So you have caught the most gorgeous king cobra in Agumbe and you need to get it to the snake park in Madras, a distance of 600 km. How do you do it? In the late 1960s and early 1970s when having one’s own vehicle was a luxury, you had few choices: taxi (exorbitantly expensive), motorbike (snake could over-heat and die besides making you bow-legged and butt-sore) or… public transport.
Rom secured the 12-foot-long venomous creature in a cotton snake bag and packed it inside a woven bamboo basket commonly used to carry vegetables. One hot afternoon, the entire railway compartment was asleep after a heavy lunch. At some point Rom woke up to roll over and saw the wide-eyed look of amazement on a little boy sitting across from him. And he was instantly awake. The kid was staring at the basket that had been tucked under Rom’s berth. The king cobra had burst open the seams of the gunnysack covering the basket and was pushing its way through. The head and neck were already out, but it was still in the snake bag and no threat to anyone. Rom tapped its nose and it immediately withdrew into the basket. He mimed ‘shush’ to the boy, to not alert anyone, and explained that it was a puppy. Still mute from the astonishing spectacle, the boy agreed in slow-motion. Fortunately that warning tap was enough to keep the snake quiet until they arrived at the park.
This is by far the most dramatic story of snakes in transit. In the early 1970s, there was an animal dealer in Madras, TAS India, who bought kraits from the Irula tribals. He would then sell the snakes to Haffkine Institute in Bombay for venom production. One such tribal woman, Velliammal, had a window seat on a crowded bus cradling a bag of kraits, the most venomous land snakes in Asia.
When the bus rolled down Mount Road approaching Spencer’s, Velliammal noticed a krait coming out of the bag. Freshly caught snakes will frequently bite the bag and in the case of venomous snakes, the venom they spew corrodes the cotton fabric over time, creating weak spots. The krait must have found one such spot and pushed to its advantage. She quickly jammed it back into the bag and was promptly bitten. The brave lady kept her cool and continued to sit tight, holding the hole closed; none of the passengers were even aware of her predicament. At Spencer’s she alighted and told the TAS boss that she had been bitten. After securing the snake in another bag, he rushed her to Royapettah Hospital for antivenom serum and she lived to tell her harrowing tale.
Around the same time, Rom used to frequent Baruipur. It was quite a distance outside Calcutta, not in the suburbs as it is now. He bought monocellate cobras, banded kraits and spectacled cobras from this village of snake catchers. Although it was known to be a rough place, Rom said he wasn’t scared, “Having snakes was like having a loaded pistol.” However, once he was accosted by a few thugs in a neighbouring village. When they realised that all he had was Rs. 100, their attention shifted to the bag. “What’s in the bag, some maal ?” they asked. “Snakes,” replied Rom. They laughed dismissively and started to put their hands inside the bag despite Rom’s protests. Just then one of the cobras hissed sharply, and they realized that their quarry wasn’t joking and left him alone.
These days, of course, there is no need to transport snakes across such long distances. It’s much more fun to take their pictures and leave them where they are. And besides, now the law has a few things to say about such activities.
