Geetanjali Krishna: The last of the saperas

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

He used to charm snakes, make them dance to his tune. Cobras, kraits and venomous vipers were all the same to him "" he'd catch them in jungles with his bare hands and keep them in baskets till it was time to unveil them in front of fascinated audiences. In so doing, Shishanath Sapera didn't just earn a living "" he also kept alive the ancient tradition practiced by his forefathers. When his young child cried, Shishanath would hang a live snake around the baby's shoulders: "That was the best way of removing the fear of snakes from our children's minds. It's only when you overcome the fear, that your mind is free to comprehend the sinuous beauty of snakes."

Today, the babies who grew up with snakes around them, believing that they too would make a living from these slippery reptiles, have to look for other employment. Thanks to the government's ban on snake charmers, not only are Shishanath's children moving away from the family business, most of his brethren are turning to other jobs as well. And the proud, unafraid sapera who has given virtuoso performances all over the world, and even acted in a Roysten Abel production in Italy, has been forced to call his troupe the bhangra-been party. They play their traditional instruments, but also perform folk dances which are much in demand during weddings and parties. "We don't know what else to do," says he miserably, "for suddenly, what we've done all our lives has become unacceptable to the government."

"Our association with snakes has been a long one," says Narayannath, a troupe member, "for the past three hundred years, snake charmers have entertained as well as educated people in the villages about snakes, cured snakebites with special herbs only we know about," he says. These erstwhile snake charmers stressed the point that the animals they caught were released into the jungle from where they'd been caught after two months. "We had a superstitious belief that this would protect us from their venom," says Shishanath. Their legendary snake-catching abilities have often been called upon. Some years ago, Shishanath recalls, some extreme right-wingers threatened to disrupt a cricket match in the capital by unleashing hundreds of snakes on the pitch. "We snake charmers were summoned just in case they actually made good their threat," says he proudly.

But today, unemployed and embittered, Shishanath and his kin seethe over the sheer injustice of not having been offered any alternate employment. "I feel that if the government outlaws all animal performances, why does it not close down the zoo? Or are they saying that earning revenues by displaying animals in cages is fine, but saperas and their snake charming isn't?" says Shishanath, clearly frustrated. His troupe members nod in assent.

There are some jobs that only people with their unique capabilities can perform, they believe. "The most obvious place where we could prove useful is the zoo," says Shishanath, "maybe the government could even set up a snake park like the one in Chennai, which we could work in." They would also make good watchmen, especially in campuses like IIT and JNU which have a lot of forest cover. "We were called to catch a snake in IIT once, yet they never considered us when they appointed watchmen!" he says bitterly. What all the saperas were unanimous about, though, was a plea to the government and to animal rights activists, to allow them to continue displaying a few snakes. "It's not just the money we're bothered about," says Shishanath, "we just don't want the name of the saperas to die!"