Night Train to Jamalpur(31)

‘But he’s already had his bloody baksheesh.’

Deo Rana put this point to the governor, who at first said nothing, staring straight ahead towards the heat-dazed train movements of the Howrah goods yard. Then he spoke, and Deo Rana transalated: ‘That was morning baksheesh. Now afternoon.’

I said, ‘I have no more money.’

‘You have ten rupees,’ said the English-speaker. This was true; I did have ten rupees in my pocket book. I eyed Deo Rana. He shook his head, so he was telling me to give it over. I handed the ten rupees to the governor.

‘Now I need information,’ I said.

Deo Rana spoke to the governor, and the response came back, ‘Soon informations. Music first.’

The boy was coming out of the trainlighting office holding the charmer’s flute and one of the smaller baskets. The basket was placed in front of the governor, who squatted in the dust and began to play. His flute had a bulge in it, as though someone once blown so hard that it had inflated. The governor took one hand away from the pipe, swiped off the top of the basket and the snake was there, standing up and swooping with the movements of the pipe. It was another cobra – I could tell by the hood – but not a king. It was so much smaller than the king that I felt confident about moving a little closer to the basket. The English-speaker, who stood with arms folded behind the governor, looked up and said, ‘You are not safe, you know that.’

So I moved back again.

The snake continued to dance. I said, ‘It likes the music,’ and the English-speaker shook his head.

‘Snake deaf,’ he said. ‘All snakes deaf.’

‘Really?’

He threw up his arms as if to say he was amazed I didn’t know.

‘Where ears?’ he said, laughing. ‘Only . . . feel shaking. On ground.’ He stomped his bare foot.

‘Vibration,’ I said. ‘They feel vibration.’

‘Yes, huzoor.’

The music had stopped, and the snake fell back into its basket. If they couldn’t hear the sound, the snakes must be interested in the motion of the pipe; it also struck me they liked being cooped up. I put that to Deo Rana, and he put it to the governor as the boy carted the basket away. The reply came back: ‘Snake feel safe in small place,’ and it seemed wrong that the snake should be the one to worry about feeling safe.

The boy was now coming out of the trainlighting office carrying the largest of the baskets. It was about as big as he was, and the ropes were off. The snake men and Deo Rana were all now squatting or standing near the edge of the disused platform, and I was standing opposite them, about twenty yards from the platform. There was a strong mood of afternoon. The crows circled more lazily over the Black Town, the cloud of smoke and dust from the mill had turned a deeper orange, and the noise from the Howrah goods yard had become a continuous and distant drone. I was exhausted from my day in the heat. I wanted to be back at the hotel in my iced bath with my Beck’s beer.

I watched the boy, marvelling at his energy in the heat of the day. He commenced climbing down from the platform edge while holding the basket, but the basket was too big for him. One of the snake men called out just as the kid fell and the lid rolled away, and the bloody thing came racing out. It moved like an arrow towards me; everyone else was behind the snake; only I was in front of it. I turned and ran but I would not beat the snake; I turned to see how close it was and I fell as the snake – six feet away from me – began rising into the air. The snake was swaying over me, it was like the fucking Indian rope trick . . . and then it was being rapidly withdrawn over the dusty ground. The governor was pulling its tail, and then the English-speaker stepped in with his cleft stick. The snake was trapped again. Everything stopped, and I was able to think. Something had not happened that should have. The snake, now being returned to its basket, had remained dust-coloured all along its length. In spite of the accident, the egg had not cracked. The snake had not opened its mouth. The English-speaker was now shouting at the boy, and chasing him about the platform in a half-serious way. A third snake man – one who had so far kept in the background – was on the platform, and holding up a darning needle in one hand, and a roll of fishing line in the other. As I sat in the dust, he waved them at me.

Whilst I could now think, I could not speak for the beating of my heart. When I could speak, I said, ‘They stitched up the mouth.’ Deo Rana was walking towards me. ‘How will it eat?’ I said.

Deo Rana replied, ‘Snakes not need food for long time. Many weeks, not need. Soon, they will open mouth, get poison part and cut, cut.’