by Ruskin Bond
‘Calm down, dear,’ urged Grandmother, sprinkling rose water over my aunt. ‘Tell us, what did you see?’
‘A snake!’ sobbed Aunt Ruby. ‘A great boa constrictor in the guava tree. Its eyes were terrible, and it looked at me in such a queer way.’
‘Trying to tempt you with a guava, no doubt,’ said Grandfather, turning away to hide his smile. He gave me a look full of meaning, and I hurried out into the garden. But when I got to the guava tree, the python (if it had been the python) had gone.
‘Aunt Ruby must have frightened it off,’ I told Grandfather.
‘I’m not surprised,’ he said. ‘But it will be back, Ranji. I think it has taken a fancy to your aunt.’
Sure enough, the python began to make brief but frequent appearances, usually up in the most unexpected places.
One morning I found him curled up on a dressing table, gazing at his own reflection in the mirror. I went for Grandfather, but by the time we returned the python had moved on.
He was seen again in the garden, and one day I spotted him climbing the iron ladder to the roof. I set off after him, and was soon up the ladder, which I had climbed up many times. I arrived on the flat roof just in time to see the snake disappearing down a drainpipe. The end of his tail was visible for a few moments and then that too disappeared.
‘I think he lives in the drainpipe,’ I told Grandfather.
‘Where does it get its food?’ asked Grandmother.
‘Probably lives on those field rats that used to be such a nuisance. Remember, they lived in the drainpipes, too.’
‘Hmm…’ Grandmother looked thoughtful. ‘A snake has its uses. Well, as long as it keeps to the roof and prefers rats to chickens…’
But the python did not confine itself to the roof. Piercing shrieks from Aunt Ruby had us all rushing to her room. There was the python on her dressing table, apparently admiring himself in the mirror.
‘All the attention he’s been getting has probably made him conceited,’ said Grandfather, picking up the python to the accompaniment of further shrieks from Aunt Ruby. ‘Would you like to hold him for a minute, Ruby? He seems to have taken a fancy to you.’
Aunt Ruby ran from the room and onto the veranda, where she was greeted with whistles of derision from Popeye the parrot. Poor Aunt Ruby! She cut short her stay by a week and returned to Lucknow, where she was a schoolteacher. She said she felt safer in her school than she did in our house.
3
Having seen Grandfather handle the python with such ease and confidence, I decided I would do likewise. So the next time I saw the snake climbing the ladder to the roof, I climbed up alongside him. He stopped, and I stopped too. I put out my hand, and he slid over my arm and up to my shoulder. As I did not want him coiling round my neck, I gripped him with both hands and carried him down to the garden. He didn’t seem to mind.
The snake felt rather cold and slippery and at first he gave me goose pimples. But I soon got used to him, and he must have liked the way I handled him, because when I set him down he wanted to climb up my leg. As I had other things to do, I dropped him in a large empty basket that had been left out in the garden. He stared out at me with unblinking, expressionless eyes. There was no way of knowing what he was thinking, if indeed he thought at all.
I went off for a bicycle ride, and when I returned, I found Grandmother picking guavas and dropping them into the basket. The python must have gone elsewhere.
When the basket was full, Grandmother said, ‘Will you take these over to Major Malik? It’s his birthday and I want to give him a nice surprise.’
I fixed the basket on the carrier of my cycle and pedalled off to Major Malik’s house at the end of the road. The major met me on the steps of his house.
‘And what has your kind granny sent me today, Ranji?’ he asked.
‘A surprise for your birthday, sir,’ I said, and put the basket down in front of him.
The python, who had been buried beneath all the guavas, chose this moment to wake up and stand straight up to a height of several feet. Guavas tumbled all over the place. The major uttered an oath and dashed indoors.
I pushed the python back into the basket, picked it up, mounted the bicycle, and rode out of the gate in record time. And it was as well that I did so, because Major Malik came charging out of the house armed with a double-barrelled shotgun, which he was waving all over the place.
