This was in the nether zone between dusk and darkness. The village was commemorating yet another day of peace and happiness which in other
words, meant that status quo prevailed here, in this pretty
village, an extract from the gorgeous 19th century, with minor aberrations like its first ATM machine which irritatingly propped
up a few months ago. Coming back to the evening, the
normal everyday prevailed, which meant that some
people were still historically not speaking to each other,
the sweetest guy in the village still remained Gundu, who
manages the provision store, knows each family and it’s
various branches meandering across generations and
supplies chicken, cheese and coke and forgets to collect
money, (has never lost a penny though), and the tinto
remained the fulcrum of noise and gossip.
The serenity of this splendid existence was pierced
a fortnight ago- very gently- though by the local young
man, Valentino, a staunch disciple of Lord Bacchus,
the roman God of wine equated with the Greek God
Dionysus. The young man, under heavy influence of his
Gods, staggered along the road when he chanced upon a
cobra, his hood upright and proud, a tad irritated at not
being left alone to scale up and down the road. Our man,
in one quick seamless arm action scooped up the cobra
and twirled it around in a fine display of movement and
motion and held it aloft like a sword after a triumphant
strike. While bad light prevented everyone to clearly
see this performance, many still absorbed it. Some
clapped, others asked him to be careful and the more
concerned quickly informed the local Marlett bar, that
its regular customer was temporarily engaged in more
manly pursuits like twirling a cobra. Cut to Marlett bar
where other patrons, excitedly waited for their hero and
ordered two rounds of whisky for the hero. Valentino
soon appeared, out of reflex, the cobra still in hand and
perched himself in his favorite corner as others gathered
around him, to show how proud they were of his deed
and how this world still hadn’t come to terms with his
greatness. Our man soaked it all in, whisky in one hand
and the whippersnapper of the snake in the other. The
cobra surprisingly did not strike back realising that
hurting or doing worse to devotees of Marlett, a fine
traditional institution of village merrymaking wouldn’t go
down very well. Even the laws of the jungle didn’t permit
messing with Marlett customers. No sir. But every law has
its limitations and every cobra, his limits of patience. The
worthy men breached limits totally by deciding to give
the cobra a bath with soda. As our hero held the cobra
aloft, others poured from two bottles like a simultaneous
fountain drenching his hood and his torso. That was too
much. In one motion the cobra arched its hood back to
get a better pivot and struck our hero in the centre of
his temple, making him stagger and fall. According to
local myths, the number of hours a man survives a Cobra
hit is proportional to the number of stripes it has. The
merrymakers of Marlett then went towards the cobra and
counted his stripes, with each getting the number wrong,
thereby not knowing if Valentino would live for two hours
or three. Valentino too counted and as this story turned
out, may have counted thousands of stripes in his stupor.
You know what, no Cobra has yet been a match to
a whisky induced brave man. Our hero didn’t lose his
grip even as he fell and went on with his games, with
his cronies clapping. There was a tiatr going on in the
panchayat hall next to Marlett but the drama was here.
As word spread the tiatr lovers, hopped across to see the
real life theatre and watched.
Thankfully for all concerned, the omni-present
Antonio had the sense to call snake catcher Julio to rush
post haste from Raia, but no one had the courage to go
near the hero and his cobra, who were still not separated.
A furious Julio arrived and was it was clear to him
that his poor cobra was the victim and not the assaulter.
He sharply ordered Valentino to drop the cobra to the
floor and step back. Julio picked it up and went away
advising the Marlett merrymakers to take the hero to
hospital to address the simple matter of saving his life
since he was struck by a cobra. To cut a long story short,
Valentino was then rushed to hospital and pumped with
medicines and survived making the stock of Marlett and
the strength of its whisky shore to greater heights.
To all loved readers, this was just another live report
from my favourite village,now home. If the Goa, we love,
get angry with, get irritated by and yet can’t live without
lives, it does in these villages where time does stand still
but the colours of life never ebb. Meanwhile Business
with Pleasure returns to Herald with its author to travel
into the labyrinths of Goa in search for more stories,
more places, more restaurants and more tucked away
kitchens to pay tribute to artists and creators that make
the Goa life worth living.
PS: The Cobra is with the forest department and our
Hero has returned to Marlett bar.
