My bookshelf

you may click on any one of the following items to read it online

Jonathan Livingstone Seagull

A Stressful Time

Khagam

Contact me
E-mail
Chat
Write
Call

  Homepage

We were having dinner by the light of the petromax lamp. I had just helped myself to some curried egg when Lachchman, the cook and caretaker of the rest house, said, ‘Aren’t you going to pay a visit to Imli Baba?’

I had to tell him that since we were not familiar with the name of Imli Baba, the question of paying him a visit hadn’t arisen. Lachchman said the driver of the Forest Department jeep which had been engaged for our sight-seeing would take us to the Baba if we told him. Baba’s hut was in a forest and the apparently held in very high regard; important people from all over India came to him to pay respects and seek his blessings. What really aroused my curiosity was the information that the Baba kept a king cobra as a pet which lived in a hole near his hut and came to him every evening to drink goat’s milk.

Dhurjati Babu’s comment on this was that the country was being overrun by fake holy men. The more scientific knowledge was spreading in the west, he said, the more our people were heading toward superstition. ‘It’s a hopeless situation, sir. It puts my back up just to think of it.’

As he finished talking, he picked up the fly swatter and brought it down with unerring aim on a mosquito which had settled on the dinning-table. Dhurjati Babu was a short, pale-looking man in his late forties, with sharp features and grey eyes. We had met in the rest house in Bharatpur; I came here by way of Agra before going to my elder brother in Jaipur to spend a fortnight’s holiday with him. Both the Tourist Bungalow and the Circuit House being full, I had to fall back on the Forest Rest House. Not that I regretted it; living in the heart of the forest offers a special kind of thrill along with quiet comfort.

Dhurjati Babu had preceded me by a day. We shared the Forest Department jeep for our sight-seeing. Yesterday we had been to Deeg, twenty-two miles to the east from here, to see the fortress and the palace. The fortress in Bharatpur we saw this morning, and in the afternoon we saw the bird sanctuary at Keoladeo. This was something very special: a seven-mile stretch of marshland dotted with tiny islands where strange birds from far corners of he globe come and make their homes. I was absorbed in watching the birds, while Dhurjati Babu grumbled and made vain efforts to wave away the tiny insects buzzing around our heads. The unkis have a tendency to settle on your face, but they are so small that most people can ignore them. Not Dhurjati Babu.

Finishing dinner at half past eight, we sat on cane chairs on the terrace admiring the beauty of the forest in the moonlight. ‘That holy man the servant mentioned,’ I remarked, ‘what about going and taking a look at him?’

Flicking his cigarette towards a eucalyptus tree, Dhurjati Babu said, ‘King cobras can never be tamed. I know a lot about snakes. I spent my boyhood in Jalpaiguri, and killed many snakes with my own hand. The king cobra is the deadliest, most vicious snake there is. So the story of the holy man feeding it goat’s milk must be taken with a pinch of salt.’

I said, ‘We see the fortress at Bayan tomorrow morning. In the afternoon we have nothing to do.’

‘I take it you have a lot of faith in holy men?’

I could see the question was a barbed one. However, I answered in a straightforward way.

‘The question of faith doesn’t arise because I’ve never had anything to do with holy men. But I can’t deny that I am a bit curios about this one.’

‘I too was curious at one time, but after an experience I had with one...’

It turned out that the Dhurjati Babu suffered from high blood pressure. An uncle of his had persuaded him to try a medicine prescribed by a holy man. Dhurjati Babu had done so, and as a result had suffered intense stomach pain. This had caused his blood pressure to shoot up even more. Ever since then he had looked upon ninety per cent of India’s holy men as fakes.

I found this allergy quite amusing, and just to provoke him I said, ‘You said it wasn’t possible to tame king cobras; I’M sure ordinary people like us couldn’t do it in caves with tigers.’

‘You may have heard about it, but have you seen it with your own eyes?’

I had to admit that I hadn’t.

‘You never will,’ said Dhurjati Babu. ‘This is the land of tall stories. You’ll hear of strange happenings all the time, but never see one yourself. Look at our Ramayana and Mahabharata. It is said they’re history, but actually they’re no more than a bundle of nonsense. The ten-headed Ravana, the Monkey-God whole city, Bhima’s appetite, Ghatotkacha, Hadimba, the flying chariot Pushpaka, Kumbhakarna — can you imagine anything more absurd than these? And the epics are full of fake holy men. That’s where it all started. Yet everyone — even the educated — swallows them whole.’

