The Snake Charmer’s Wager by Bhavana Pandian

The crows of Kapali were restive. Gathering in numbers, they cawed in wild clamor on cables and pole-tops. It was not because the clouds loomed unusually low over the small town, or that the chasing wind portended a storm. It was because of the young man who wore a dun turban and worn tunic clad over a discolored dhoti. Their beady eyes followed him as he marched down an empty lane in a slow, languorous stroll. A dull shadow swathed the narrow passage between the old brick houses rendering his features indistinct. But the hissing sound coming out of his makeshift bag of cloth would have given away the snake charmer even in the dark.

A few paces from the mouth of the lane the charmer stopped. A scrawny mongrel stood in the way, rummaging through the garbage on the side. As he neared, it tensed, letting out a guttural whimper; and then scampered away, dashing out of the lane.

The snake charmer glanced ahead at the opening. The noise from the main street beyond was louder than the clamor of crows and the brazen wind. He waited a moment before emerging out into the busy road. A leaning ray of light cut across his features gathered in a sly smile.

Rejoice all you want. This is only until the day lastsss.

A voice hissed beside him. But the snake charmer paid it no more heed than to give a sharp tap to the bundle in the bag, and laugh at the ensuing cry of pain. Turning on his heel, he walked to the end of the long road that wound off all the way from the town's temple and forked out into the bustling thoroughfare nearby.

At this spot, where the street turned a corner to the left, the charmer came to set up his store everyday at the hour of half-light. On a dusty, threadbare rug under a makeshift awning he sat down for the evening's earn. Taking off the bundle, he proceeded to pull out his usual wares of trade. Not much was needed for the magic than the old reed pipe and the cobra contained in a straw-spun basket.

This done he leaned back on the wall behind and took in the scene. The evening was still young. Wind lifted, harboring the monsoon chill. Snug in his corner, the charmer breathed in the air. It carried in its wake a hint of damp earth suffused by the heady scent of tuberose and jasmine. His eyes ran across the flower stalls that flanked most of the street on either side. They were teeming with buyers bickering for bargain. Then, he laid his sight on the tea stall opposite to where he sat. Already the small space was engulfed in the steam and scent of cardamom tea brewing away in a large vessel as usual. Men loitered here the most; some squatting on the bench set aside for comfort, while others standing huddled in groups of threes and fours, all whiling away the hour of rest in aimless chatter. Beyond the stall the burly vendor stood unaware of the charmer's studious gaze fixed on him. To his side, the pan-baked, wheat biscuit vendor was buried waist deep in a throng of children raising a wild din around his cart; both of the men too occupied in their trade to even notice the snake charmer's arrival.

Next, the charmer turned his attention to the crowd of pedestrians. A few priests in mustard robes passed by on their way to the evening prayers. His eyes followed them till they were swallowed by the bustling street. Above, in the distance, the towering pagoda of the temple loomed in the embrace of the clouds. At its peak sat the carved impression of the presiding deity, and coiled round the neck was the king of the nagas. At its sight the snake charmer looked away.

Between the temple and the main marketplace the street was always full with footfalls clapping past to and fro; a vibrant burst of colours ebbing and flowing like a sea of particoloured poppies. As ever, an endless wave of pedestrians passed the snake charmer, coming and going about in usual hustle. But only a handful spared the curiosity to look his way, and of them fewer still stopped by. Those too, were interested more in the craft than the craftsman.

Not one person cared to notice the charmer’s interest in them.

“Fools...” he spoke under his breath, as a grin slit across his face.

Don't you be so assured... again spoke the cobra, it is only a matter of time until they find out your doings.

Sighing, the charmer took the lid off the basket to confront the snake at last. “Why is your tongue so uselessly flapping about? Was the punishment not enough?”

You think you will escape this little adventure of yours without consequence? The cobra retorted, unbending.

“You think I will not?” Smiling wider, the charmer mocked.

Just you wait, said the snake, do you think they will not know? Look, the crows know already.

The charmer was unmoved. But something occurred to him that made him too invested in the words of the cobra. He was suddenly in the mind to play a game.

The game was simple, he told the cobra, “If any one of these lost causes find out what is amiss I will set you free.”

“You will not cheat?” The cobra was piqued.

“I am not you,” the man raised his brows in a proud claim.

Their little challenge began. The charmer watched those who passed him and those that came to watch his tricks. Of the latter, was a young man who came dragged by the fascination of his lover, boredom and curiosity drew a dozen children to splurge their meager pocket money, while an older couple lingered awhile to be able to relive their own youth and childhood. The charmer saw them all. Unable to contain his thrill he almost stared at them with the singular interest that they accorded the cobra; his sight lingering on them as if they were to him what the cobra was to them. As they giggled and gawked, he watched them in patient mischief, playing his pipe like it was the tune to his raising heartbeat.

