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Irula Snake Catchers
by Chris Adams
Most people will shiver at the mere mention of the word “snake.”
In the past, I wasn’t so keen on the slithery creatures either,
and was quite happy to live in a certified snake-free country.
Then I got hooked on the National Geographic Channel, and fell
prey to the snake-loving ideologies of some of its programs. I
began to see snakes in a different light – as beautiful creatures,
full of mystery, occupying the very fringes of animal society.
Soon after my conversion to snake lover, I arrived in Tamil Nadu,
South India. In Tamil Nadu, a tribe named the Irula have dwelled
in the tropical jungles since ancient times. Most of the jungles
have now be levelled to make way for farm land and habitations for
India’s ever mushrooming population, and many of the Irula have
assimilated into Indian society. But some of the Irula still
practice the skill they are most famous for: snake catching.
In the past the Irula caught snakes to supply the lucrative
snakeskin market. Nowadays, however, the killing of snakes is
outlawed in India and the Irula catch snakes to supply
laboratories with venom, the main ingredient used in the process
of snakebite anti-venom.
With the help of American herpetologist, Romulus Whitaker, the
tribe set up the Irula Snake Catchers Industrial Co-operative
Society (quite a mouthful isn’t it?). The snakes are caught in the
wild and brought back to the co-op headquarters, where they are
“milked” for their venom and then released back into the wild. The
snakes aren’t hurt in the process and the Irula gain much-needed
income from the laboratories. Everyone wins.
The co-op is located 14 kilometres up the highway from the Bay of
Bengal tourist enclave of Mamallapuram, inside the “crocodile
bank,” a reptile park which aims at educating Indians about their
country’s reptilians. It was on this highway that I found myself
on an overcast morning, riding what seemed to be India’s slowest
moped, en-route for my first visit to the Irula.
On arrival, I paid my twenty rupee (NZ$1) entrance fee to the
crocodile bank and made my way though to the co-op, located in a
corner of the park. A number of venomous snakes were on display: a
Russells Viper, a couple of Kraits, a common Indian Cobra and a
few tiny Saw Scaled Vipers. These snakes were interesting, but far
more entertaining were the group of Indian tourists cowering in
fear at the sight of the curled up creatures a few feet away on
the other side of a solid concrete wall. I wanted more. I wanted
to see the snakes in the wild. I wanted to go snake catching in
the field with the Irula.
After struggling through a bird’s nest of Indian red tape in the
co-op manger’s office, I was provided with two khaki clad Irula
men, Vedan and Rejendra. They would be my guides for the
afternoon. We left the co-op and crossed the highway to the fields
that lay on the other side. In my excitement, I nearly got run
over by a large lorry stacked high with bananas.
I thought we would have to walk a long way before we entered snake
country, but Vedan and Rajendra went straight into action almost
as soon as we had crossed the highway, peering down holes and
analyzing snake trails that criss-crossed the dusty earth. It soon
became obvious that Vedan and Rajendra were masters of their
trade.
Ten minutes of searching passed before Vedan found an occupied
hole.
“Rat Snake!” he exclaimed, as he began digging down into the soft
earth of a leafy embankment. I wasn’t so exited. I knew the Rat
Snake to be a common species in India, and non-venomous.
After another five minutes of digging Vedan and Rajendra had the
Rat Snake out of the ground. The snake was much larger than I had
expected – dark coloured and around 1.2 metres in length. I held
the snake’s tail as Vedan and Rajendra immobilised its thrashing
head. I’d never held a snake before and was struck by the coolness
of its cold-blooded skin.
Hours of fruitless searching then followed. I wanted to find a
Cobra, or possibly a Russells Viper. Vedan and Rajendra, in true
South Indian fashion, wanted to please me. We walked for a couple
of hours through fields and rice paddies flanked by a gently
flowing river. Vedan and Rajendra must have peered down two
hundred holes, but none yielded anything more exciting than common
Rat Snakes. Finally, as the sun was sinking low in the sky, we
reached an embankment covered with trees and dense undergrowth.
Vedan picked up a snakeskin. “Cobra,” he said, as he handed me the
discarded skin. The Cobra had shed its skin recently on that spot,
and the search for the snake was underway.
My guides soon located the Cobra’s hole, and whilst Rajendra
cleared away the undergrowth with a jungle machete, Vedan, using
his bare hands, dug furiously into the earth. Within a few
minutes, the unmistakable pattern of an Indian Cobra’s skin came
into view, this time attached to its owner. “Cobra!” shouted Vedan
as he turned to face me, looking quite chuffed with himself. I
took three steps backward. I wasn’t completely comfortable in the
claustrophobic confines of the scrub with an uptight Indian Cobra.
Vedan quickly had the snake out of its hole. With its hood
retracted, the Cobra looked like an ordinary snake. This didn’t
stop a shiver from running down my spine as Vedan casually strode
past me, holding the Cobra by its tail. The snake was thrashing
around, desperately searching for some flesh to sink its
hypodermic fangs into.
Once out in the open, Vedan set the snake down on the grass, and
Rajendra began showing off his snake catching skills. He attracted
the Cobra’s attention by flashing a white cloth sack in front of
its eyes. The Cobra jumped straight into its defensive position,
raising itself off the ground, puffing out its intimidating hood
and hissing in anger at its late afternoon disturbance. The snake
before me now looked like the Cobras I was accustomed to seeing on
the National Geographic Channel, even more beautiful bathed
in the deep, evening light.
With the Cobra safely stored inside the cloth sack, we made our
way back towards the co-op. I felt on top of the world, buzzing
with the excitement of seeing a live Cobra in the wild, and having
the chance to view the snake-catching expertise of my Irula
guides. I asked Rajendra what the future had in store for our
captured Cobra. He replied that the co-op currently had enough
Cobras for its venom milking program, and that the snake would be
taken far away from human habitations, and released back into the
wild, because the country still suffers from 25,000 annual
snakebite fatalities. This also reduces the chances of the snakes
being killed by local farmers, he said.
Traffic sounds as we were nearing the highway soon brought me back
to reality, a vast contrast to the dreamy state of mind that goes
along with tropical sunsets, tribal guides and snakes in sacks. My
adventure was nearly over. As I hopped back on my moped, and
slowly (my only choice) negotiated the highway back to
Mamallapuram, I cast my gaze out across the Bay of Bengal and
reflected on the afternoon’s events. I was so pleased to have
witnessed the Irula in action, and to have viewed a completely
eco-friendly and sustainable industry at work. Maybe I didn’t get
to see a Russells Viper, but I’ll leave that snake, with its one
inch fangs and muscle destroying venom, until my next visit to the
Irula.
© Chris Adams, 2004
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