someone, the reptile finally free to escape. We saw it slither quickly onto the road, just a few feet from us - and, as if on cue, the lights went out and it was suddenly pitch dark, too dark for us to even see each other's faces.

The ensuing cry that erupted from our little colony could probably have been heard for miles. We screamed and yelled and fell over each other in our haste to escape. I ran into the nearest house and stood on an elevated surface and yelled for my brother. "I'm here!!", came a reedy cry from the terrace - how the heck he managed to clamber onto the terrace within 5 seconds is a mystery I'll never solve. After about 10-15 seconds of pandemonium the lights came back on. Which is another mystery in itself, since in our town if the lights go out they come back again only after about a week. The lights came on just in time for people to notice the snake slip into another house. It clearly didn't understand the concept of escape - maybe it was on a suicide mission, we'll never know. That house had as residents two small babies, and their very hot-blooded uncle. Now, that was its death warrant. He ignored the pleas of his mother to spare the snake and did what should've been done in the first place. He grabbed a sturdy stick, and with a brisk nod of his head whacked the snake with it. Everything was over in a flash.

For us kids the excitement of the day ended here, and we trooped back to our houses to face the wrath and fury of our parents. For the elders, however, it wasn't over. They insisted on having a proper funeral for the snake, and that too with sandalwood. Jeez! Everyone had to reluctantly give up our little precious sticks of sandalwood so the snake could attain nirvana and not haunt our grandchildren. Sigh.

Finding Home (Part One)

He stood on the edge of the precipice, his small beady eyes on the constant lookout for danger. He had just started rebuilding his home at a new location that he had finally decided was safe after weeks of careful deliberation. He took a deep breath, and as his eyes rested on his pregnant partner they visibly softened. He had never really thought of himself as a family guy until he had taken one look at the pretty lass preening herself at the small pool he and his friends frequented. It was love at first sight, and he had hopped over to her as fast as he could without raising eyebrows, stumbling in his haste. His friends thought he would get shooed away in seconds and were visibly surprised when she looked at him coyly and smiled, marking the beginning of a relationship that would withstand the test of time.

That was all several months ago. A lot of things had happened since then. They had tried building a home of their own for several times, getting thwarted every time by the blue and white monsters. The world abounded with them; they were everywhere. Even here, from the lonely precipice he stood on, he could spot around ten of them in the distance. It was just a matter of time before they came and took over this spot too, he thought ruefully. This time though, I won't give up without a fight, he vowed to himself. His partner was busily giving their home a few final touches, making it comfortable enough for the babies.

This time he had chosen to make his home atop a huge concrete cave, which housed giants that were too advanced for his taste, and though the world abounded with them as well, they usually gave his brethren a wide berth. They were not in direct competition for survival. He found he might be able to trust them, with time. Twice the giants had offered him food, and made no visible attempt to catch him, or kill him. Perhaps, he might have found a safe place after all! The giants might actually give his family the protection they required, both from the living and the natural elements. He just prayed the blue monsters wouldn't find this haven and make it theirs.

His prayers went unanswered, however, and he heard a great fluttering of wings and two of the monsters swooped in to usurp the food the kindly giantess had left out for him. How dare they! How dare they get into his territory unasked, unannounced, as if it was just theirs for the taking! He flew into a terrible rage and let out a murderous roar that would have sent chills down the spine of lesser mortals.

The two pigeons paused for a moment to stare at the little sparrow who was chirping away as if his life depended on it. They paused for a few more seconds to grab the remaining grains that the people had sprinkled on their terrace, and flew away unperturbed.

How about a peanut butter sandwich?

My recent indulgence with peanut butter sandwiches led to musing about the Shel Silverstein poem we learnt in school, and since I love it so much I am inclined to share it with y'all. Read, and enjoy!

Peanut-Butter Sandwich

by Shel Silverstein (1932-1999)

I’ll sing you a story of a silly young king
Who played with the world at the end of a string,
But he only loved one single thing --
And that was just a peanut-butter sandwich.

His scepter and his royal gowns,
His regal throne and golden crowns
Were brown and sticky from the mounds
And drippings from each peanut-butter sandwich.

His subjects all were silly fools
For he had passed a royal rule
That all that they could learn in school
Was how to make a peanut-butter sandwich.

He would not eat his sovereign steak,
He scorned his soup and kingly cake,
And told his courtly cook to bake
An extra-sticky peanut-butter sandwich.

And then one day he took a bite
And started chewing with delight,
But found his mouth was stuck quite tight
From that last bite of peanut-butter sandwich.

His brother pulled, his sister pried,
The wizard pushed, his mother cried,
“My boy’s committed suicide
From eating his last peanut-butter sandwich!”

The dentist came, and the royal doc.
The royal plumber banged and knocked,
But still those jaws stayed tightly locked.
Oh darn that sticky peanut-butter sandwich!

The carpenter, he tried with pliers,
The telephone man tried with wires,
The firemen, they tried with fire,
But couldn’t melt that peanut-butter sandwich.

With ropes and pulleys, drills and coil,
With steam and lubricating oil --
For twenty years of tears and toil --
They fought that awful peanut-butter sandwich.

Then all his royal subjects came.
They hooked his jaws with grapplin’ chains
And pulled both ways with might and main
Against that stubborn peanut-butter sandwich.

Each man and woman, girl and boy
Put down their ploughs and pots and toys
And pulled until kerack! Oh, joy --
They broke right through that peanut-butter sandwich.

A puff of dust, a screech, a squeak --
The king’s jaw opened with a creak.
And then in voice so faint and weak --
The first words that they heard him speak
Were, “How about a peanut-butter sandwich?”