We launched in the rest house after visiting the fortress at Bayan and, after a couple of hours’ rest, reached the holy man’s hermitage a little after four. Dhurjati Babu didn’t object to the trip. Perhaps he too was a little curious about the Baba. The hermitage was in a clearing in the forest below a huge tamarind tree, which is why he was called Imli Baba by the local people, Imli being the Hindi word for tamarind. His real name was not known.

In a hut made of date palm leaves, the Baba sat on a bearskin with a lone disciple by his side. The latter was a young fellow, but it was impossible to guess the Baba’s age. There was still an hour or so until sunset, but the dense covering of foliage made the place quite dark. A fire burnt before the Baba, who had a ganja pipe in his hand. We could see by the light of the fire a clothes-line stretched across the wall of the hut from which hung a towel, a loin cloth and about a dozen sloughed-off snake skins.

Dhurjati Babu whispered in my ear: ‘Let’s not beat about the bush; ask him about the snake’s feeding time.’

‘So you want to see Balkishen?’ asked the Baba, reading our minds and smiling from behind his pipe. The driver of the jeep, Din Dayal, and told us a little while ago that the snake was called Balkishen. We told Baba that we had heard of his pet snake and we were most anxious to see it drink milk. Was there any likelihood of our wish being fulfilled?

Imli Baba shook his head sadly. He said, as a rule Balkrishen came every day in the evening in answer to Baba’s call, and had even come two days ago. But since the day before he had not been feeling well. ‘Today is the day of the full moon,’ said the Baba, ‘so he will not come. But he will surely come again tomorrow evening.’

That snakes too could feel indisposed was new to me. And yet, why not? After all, it was a tame snake. Weren’t there hospitals for dogs horses and cows?

The Baba’s disciple gave us another piece of news: red ants had got into the snake’s hole while it lay ill, and had been pestering it. Baba had exterminated them all with a curse. Dhurjati Babu gave a sidelong glance at me at this point. I turned my eyes towards Baba. With his saffron robe, his long, matted hair, his earrings, rudraksha necklaces and copper amulets, there was nothing to distinguish him from a host of other holy men. And yet in the dim light of dusk, I couldn’t take my eyes away from the man on the bearskin.

Seeing us standing, the disciple produced a pair of reed mats and spread them on the floor in front of the Baba. But what was the point of sitting down where there was no hope of seeing the pet snake? Delay would mean driving through the forest in the dark, and we knew there were wild animals about; we had seen herds of deer while coming. So we decided to leave. We bowed in namaskar to the Baba who responded by nodding without taking the pipe away from his mouth. We set off for the jeep parked about two hundred yards away on the road. Only a little while ago, the place had been alive with the call of birds coming home to roost. Now all was quiet.

We had gone a few steps when Dhurjati Babu suddenly said, ‘We could at least have asked to see the hole where the snake lives.’

I said, ‘For that we don’t have to ask the Baba; our driver Din Dayal said he had seen the hole.’

‘That’s right.’

We fetched Din Dayal from the car and he showed us the way. Instead of going towards the hut, we took a narrow path by an almond tree and arrived at a bush. The stone rubble which surrounded the bush suggested that there had been some sort of an edifice here in the past. Din Dayal said the hole was right behind the bush. It was barely visible in the failing light. Dhurjati Babu produced from his pocket a small electric torch, and as the light from it hit the bush we saw the hole. But what about the snake? Was it likely to crawl out just to show its face to a couple of curious visitors? To be quite honest, while I was ready to watch it being fed by the Baba, I had no wish to see it come out of the hole now. But my companions seemed devoured by curiosity. When the beam from the torch had no effect, he started to pelt the bush with clods of dirt.

I felt this was taking things too far, and said, ‘What’s the matter? You seem determined to drag the snake out, and you didn’t even believe in its existence at first.’

Dhurjati Babu now picked up a large clod and said, ‘I still don’t. If this one doesn’t drag him out, I'll know that a cock-and-bull story about the Baba has been spread. The more such false nations are destroyed the better.’

