Decades ago, when Rom was hunting snakes in the Western Ghats, he believed that the vibes of civilisation interfered with his ability to find camouflaged reptiles. He took off his clothes, watch and the ring his father had given him. Clad only in a loincloth and with a hornbill feather shoved in his scraggly hair, he crept through the jungle and came upon his first wild king cobra. On separate occasions, a shepherd and a woodcutter fled on seeing this ghostly white apparition in the dark jungle, dropping their staffs, knives and axes. They must have wondered if they had set out at an inauspicious moment that day, while leeches and ticks would have thanked their lucky stars for the bare-bodied feast. Perfectly rational human beings, like my man, can become superstitious when they go hunting or fishing. They may take to wearing special beads, performing rituals, or chanting.
I'm not one to set store in good-luck talismans but two memorable incidents made me pause. A few years ago, I was invited by reptile professor Harvey Lillywhite, to Seahorse Key, an island off the west coast of Florida. A huge nesting colony of water birds added life, noise and a distinctive odour to the island. The messy chicks frequently puked up the fish their parents stuffed down their gullets. Waiting below were fat, venomous water moccasins that scavenged the stinky manna dropping from the trees. Snakes are predators, meaning they like to hunt and kill their own prey. But here, Harvey had discovered that moccasins would even swallow seaweed as long as it smelt of fish.
A few days previously, I had been gifted a pair of earrings made of gaboon viper fangs by Denisse Abreu, one of those rare women in the snake venom business. As I wore them that Florida evening, I wondered if they would bring me luck.
At dusk, we walked along the forest edge looking for moccasins, taking great care not to spook the sleeping birds. It was one of those evenings when everything happened as if perfectly scripted. I saw males courting females, snakes foraging for half-rotten fish, and others coiled up like fat automobile tyres with their heads poised in the centre, ready to flash open their white mouths in warning should we approach any closer. I didn't want the night to end. Those delicate earrings were potent.
On another occasion, I was hiking up in the Santa Monica Mountains, outside Los Angeles, with my brother and his wife. As we were approaching the crest of a hill, my brother who was ahead exclaimed, “Snake.” I rushed over just in time to see a beautiful red snake with black and white bands disappear into the bushes. Was it a harmless milk snake or a venomous coral? I couldn't tell and neither could the others. I memorised the sequence of colours – red, black and white – to repeat later to Rom.
A few minutes later, I stopped dead in my tracks. I realised an image of the snake we had just seen covered the front of my T-shirt. It advertised a popular reptile hobbyist's website, www.kingsnake.com. I was blown away by the freaky coincidence.
Later, I began describing what had happened to Rom. He interrupted, “There are no coral snakes in California.” When I mentioned that the snake was identical to the kingsnake.com logo, Rom got excited. “I can't believe you saw a mountain king snake. A Californian mountain king snake.” “Is it special?” “Oh yes. It's a very rare ‘un and one of the most beautiful snakes in the world. I can't believe it.”
I've worn the shirt and earrings on other snake hunting trips but the spell had worn off. May be it works only on moccasins and kingsnakes. Rom, however, has learnt the art of finding king cobras with his clothes on.