‘Did you deliver the guavas?’ asked Grandmother when I got back.
‘I delivered them,’ I said truthfully.
‘And was he pleased?’
‘He’s going to write and thank you,’ I said.
And he did.
‘Thank you for the lovely surprise,’ he wrote. ‘Obviously you could not have known that my doctor had advised me against any undue excitement. My blood pressure has been rather high. The sight of your grandson does not improve it. All the same, it’s the thought that matters and I take it all in good humour…’
‘What a strange letter,’ said Grandmother. ‘He must be ill, poor man. Are guavas bad for blood pressure?’
‘Not by themselves, they aren’t,’ said Grandfather, who had an inkling of what had happened. ‘But together with other things they can be a bit upsetting.’
4
Just when all of us, including Grandmother, were getting used to having the python about the house and grounds, it was decided that we would be going to Lucknow for a few months.
Lucknow was a large city, about three hundred miles from Dehra. Aunt Ruby lived and worked there. We would be staying with her, and so of course we couldn’t take any pythons, monkeys or other unusual pets with us.
‘What about Popeye?’ I asked.
‘Popeye isn’t a pet,’ said Grandmother. ‘He’s one of us. He comes too.’
And so the Dehra railway platform was thrown into confusion by the shrieks and whistles of our parrot, who could imitate both the guard’s whistle and the whistle of a train. People dashed into their compartments, thinking the train was about to leave, only to realize that the guard hadn’t blown his whistle after all. When they got down, Popeye would let out another shrill whistle, which sent everyone rushing for the train again. This happened several times until the guard actually blew his whistle. Then nobody bothered to get on, and several passengers were left behind.
‘Can’t you gag that parrot?’ asked Grandfather, as the train moved out of the station and picked up speed.
‘I’ll do nothing of the sort,’ said Grandmother. ‘I’ve bought a ticket for him, and he’s entitled to enjoy the journey as much as anyone.’
Whenever we stopped at a station, Popeye objected to fruit sellers and other people poking their heads in through the windows. Before the journey was over, he had nipped two fingers and a nose, and tweaked a ticket inspector’s ear.
It was to be a night journey, and presently Grandmother covered herself with a blanket and stretched out on the berth. ‘It’s been a tiring day. I think I’ll go to sleep,’ she said.
‘Aren’t we going to eat anything?’ I asked.
‘I’m not hungry—I had something before we left the house. You two help yourselves from the picnic hamper.’
Grandmother dozed off, and even Popeye started nodding, lulled to sleep by the clackety-clack of the wheels and the steady puffing of the steam engine.
‘Well, I’m hungry,’ I said. ‘What did Granny make for us?’
‘Stuffed samosas, omelettes, and tandoori chicken. It’s all in the hamper under the berth.
I tugged at the cane box and dragged it into the middle of the compartment. The straps were loosely tied. No sooner had I undone them than the lid flew open, and I let out a gasp of surprise.
In the hamper was a python, curled up contentedly. There was no sign of our dinner.
‘It’s a python,’ I said. ‘And it’s finished all our dinner.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Grandfather, joining me near the hamper. ‘Pythons won’t eat omelette and samosas. They like their
food alive! Why, this isn’t our hamper. The one with our food in it must have been left behind! Wasn’t it Major Malik who helped us with our luggage? I think he’s got his own back on us by changing the hamper!’
Grandfather snapped the hamper shut and pushed it back beneath the berth.
‘Don’t let Grandmother see him,’ he said. ‘She might think we brought him along on purpose.’
‘Well, I’m hungry,’ I complained.
‘Wait till we get to the next station, then we can buy some pakoras. Meanwhile, try some of Popeye’s green chillies.’
‘No thanks,’ I said. ‘You have them, Grandad.’
And Grandfather, who could eat chillies plain, popped a couple into his mouth and munched away contentedly.
A little after midnight there was a great clamour at the end of the corridor. Popeye made complaining squawks, and Grandfather and I got up to see what was wrong.
Suddenly there were cries of ‘Snake, snake!’