The clod landed with a thud on the bush and destroyed a part of the thorny cluster. Dhurjati Babu had his torch trained on the hole. For a few seconds there was silence but for a lone cricket which had just started to chirp. Now there was another sound added to it: a dry, soft whistle of indeterminate pitch. Then there was a rustle of leaves and the light of the torch revealed something black and shiny slowly slipping out of the hole.

Now the leaves of the bush stirred, and the next moment, through a parting in them emerged the head of a snake. The light showed its glinting eyes and its forked tongue flickering out of its mouth again and again. Din Dayal had been pleading with us to go back to the jeep for some time; he now said, ‘Let it be sir, You have seen it: now let us go back.’

It was perhaps because of the light shining on it that the snake had its eyes turned towards us and was flicking its tongue from time to time. I have seen many snakes, but never heard of a king cobra at such close quarters. And I have never heard of a king cobra making no attempts to attack intruders.

Suddenly the light of the torch trembled and was whisked away from the snake. What happened next was something I was not prepared for at all. Dhurjati Babu swiftly picked up a stone and hurled it with all his force at the snake. Then he followed it in quick succession with two more such missiles. I was suddenly gripped by a horrible premonition and cried out, ‘Why on earth did you have to do that, Dhurjati Babu?’

The man shouted in triumph, panting, ‘That’s the end of at least one vicious reptile!’

Din Dayal was staring open-mouthed at the bush. I took the torch from Dhurjati Babu’s hand and flashed in on the hole. I could see a part of the timeless form of the snake. The leaves around were spattered with blood.

I had no idea that Imli Baba and his disciple had arrived to take their place right behind us. Dhurjati Babu was the first to turn around, and then I too turned and saw the Baba standing with a staff in his hand a dozen feet behind us. He had his eyes fixed on Dhurjati Babu. It is beyond me to describe the look in them. I can only say that I have never seen such a mixture of surprise, anger, and hatred in anyone’s eyes.

Now Baba lifted his right arm towards Dhurjati Babu. The index finger now shot out to pinpoint the aim. I now noticed for the first time the Baba’s fingernails were over an inch long. Who did he remind me of? Yes, of a figure in a painting by Ravi Varma which I had seen as a child in a framed reproduction in my uncle’s house. It was the sage Durbasha cursing the hapless Sakuntala. He too had his arm raised like that, and the same look in his eye.

But Imli Baba said nothing about a curse. All he said in Hindi in his deep voice: ‘One Balkishen is gone; another will come to take his place. Balkishen is deathless...’

Dhurjati Babu wiped his hands with his handkerchief, turned to me and said, ‘Let’s go.’ Baba’s disciple lifted the lifeless snake from the ground and went off, probably to arrange for its cremation. The length of the snake made me gasp; I had no idea king cobras could be that long. Imli Baba slowly made his way towards the hut. The three of us went back to the jeep.

On the way back, Dhurjati Babu was gloomy and silent. I asked him why he had to kill the snake when it was doing him no harm. I thought he would burst out once more and fulminate against snakes and Babas. Instead he put a question which seemed to have no bearing on the incident.

‘Do you know who Khagam was?’

Khagam? The name seemed to ring a bell, but I couldn’t think where I had heard it. Dhurjati Babu muttered the name two or three times, then lapsed into silence.

It was half past six when we reached the guest house. My mind went back again and again to Imli Baba glowering at Dhurjati Babu with his fingers pointing at him. I don’t know why my companion behaved in such a fashion. However, I felt that we had seen the end of the incident, so there was no point in worrying about it. Baba himself had said Balkishen was deathless. There must be other king cobras in the jungles of Bharatpur. I was sure another one would be caught soon by the disciples of the Baba.

Lachhman had prepared curried chicken, lentil and chapatis for dinner. One feels hungry after a whole day’s sight-seeing. I find I eat twice as much as here as I eat at home. Dhurjati Babu, although a small man, is a hearty eater; but today he seemed to have no appetite. I asked him if he felt unwell. He made no reply. I now said, ‘Do you feel remorse for having killed the snake?’

Dhurjati Babu was staring at the petromax. What he said was not an answer to my question. ‘The snake was whistling,’ he said in a soft, thin voice. ‘The snake was whistling’

I said, smiling, ‘Whistling, or hissing...’