One after another, they all came and went, until the charmer was certain the cobra would fail. The narrow street of Kapali was a busy one. So busy was it in living that he almost spat at its foolish obliviousness.

“Give in,” he laughed when again a pair of spectators left without event. “Your messiah is not in this crowd.”

Suddenly, a sharp trill of a bell rang out from round the corner and sounded above the general din. The charmer moved in time to hold the cobra down as it jerked at the sound.

“Don't you dare,” he warned the snake.

I will not have to, came a hissing reply, my escape has come...the boy is here, he always comes...he will know.

The charmer sniffed at the snake's certainty, “that we will see...” he pulled the cobra into the basket and shut the lid.

Few seconds later, a boy on a beaten bicycle came riding into the street, and stopped by the snake charmer as always. Tossing a few coins into the red plastic bowl set aside for the fares, he asked to see his favourite trick.

“Show me the vertical rise.”

The charmer bowed in a firm nod. Sitting up, he took up the reed pipe and began blowing a random call. The man was not a master of the trade, not to the eyes that would know the intricacies of it, but to the boy and his likes who needed only to see how the cobra crawled out the basket at the sound of the swelling tunes and stretched its slender frame in an attempt at acrobatics, the charmer thought he was doing good enough.

The boy stood and watched till the trick lasted. When it was time to leave, the charmer put the pipe down and looked cautiously at the boy; his eyes measuring the lean frame and the head resting on it; the worth it was professed to carry only a moment ago by the one in the basket. But the confrontation lasted only a moment before passing without event as the boy too, simply turned and left.

The snake charmer laughed, realizing how the snake had almost gotten its hopes up when the lad appeared to stare intently.

“And you were so stupidly certain,” he mocked the cobra.

The evening went on. No one, not one soul noticed. Not even the boy on the bicycle could tell. How could they? The charmer thought. To them all, the snake charmer held no worth. He was a mere shadow that came to fall on the corner of the street every evening. Their eyes only looked, and never saw, and so they would never know.

Only the crows knew. They alone knew that the man who looked the same was not acting the same. That there was something different to the way he walked, and the manner in which he talked, as if he was an entirely different being.

He glanced up. A furor of black feathers rained down as a flock perched on an overhanging cable nearer to him took speedy flight. They could raise all the noise they wanted, thought he, But they will never be able to tell the people of Kapali how the shape-shifting naga punished the snake charmer, and took his place.

“This is good enough...” the naga laughed, thrilled by his win.

This is wrong! Beside him the basket stirred as the cursed snake charmer made an attempt to emerge.

“See? How they think I am you,” replied the naga. Men are the most indifferent, really! Then again, had they been otherwise none of this would have come to pass, don't you think?” He tapped at the basket.

Let me out! I need to stretch! The snake charmer demanded, losing his patience in loss, You have been making me work for hours, it hurts all over!

The naga yawned. “Did you care to do that?”

What?

“Poor Bhura died because you did not care to be considerate enough to him. Now you cry over every little inconvenience. Tchk, tchk, tchk...”

The charmer hissed. Falssse! What do you know about how much I cared for my snake? I have—

“Don't strain yourself,” the naga's voice went cold as the evening. “I showed you enough mercy when I spared your life against this pact that you agreed to make. Every first day of the week, you shall live as the one you tried to tame, in exchange for life. Make another sound and I shall rip that tongue out...just as you ripped out Bhura's teeth.”

I did that to rid him of the venom...

“If I were to do the same, I'd have to rip your heart out then.”

You are cruel... the charmer quailed.

“Not as much as you were to my poor brethren...” the naga smirked, stretching as he did.

By now the last of the rays had retreated and all through the length of the road, lanterns began to be lit up. Blobs of dim glow permeated the dusk in a winding course tracing the street's layout. At this hour another vendor made his attendance. Rolling his cart in beside the naga, he put up his store of roasted corn. The naga glanced his way as the man proceeded to prepare the fire. The exercise lasted quite a while, as he burnt and kindled the coals. When it was finally done a crackling flame blazed underneath the metal grill laden with corn cobs. This done, the man wiped at the beaded sweet on his forehead, throwing a smile at the naga.

“It’s alive!” He said, as if to an acquaintance.

The naga smiled back. In the ruddy light cast over the shadows on his face, he hid his cautious stare. The man was too near and too friendly. Every now and again he turned and looked, chattering away as he roasted corns; stopping only when customers came to buy or eat.

“Does he always talk this much?” whispered the naga to the snake charmer when a group of young women surrounded the man's cart keeping him occupied.