I looked under the berth. The hamper was open.
‘The python’s out,’ I said, and Grandfather dashed out of the compartment in his pyjamas. I was close behind.
About a dozen passengers were bunched together outside the washroom.
‘Anything wrong?’ asked Grandfather casually.
‘We can’t get into the toilet,’ said someone. ‘There’s a huge snake inside.’
‘Let me take a look,’ said Grandfather. ‘I know all about snakes.’
The passengers made way, and Grandfather and I entered the washroom together, but there was no sign of the python.
‘He must have got out through the ventilator,’ said Grandfather. ‘By now he’ll be in another compartment!’ Emerging from the washroom, he told the assembled passengers, ‘It’s gone! Nothing to worry about. Just a harmless young python.’
When we got back to our compartment, Grandmother was sitting up on her berth.
‘I knew you’d do something foolish behind my back,’ she scolded. ‘You told me you’d left that creature behind, and all the time it was with us on the train.’
Grandfather tried to explain that we had nothing to do with it, that this python had been smuggled onto the train by Major Malik, but Grandmother was unconvinced.
‘Anyway, it’s gone,’ said Grandfather. ‘It must have fallen out of the washroom window. We’re over a hundred miles from Dehra, so you’ll never see it again.’
Even as he spoke, the train slowed down and lurched to a grinding halt.
‘No station here,’ said Grandfather, putting his head out of the window.
Someone came rushing along the embankment, waving his arms and shouting.
‘I do believe it’s the stoker,’ said Grandfather. ‘I’d better go and see what’s wrong.’
‘I’m coming too,’ I said, and together we hurried along the length of the stationary train until we reached the engine.
‘What’s up?’ called Grandfather. ‘Anything I can do to help? I know all about engines.’
But the engine driver was speechless. And who could blame him? The python had curled itself about his legs, and the driver was too petrified to move.
‘Just leave it to us,’ said Grandfather, and, dragging the python off the driver, he dumped the snake in my arms. The engine driver sank down on the floor, pale and trembling.
‘I think I’d better drive the engine,’ said Grandfather. ‘We don’t want to be late getting into Lucknow. Your aunt will be expecting us!’ And before the astonished driver could protest, Grandfather had released the brakes and set the engine in motion.
‘We’ve left the stoker behind,’ I said.
‘Never mind. You can shovel the coal.’
Only too glad to help Grandfather drive an engine, I dropped the python in the driver’s lap and started shovelling coal. The engine picked up speed and we were soon rushing through the darkness, sparks flying skywards and the steam whistle shrieking almost without pause.
‘You’re going too fast!’ cried the driver.
‘Making up for lost time,’ said Grandfather. ‘Why did the stoker run away?’
‘He went for the guard. You’ve left them both behind!’
5
Early next morning, the train steamed safely into Lucknow. Explanations were in order, but as the Lucknow station master was an old friend of Grandfather’s, all was well. We had arrived twenty minutes early, and while Grandfather went off to have a cup of tea with the engine driver and the station master, I returned the python to the hamper and helped Grandmother with the luggage. Popeye stayed perched on Grandmother’s shoulder, eyeing the busy platform with deep distrust. He was the first to see Aunt Ruby striding down the platform, and let out a warning whistle.
Aunt Ruby, a lover of good food, immediately spotted the picnic hamper, picked it up and said, ‘It’s quite heavy. You must have kept something for me! I’ll carry it out to the taxi.’
‘We hardly ate anything,’ I said.
‘It seems ages since I tasted something cooked by your granny.’ And after that there was no getting the hamper away from Aunt Ruby.
Glancing at it, I thought I saw the lid bulging, but I had tied it down quite firmly this time and there was little likelihood of its suddenly bursting open.
Grandfather joined us outside the station and we were soon settled inside the taxi. Aunt Ruby gave instructions to the driver and we shot off in a cloud of dust.
‘I’m dying to see what’s in the hamper,’ said Aunt Ruby. ‘Can’t I take just a little peek?’
