THE HINDU (Chennai, India) 12 December 07 Charmed by snakes - One day in the life of... a snake catcher (Asha S. Menon)
I step over a hole in the clayey field and, certain it’s a snake’s pit, rush through the slush towards Mari, one of the snake-catchers at the Irula Snake-Catchers Industrial Co-operative Society. It’s been half-an-hour into our search for poisonous snakes at Kolipanthandalam (20 km from Madras Crocodile bank). Mari, his brow furrowed against the rising sun, is amused by my panic. “It’s a crab hole,” he says.
Mari is one of the 11 Irulas who work in the Society’s office, located inside the Madras Crocodile Bank, tend to snakes and extract their venom. He and Vedan, another licensed snake-catcher, have been asked to show me how they catch snakes.
Having found a real snake hole, Mari sits on bended knees, eyes on level, just inches away from the pit he has been digging on the slope. He prods at a scaly, sliding belly inside it, and says, “It’s a cobra.” I start.
A depression on the slope gave its pit away. The catchers spot snakes from their tracks or their shed skin. “Not by the smell of jasmine or fried dal, as it is believed,” says Vedan.
Mari is calm, almost playful, as he prods the cobra out, but Vedan is watchful. The snake slides out in full, and Mari grabs it by the tail. It backs, he lets go and just as it slithers forward, he grabs its tail again. Holding it by the tail, Mari lowers the snake into a bag, which he drops into a basket.
Snake-catchers go into the field with a crowbar and a long sickle. No gumboots, no protective gloves. “Gumboots and gloves are given to the staff while they work inside the snake park where they are surrounded by snakes,” says S. Dravidamani, Secretary of the Society. “In the field, they (275 licensed snake-catchers) are more comfortable using traditional methods.”
Chandra, Vedan’s wife and mother of seven, follows him. Her one-year-old daughter in hand, Chandra is there to carry the heavy snake bag and, if required, rush to the nearest village to call for help. The Society has a vehicle at hand which it sends out when a snake-catcher gets bitten.
After the first catch at 8.45 a.m., we find no trace for hours. At 10.45 a.m., exhausted and thirsty, we ask Mari if we can come back after a bite. “There is nothing nearby,” he says bending over the bushes. These bushes are little islands in vast stretches of fields. Cobras and Common Kraits are found in the fields, Russells Vipers in dry mangroves and Sawscale Vipers in wet poramboke lands. It’s illegal to hunt in reserve forests, sanctuaries and national parks.
After breakfast at a nearby village, we are back in the field. After hours without any luck, Mari says resignedly, “It is fate.” While he gets a monthly salary as a part of the Society, other Irulas subsist by the snakes they catch.
The catchers are permitted to hunt only healthy, poisonous snakes, which they must hand over to the Society. The Society, which receives orders for venom from pharmaceutical companies, can catch only that number permitted by the Forest Department. The Society allots a quota to each snake catcher. “This year we had orders for venom from 88,200 snakes, but the GO only permitted 8,550,” says Dravidamani. “If we had got permission for all 88,200, each member would have earned Rs. 25,000 per month as against Rs. 2,000.” At 3 p.m., Mari spots a scorpion. I watch, ready to run, as he presses the pincers down gently with a twig. In the struggle to free the pincers, the scorpion relaxes its sting and Mari holds it firmly with his fingers.
Mari tenderly holds it in a lock, and cups it in his palm. He opens his palm, and lets the scorpion walk over his hand. “The slightest pain and it will sting,” he whispers, not taking his eyes off it.
Four p.m., we head to their village. Mari and Vedan live near the fields – an ideal location for catching snakes and their main delicacy — field rats. “Without rats, it’s not a good meal,” says Mari, grinning. Theirs is not an easy life, but the two seem oblivious of the hardships and the dangers involved in their occupation.
At the entrance of the village is a low, thatched roof and mud temple of Kanima Swami. “Kanima takes care of us on the fields,” says Mari philosophically.
SNAKE TREK? Those interested in a similar experience, contact The Irula Snake-Catchers Industrial Cooperative Society. The charges are Rs. 1,500 per head. The money goes to the snake-catchers who will accompany you.
One day in the life of... a snake catcher