he first king cobra I ever saw was neither in a zoo nor on a television screen. It was in the courtyard of my grandfather’s brother’s house, its magnificent hood fully spread, swaying gently, as though it were the undisputed monarch of the land. To my young mind, it was the very embodiment of death.

I stood transfixed.

My grandfather walked towards it with measured, unhurried steps. There was no trace of fear in his demeanour, no hint of hesitation. In his hand was only the weathered wooden staff that rarely left his side. Then to my utter astonishment, he spoke to the cobra.

Whether he believed the snake understood him or whether it was simply his way of confronting danger, I shall never know. But the quiet firmness in his voice still echoes in my ears. The response was a long, angry hiss, the hood flaring wider in contempt. Grandpa admonished the snake almost as if he was reasoning with a little child.

When I was expecting the cobra to fly at him and strike, his staff descended in one swift, perfectly judged move. The cobra crumpled to the ground and silence settled over the courtyard.

This summer, Kerala’s newspapers were full of reports of snakes entering homes and tragic deaths from snakebites. Some time ago, I watched an episode of a programme of Goa’s snakes. The snake catcher equipped with a snake hook, calmly caught venomous snakes before releasing them into their natural habitat. Watching him, my thoughts travelled instantly back to that afternoon in my grandfather’s courtyard.

He and my grandfather belonged to different worlds. His mission was both protection and conservation; my grandfather’s was protection. He carried a snake hook; my grandfather a simple wooden staff. Their methods reflected the times in which they lived. In an era when trained rescuers did not exist, my grandfather responded to desperate calls from frightened villagers, protecting families from an immediate threat. Today, knowledge and conservation rightly guide our response to these remarkable creatures. As the credits rolled, I found myself thinking not about the snakes but of the two men who faced them. Their worlds were different, their methods were different, but each met danger with stoic calm. That thought lingered after the television was switched off.

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