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.