‘Not now,’ said Grandfather. ‘First let’s enjoy the breakfast you’ve got waiting for us.’
Popeye, perched proudly on Grandmother’s shoulder, kept one suspicious eye on the quivering hamper.
When we got to Aunt Ruby’s house, we found breakfast laid out on the dining table.
‘It isn’t much,’ said Aunt Ruby. ‘But we’ll supplement it with what you’ve brought in the hamper.’
Placing the hamper on the table, she lifted the lid and peered inside. And promptly fainted.
Grandfather picked up the python, took it into the garden, and draped it over a branch of a pomegranate tree.
When Aunt Ruby recovered, she insisted that she had seen a huge snake in the picnic hamper. We showed her the empty basket.
‘You’re seeing things,’ said Grandfather. ‘You’ve been working too hard.’
‘Teaching is a very tiring job,’ I said solemnly.
Grandmother said nothing. But Popeye broke into loud squawks and whistles, and soon everyone, including a slightly hysterical Aunt Ruby, was doubled up with laughter.
But the snake must have tired of the joke because we never saw it again!
Y FRIEND Jimmy has only one arm. He lost the other when he was a young man of twenty-five. The story of how he lost his good right arm is a little difficult to believe, but I swear that it is absolutely true.
To begin with, Jimmy was (and presumably still is) a Jinn. Now a Jinn isn’t really a human like us. A Jinn is a spirit creature from another world who has assumed, for a lifetime, the physical aspect of a human being. Jimmy was a true Jinn and he had the Jinn’s gift of being able to elongate his arm at will. Most Jinns can stretch their arms to a distance of twenty or thirty feet. Jimmy could attain forty feet. His arm would move through space or up walls or along the ground like a beautiful gliding serpent. I have seen him stretched out beneath a mango tree, helping himself to ripe mangoes from the top of the tree. He loved mangoes. He was a natural glutton and it was probably his gluttony that first led him to misuse his peculiar gifts.
We were at school together at a hill station in northern India. Jimmy was particularly good at basketball. He was clever enough not to lengthen his arm too much because he did not want anyone to know that he was a Jinn. In the boxing ring he generally won his fights. His opponents never seemed to get past his amazing reach. He just kept tapping them on the nose until they retired from the ring bloody and bewildered.
It was du
ring the half-term examinations that I stumbled on Jimmy’s secret. We had been set a particularly difficult algebra paper but I had managed to cover a couple of sheets with correct answers and was about to forge ahead on another sheet when I noticed someone’s hand on my desk. At first I thought it was the invigilator’s. But when I looked up there was no one beside me.
Could it be the boy sitting directly behind? No, he was engrossed in his question paper and had his hands to himself. Meanwhile, the hand on my desk had grasped my answer sheets and was cautiously moving off. Following its descent, I found that it was attached to an arm of amazing length and pliability. This moved stealthily down the desk and slithered across the floor, shrinking all the while, until it was restored to its normal length. Its owner was of course one who had never been any good at algebra.
I had to write out my answers a second time but after the exam I went straight up to Jimmy, told him I didn’t like his game and threatened to expose him. He begged me not to let anyone know, assured me that he couldn’t really help himself, and offered to be of service to me whenever I wished. It was tempting to have Jimmy as my friend, for with his long reach he would obviously be useful. I agreed to overlook the matter of the pilfered papers and we became the best of pals.
It did not take me long to discover that Jimmy’s gift was more of a nuisance than a constructive aid. That was because Jimmy had a second-rate mind and did not know how to make proper use of his powers. He seldom rose above the trivial. He used his long arm in the tuck shop, in the classroom, in the dormitory. And when we were allowed out to the cinema, he used it in the dark of the hall.
Now the trouble with all Jinns is that they have a weakness for women with long black hair. The longer and blacker the hair, the better for Jinns. And should a Jinn manage to take possession of the woman he desires, she goes into a decline and her beauty decays. Everything about her is destroyed except for the beautiful long black hair.