I said, smiling, ‘Whistling, or hissing?’

Dhurjati Babu didn’t turn away from the light. ‘Yes, hissing,’ he said. ‘Snakes speak when snakes hiss... yes,

Snakes speak when snakes hiss

I know this. I know this...’

Dhurjati Babu stopped and made some hissing noises himself. Then he broke into rhyme again, his head swaying in rhythm.

‘Snakes speak when snakes hiss

I know this. I know this,

Snakes kill when snakes kiss

I know this. I know this...

What is this? Goat’s milk?’

The question was directed at the pudding in the plate before him.

Lachchman missed the ‘goat’ bit and answered, ‘Yes, sir — there is milk and there is egg.’

Dhurjati Babu is by nature whimsical, but his behaviour today seemed excessive. Perhaps he himself released it, because he seemed to make an effort to control himself. ‘Been out on the sun too long these last few days.’ he said. ‘Must go easy from tomorrow.’

It was noticeably chillier tonight than usual; so instead of sitting out on the terrace, I went into the bedroom and started to pack my suitcase. I was going to catch the train next evening. I would have to change in the middle of the night at Sawai-Madhopur and arrive in Jaipur at five in the morning.

At least that was my plain, but it came to nothing. I had to send a wire to my elder brother saying that I would be arriving a day later. Why this was necessary will be clear from what I'm about to say now. I shall try to describe everything as clearly and accurately as possible. I don’t expect everyone will believe me, but the proof is still lying on the ground fifty yards away from Baba’s hut. I feel a cool shiver just to think of it, so it is not surprising that I couldn’t pick it up and bring it as proof of my story. Let me now set down what happened.

I had just finished packing my suitcase, turned down the wick of my lantern and got into my pyjamas when there was a knock on the door on the east side of the room. Dhurjati Babu’s room was behind the door.

As soon as I opened the door the man said in a hoarse whisper: ‘Do you have some Flit, or something to keep off mosquitoes?’

I asked: ‘Where did you find mosquitoes? Aren’t your windows covered with netting?’

‘Yes, they are.’

‘Well, then?’

‘Even then something is biting me.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘There are marks on my skin.’

It was dark at the mouth of the door, so I couldn’t see his face clearly. I said, ‘Come into my room. Let me see what kind of marks they are.’

Dhurjati Babu stepped into my room. I raised the lantern and could see the marks immediately. They were greyish, diamond-shaped blotches. I had never seen anything like them before, and didn’t like what I saw. ‘You seem to have caught some strange disease.’ I said. ‘It may be an allergy, of course. We must get hold of a doctor first thing tomorrow morning. Try and go to sleep and don’t worry about the marks. And I don’t think they’re caused by insects. Are they painful?’

’No.’

‘Then don‘t worry. Go back to bed.’

He went off. I shut he door, climbed into bed and slipped under the blanket. I’m used to reading in bed before going to sleep, but this was not possible by lantern-light. Not that I needed to read. I knew the day’s exertions would put me to sleep within ten minutes of putting my heads on the pillow.

But that was not to be tonight. I was about to drop off when there was the sound of a car arriving, followed soon by English voices and the bark of a dog. Foreign tourists obviously. The dog stopped barking at a sharp rebuke. Soon there was quiet again except for the crickets. No, not just the crickets; my neighbour was still awake and walking about. And yet through the crack under the door I had seen the lantern either being put out, or removed to the bathroom. Why was the man pacing about in the dark?

For the first time I had a suspicion that he was more than just whimsical. I had known him for just two days. I knew nothing beyond what he had himself told me. And yet, to be quite honest, I had not seen any signs of what could be called madness in him until only a few hours ago. The comments that he had made while touring the forts at Bayan and Deeg suggested that he was quite well up on history. Not only that: he also knew quite about art, and spoke knowledgeably about the work of Hindu and Moslem architects in the palaces of Rajasthan. No — the man was obviously ill. We must look for a doctor tomorrow.

The radium dial on my watch said a quarter to eleven. There was another rap on the east side door. This time I shouted from the bed.

‘What is it, Dhurjati Babu?’

‘S-s-s-s’

‘What?’

‘S-s-s-s’

I could see that he was having difficulty with his speech. A fine mess I had got myself into. I shouted again: ‘Tell me clearly what the matter is.’