The cobra hissed. Why don't you engage with him? I am certain he will know something is wrong from the way you will speak.

“How do I speak?”

You may imitate my voice, but you don't know the way I utter my words. Your actions too differ from mine. So, are you willing to test?

In reply, the naga let out a little laughter, “if he were truly wise he would have known by now that I am an imposter.”

And how is that?

“I haven't uttered a word.”

I don't chatter! I speak only what is nece—

“Quiet!” the naga warned, his head feeling heavy with lethargy.

The challenge was a waste. Boredom began to kill the naga. Taking up the red bowl he counted the earnings. It was more than enough to afford the milk he had been craving. Tucking the basket into a corner and tying up the lid for good measure, he decided to take a repast.

With chill and damp suspended in the air, a good, warm glass of milk was all that the naga needed to chase away the dreary spell. But just as he was about to rise and walk to the tea stall, the group of young women loitering by the corn cart came to surround him next.

Hungry as he was, the naga could not dismiss another chance at a thrilling game of challenge. Heeding to their eager pleas for a good trick. He quietly complied and began playing his pipe. By the spattering light of the corn vendor's cart a ruddy scene of excitement commenced. The snake charmer emerged. This time twice as eager to win. As the naga piped and the girls clapped at the seemingly impossible acts the snake charmer hoped that his young spectators would be wiser. He danced and twisted and coiled about mid-air throwing himself up against gravity to achieve tremendous feat at sign language.

But the play ended before even the girls noticed how he was trying to spell a word through his serpentine contortions.

Help!

No one seemed to have caught the plea. Instead, their amusement satiated, the flock dispersed. Only one remained, lingering where she stood.

“If you want another trick, you must pay again,” said the naga, grappling with the unruly snake charmer, whose cry for pity went unheard by the world.

But the girl neither spoke nor moved from her place. It was then that the naga faced her fully. Their eyes met. The naga stilled and the girl stared.

“What is it?” Caution gripped the naga as he returned her studious gaze.

“Your snake...it was acting strange...” she said, her brows knitting in a manner that spelled both certainty and self- doubt.

But the words made the naga tense.

“In what way...?” He asked, his own words measured.

The girl seemed uncertain. She watched awhile before her kohl-lined eyes squinted as she caught hold of a stray notion passing her mind.

“Who are you...?” She uttered at last.

The naga felt something turn to stone. It was his heart. There was a pause between his two heartbeats, where he finally slipped his guard.

The unthinkable happened. In that brief instance the girl caught the shift in his skin. The scales swam in view through the sallow tint, and in the ominous pool of his eyes the black turned a pristine gray like the marbles in a soda bottle.

Before the naga could take hold of the circumstances, a scream tore through the space between them, and resounded in a terrifying cry of shock. The girl fainted where she stood. Her companions came running back. The crowd stilled and then scampered to see what had occurred and where, before a few gathered their wits to come in aid of the girls.

Was she scared by the snake? Wondered a voice amongst the fuss.

Poor girl, she must be faint-hearted. Sympathized another. It was the voice of the corn vendor.

Why did you have to bring her along? A third chided the companions of the girl.

Only the naga knew what had really transpired. His senses cornered, his true form had fleetingly revealed itself to her. It had never happened before. The naga was never one to quail before scrutiny, for in his long time he had come across many. He looked at the unconscious girl. In his heart he somehow knew that it was not just her wits that had accosted him. Those kohled eyes were shut, but he realized he would never forget how the prudence in them won him into losing his game. But his brows gathered in a tight knot. Abashed anger swelled in his veins and he fled the scene, disappearing into the dark by-lane as the hullabaloo went on.

Set me free! You have lost! The snake charmer protested, you cannot cheat!

But the naga did not stop, his bundle growing heavier and heavier as he hurried away from the unconscious girl, the confounded crowd and the cawing crows. He did not stop until he was deep in the darkest of lanes. There he finally flung the bundle aside. Where it fell, the snake charmer now sat naked on an upturned basket, his dignity barely concealed by the cloth of the bag.

“This is not over yet,” hissed the naga, crouching before the charmer, as his skin turned pale.

Facing each other, they were each's reflection. But while the charmer carried a cowardly reproach, the naga held a relentless rage.

“You know as well as I do who the cheater was...” he bared his teeth in a maleficent smile. “You think I did not notice the ugly ways in which you moved?”

The charmer glared in weak anger.

“Don’t you dare think it is over.” Moving back the naga sat on his haunches. “Remember our pact and abide by it if you care for your life. I will return again on the first day of the next week.”

With that he shifted shape, and crawled away into the shadows, leaving behind the guise of turban and tunic, and the discolored dhoti like it was his second skin.