I didn’t realise the implications of Rom’s endeavour to breed king cobras in captivity until eight adult snakes arrived from various zoos in 1995. He already had several venomous snakes of other species, and I mistakenly assumed king cobras would merely add to the menagerie.
These snakes averaged 10 feet in length, and the largest was a hefty 12-footer. Each needed a 100-square foot room of its own. The rooms were separated by four-foot-high brick walls topped with welded wire mesh.
Only then did I realise Rom was besotted with king cobras. He spent a couple of hours every day feeding or examining them. Or, the rooms needed cleaning. Even if the snakes didn’t need attention, he made sure they got it. I liked the creatures too, but his fervour was unmatched.
I was intimidated by the snakes’ size and the enormous venom glands bulging under their cheeks. I was edgy whenever he was with them, worried he might get bitten. Rom is among the 16 per cent of the human population that is allergic to horse serum, which makes the life-saving antivenom as dangerous as venom.
I had nightmares of a king cobra clamping its jaws on him and not letting go, and often woke us up by shouting in my sleep.
I would have been happier if he didn’t have anything to do with these dangerous snakes. But he was already an expert on reptiles by the time we met, and it seemed presumptuous I should enter his life and dictate conditions.
Rom’s efforts were successful and four female king cobras grew heavy with eggs. Since this is the only species of snake to build a nest, we were all curious to see how a limbless creature did it. I had my cameras ready and batteries fully charged for the event.
It was evening when one of the egg-laden female king cobras became restless. Ceaselessly, she climbed up tree branches in her enclosure and burrowed under the thick pile of leaf litter lying on the ground that Rom had given her as nesting material.
Rom asked his assistants to put her neighbours on either side into their hide boxes, so I could film the nesting through the hatches he cut in the welded mesh walls. Each hide box had a hole on the side through which the snake could enter. The assistants only had to nudge them into the boxes and slide the doors shut.
Once I received the all clear, I spread my gear on top of a box and began filming. The female king cobra gathered clumps of leaves in her coils and dropped them at the nest site. When she had a high mound, she laid her eggs, covered them up, and lay exhausted on top of her nest. Although I had done little more than take pictures, I was dog-tired too. My watch displayed 3 a.m.
I was packing my gear while stifling a yawn, when I noticed a movement. The door of the hide box was open, and a massive king cobra’s head was just a couple of inches away from my bare feet. Someone had forgotten to close the hatch.
I stood paralysed. If I moved, would he latch on to my foot? Was this real or a nightmare? Then I snapped out of it and hurried out of the room. Closing the door, I told Rom of the open hide box. My brain dimly registered his anger at this security lapse.
I wondered why the 12-foot snake hadn’t bitten me. Why had he sat complacently for nine hours, just watching me trampling across his room? He had numerous opportunities to bite me through the night. That gaping exit opened the doors of my perception of king cobras.
For the first time in his life, Rom feared for someone he loved. With my life and limb spared, I felt a surfeit of affection for king cobras. We had swapped emotions.