‘S-s-s-sorry to bother you, but — ’

I had to leave the bed. When I opened the door, the man came out with such an absurd question that it really annoyed me.

‘Is s-s-snake spelt with one “s”?’

I made no effort to hide my annoyance.

‘You knocked on the door t this time of the night to ask me that?’

‘Only one “s”?’ he repeated.

‘Yes, sir. No English word begins with two s’s.’

‘I s-s-see. And curs-s-s-e?’

‘That’s one “s” too.’

‘Thank you. S-s-s-sleep well.’

I felt pity for the poor man. I said, ‘Let me give you a sleeping pill. Would you like one?’

‘Oh no. I s-s-s-sleep s-s-s-soundly enough. But when the s-s-sun was s-s-s-setting this evening — ’

I interrupted him. ‘Are you having trouble with your tongue? Why are you stammering? Give me your torch for a minute.’

I followed Dhurjati Babu into his room. The torch was on the dressing table. I flashed it on his face and he put out his tongue.

There was no doubt that something was wrong with it. A thin red line had appeared down the middle.

‘Don’t you feel any pain?’

‘No. No pain.’

I was at a loss to know what the matter was with him.

Now my eyes feel on the man’s bed. Its clean appearance made it clear that he hadn’t got into bed at all. I was quite stern about it. I said, ‘I want to see you turn in before I go back. And I urge you please not knock on my door again. I know I won’t have any sleep in the train tomorrow, so I want to have a good night’s rest now.’

But the man showed no signs of going to bed. The lantern being kept in the bathroom was in semi-darkness. Outside there was a full moon. Moonlight flooded in through the north window and fell on the floor. I could see Dhurjati Babu in the soft reflected glow from it. He was standing in his nightclothes, making occasional efforts to whistle through parted lips. I had wrapped the blanket around me when I left my bed, but Dhurjati Babu had nothing warm on him. If he caught a chill then it would be difficult for me to leave him alone and go away. After all, we were both away from home; if one was in trouble, it wouldn’t do for the other to leave him in the lurch and push off.

I told him again to go to bed. When I found he wouldn’t, I realised I should have to use main force. If he insisted on behaving like a child, I had no choice but to act the stern elder.

But the moment I touched his hand I sprang back as if from an electric shock.

Dhurjati Babu’s body was as cold as ice. I couldn’t imagine that a living person’s body could be so cold.

It was perhaps my reaction which brought a smile to his lips. He now regarded me with his grey eyes wrinkled in amusement. I asked him in a hoarse voice: ‘What is the matter with you?’

Dhurjati Babu kept looking at me for a whole minute. I noticed that he didn’t blink once during the whole time. I also noticed that he kept sticking out his tongue again and again. Then he dropped his voice to a whisper and said, ‘Baba is calling me — “Balkishen!... Balkishen!...” I can hear him call.’ His knees now buckled and he went down on the floor. Flattening himself on his chest, he started dragging himself back on his elbows until he disappeared into the darkness under the bed.

I was drenched in a cold sweat and shivering in every limb. It was difficult for me to keep standing. I was no longer worried about the man, all I felt was a mixture of horror and disbelief.

I came back to my room, shut the door and bolted it. Then it got back into bed and covered myself from head to toe with the blanket. In a while the shivering stopped and I could think a little more clearly. I tried to realise where the matter stood, and the implication of what I had seen with my own eyes. Dhurjati Babu had killed Imli Babu with his finger and said; ‘One Balkishen is gone. Another will come to take his place.’ The question is: was the second Balkishen a snake or a man?

Or a man turned into a snake?

What were those diamond-shaped blotches on Dhurjati Babu’s skin?

What was the red mark on his tongue?

Did it show that his tongue was about to be forked?

Why was he so cold to the touch?

Why did he crawl under the bed?

I suddenly recalled something in a flash. Dhurjati Babu had asked about Khagam. The name had sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Now I remembered. A story I had read in the Mahabharata when I was a boy. Khagam was the name of a sage. his curse had turned his friend into a snake. Khagam — snake — curse it all fitted. But the friend had turned into a harmless non-poisonous snake, while this man...

Somebody was knocking on the door again. At the foot of the door this time. Once, twice, thrice... I didn’t stir out of the bed. I was not going to open the door. Not again.

