115 - Charming My Cobra (Munshiganj, Bangladesh)
A FRIEND MENTIONED A COMMUNITY OF SNAKE CHARMERS in a village a few hours south of Dhaka. Curiosity? Piqued. Snake charmers? Tell me more, kind sir. Jewel, my Guide Tours connection, spent a week in Munshiganj assisting the BBC during production of Tough Guy or Chicken, a somewhat douchey British reality show. “Charmer” is a misnomer. The term evokes images of flutes and hypnotized snakes on street corners. I believe “wrangler” or “enthusiast” would be more apt.
Jewel had a relationship with the HCIC (Head Charmer In Charge) and offered to reach out. In two shakes of a cobra hood, I had a guide and an itinerary. The next day, I met Nayeem near Dhaka University, and we hopped a bus to Munshiganj with a short follow-on rickshaw ride to Rahmapatur Village. I met Shoporaj Dholu, my mentor for the day, so to speak. He served a similar role for the show. Dholu no talk English, Nayeem indispensable.
The village people are known as Bedey, a gypsy caste renowned for proficiency with snakes, especially deadly ones. They were once nomadic, living on houseboats and moving from place to place via the many water routes snaking (pun intended) across Bangladesh. They made a life selling medicines, catching serpents for those in need, and providing entertainment in towns and villages along the way. As this way of life became more and more difficult, some, like Dholu’s father, began settling down. He built the houses where Dholu lives with his two brothers and their families.
It’s not unusual for an organization, say a film company, to hire reptile “actors” for documentaries or films. Festival appearances, school demonstrations, and prospective pet acquisition round out their services. (Nothing accentuates living room decor like a venomous snake.)
Not long after arriving at Dholu’s home, boxes appeared containing serpentine residents, the first a species of cobra. He (or she) wasn’t stoked to come out and play. After some slithering, hissing, and general discontent, Dholu took defanged head in hand, opened its mouth, and squeezed a few venom drops into his palm. He put a dollop on his fingertip and had a taste. Nayeem and I followed suit. That’s right, I ingested snake venom. I was assured it was harmless to do so, though I did follow Dholu’s and Nayeem’s lead… gulp. The inhospitable environments inside mouth and stomach vitiate the poison’s deadly ingredients. A bite from a fully fanged cobra, on the other hand, could be fatal, as could venom contact with a mouth sore or stomach ulcer.
Enter Mindfuck 101. Am I sweating? Yes, I’m sweating. Did my heart just skip a beat? Two beats? Would I win a Darwin Award for this? Am I dizzy or just hungry? Do I have an ulcer? Canker sore? Am I a moron? Yes, I’m a moron. No, no, I’m outstanding. Super cool… the coolest dead tourist in Bangladesh. Mama, I’m coming home.
Before then, I would’ve deemed swallowing snake venom suicidal. Expert reassurance and logic propelled me into the breach. There were children present. They wouldn’t slay Johnny Adventure in front of the kids, would they? I let myself believe the village elders wouldn’t invite the shitstorm that might result from a negligent tourist death… um, right?
This wasn’t my first cobra rodeo. In Indonesia, I had the privilege on the back streets of Solo, where man-meets-cobra ended with man-eats-cobra. (See Too Cool For Mas Mul?) As you might imagine, I kept that experience to myself.
After cobra time, I was presented with a python, which I placed around my neck… duh. Unlike venomous snakes, pythons are real teddy bears, soft and cuddly. Dholu then showcased what I sensed was his favorite—a small tree snake from India decorated with a geometric pattern of red, black, yellow, and green.
I asked about finding a snake of my very own. Of course, I had no desire to keep it, but I was deeply curious about the process. I was under the mistaken impression acquisition was a common, perhaps even mundane, occurrence. Not so. Someone makes a request, Dholu and his brothers respond. Go big or go home, right? I wanted the king, king cobra, to be precise. Dholu explained catching royalty requires ten men dispersed throughout the countryside. Once located, capture is a two-man job. Great, I thought, just tell me where to sign. Then I was told the fee: 100,000 taka ($1400). Poop.
I’m not sure if that’s standard or if price gouging was involved. They likely assumed I was Daddy Warbucks or at least a close cousin. Even half price was well above my comfort level. I demurred. I also sensed motivation issues, so I made no effort to negotiate through Nayeem. We intended to spend the night and frolic for another day, but I decided this might not be wise. When I suggested I make the trip solo, Jewel cautioned against it, citing the villagers’ suspicious tendencies and possible exploitation. Just showing up is a bad idea. I’m guessing the BBC altered Dholu’s future expectations.
Still, we did make a half-hearted attempt on a pleasant river stroll. No luck. I learned the monsoon season is the best time, while the best places include ponds, graveyards, and crematories. Graveyards offer solitude (less traffic), while crematories are ideal pit stops for the cold-blooded. If I were serious about the king, I’d have to return in May or June.
I did, however, see a bigger version of the Egyptian cobra Dholu kept at his house. He escorted us to a friend’s home with more boxes and more cobras. Face-off time. I was given a shot at “charming” the ornery fucker (see video). Although I knew he couldn’t do any serious harm (he too was defanged), I’d be lying if I said my asshole didn’t clench. No one seemed particularly keen on my presence, including the snake. He was in no mood to make new friends, hissing and snapping like I’d kicked his dog. I had the feeling our presence was an imposition on the human residents, not that I blame them. How would you feel if strangers showed up unannounced at your house to fuck with your snakes? Dholu allowed me to play wrangler for a few moments, but my amateur status and the snake’s unpleasant disposition cut my career short.
I was torn between relentless curiosity and profound respect for nature’s magnificent creatures. Pestering a cobra for tourist bucks is unseemly, a scenario shunned by animal rights activists the world over. I get the sentiment, and though the Bedey have a genuine admiration for the reptiles, you have to wonder how “happy” they are in captivity. Every family has multiple snakes sequestered in small wooden boxes stashed around their living quarters. The boxes are supposed to mimic the dark, rat-hole environments they inhabit in the wild. They are fed regularly and appear to be otherwise well-cared for. Still, ain’t no place like a hole in the ground.
I rationalized my visit the way I rationalize a top-notch zoo. Necessary evils. I believe exposure breeds respect and deeper understanding. I can’t say I’d like to happen on a cobra in the bush, but my appreciation for these oft-reviled creatures expanded substantially—the more you know, the less you fear. It also gave me a chance to experience a culture I knew nothing about three days prior. I think the trade-off was worth the agitation, but rationalizations are like assholes, so…
After a walk through the potato/rice fields surrounding the river, we returned to Dholu's for a late lunch. As usual, everybody scrutinized my every action. Following a spot of tea, a flurry of photographs, and polite conversation, Nayeem and I caught a rickshaw back to Munshiganj, then a bus to Dhaka. Dholu was hoping we’d stay the night. The offer was tempting, but I feared monetary expectations might skyrocket if I lingered. Looking back, that was a stupid decision from a dumbass who knows better. Only the things we do not do…