The knocking stopped. I held my breath and waited.

A hissing sound now, moving away from the door.

Now there was silence, except for my pounding hearbeat.

What was the sound now? A squeak. No, something between a squeak and screech. I knew there were rats in the bungalow. I saw one in my bedroom the very first night. I had told Lachchman, and he had brought a rat-trap from the pantry to show me a rat in it. ‘Not only rats, sir; there are moles too.’

The screeching had stopped. There was silence again. Minutes passed. I glanced at my watch. A quarter to one. Sleep had vanished. I could see the trees in the moonlight through my window. The moon was overhead now.

The sound of a door opening. It was the door of Dhurjati Babu’s room which led to the verandah. The door was on the same side as my window. The line of tress was six or seven yards away the edge of the verandah.

Dhurjati Babu was out on the verandah now. Where was he going? What was he up to? I stared fixedly at my window.

The hissing sound was growing louder. Now it was right outside my window. Thank God the window was covered with netting!

Something was climbing up the wall towards the window. A head appeared behind the netting. In the dim light of the lantern shone a pair of beady eyes sharing fixedly at me.

They stayed staring for a minute; then there was the bark of a dog. The head turned towards the bark, and then dropped out of sight.

The dog was barking at the top of its voice. Now I heard its owner shouting at it. The barking turned into a moan, and then stopped. Once again there was silence. I kept my senses alert for another ten minutes or so. The lines of a verse I had heard earlier that night kept coming back to me —

Snakes speak when snakes hiss,

I know this. I know this,

Snakes kill when snakes kiss

I know this. I know this...

And then the rhyme grew dim in my mind and I felt a drowsiness stealing over me.

I woke up to the sound of agitated English voices. My watch showed ten minutes to six. Something was happening. I got up quickly, dressed and came out on the verandah. A pet dog belonging to two English tourists had died during the night. The dog had slept in the bedroom with its owners who hadn’t bothered to lock the door. It was surmised that a snake or something equally venomous had got into the room and bitten it.

The jeep arrived at half past ten. I couldn’t leave Bharatpur without finding out what had happened to my companion. So I sent a cable to my brother from the post office, got my train ticket postponed for a day and came back to the rest house to learn that there was still no sign of Dhurjati Babu. The two Englishman had in the meantime buried their dog and left.

I spent the whole afternoon exploring around the rest house. Following my instruction, the jeep arrived again in the afternoon. I was now working on a hunch and had a faint hope of success. I told the driver to drive straight to Imli Baba’s hermitage.

I reached it about the same time as we did yesterday. Baba was seated with the pipe in hand and the fire burning in front of him. There were two more disciples with him today.

Baba nodded briefly in answer to my greeting. The look in his eyes today held no hint of the blazing intensity that had appeared in them yesterday. I went straight to the point: did the Baba have any information on the gentleman who came with me yesterday? A gentle smile spread over Baba’s face. He said, ‘Indeed I have! ’Your friend has fulfilled my hope. He has brought back my Balkishen to me.‘

I noticed for the first time the stone pot on Baba’s right-hand side. The white liquid it contained was obviously milk. But I hadn’t come all this way to see a snake and a bowl of milk. I had come in quest of Dhurjati Babu. He couldn’t simply have vanished into thin air. If I could only see some signs of his existence!

I had noticed earlier that Imli Baba could read one’s mind. He took a long pull at the pipe ganja, passed it on to one of his state you knew him, but he left a momento behind. You will find that fifty steps to the south of Balkishen’s home. Go carefully; there are thorny bushes around.’

I went to the hole where the king cobra lived. I was not the least concerned with whether another snake had taken the place of the first one. I took fifty steps south through grass, thorny shrubs and rubble, and reached bel tree at the foot of which lay something the likes of which I had seen hanging from a line in Baba’s hut a few minutes ago.

It was a freshly sloughed-off skin marked all over with a pattern of diamonds.But wait!! Is it really the skin of a snake?Does the skin of a snake have hands and feet sticking out of it? No this is the sloughed off skin of a man,or a man who has ceased to be a man.He is a cobra with poison fangs.There I hear him hissing.The sun is going down and the Baba is calling "Balkishan...Balkishan".

copyright : Seagull Books

Special thanks to Priyanka Dasgupta for keying in the entire text for this site