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The Name Is Khan, Salim Khan
Meet Salim Khan, who saves humans from snakes and snakes from humans…and lives to die another day…
Salim Khan vividly remembers the first time a snake had bitten him.
“He was hiding in the dark under a bed. I tiptoed my way to the bed, sat on my haunches, moved my hands carefully, shot my right one and grabbed him by the neck. But he turned out to be quicker than me and slipped out of my grip to bit me in the arm. I got so terrified I thought I would wet my pants. Hahaha. I was young and naïve those days. I thought my time was up. But then my ustad came and laughed at me saying nothing would happen to me as the one that bit me was a Rat snake. A silly non-venomous Rat snake. But I sure was petrified.”
That was the first and also the last time Salim would feel frightened in his 35 or so years of searching, catching and freeing thousands of fearful slithering creatures, who find their way into the human habitats.
I had met Salim on a muggy August afternoon in front of a gurdwara in Naya Gaon, a mushrooming haphazard cluster of ugly concrete structures along a narrow road with serpentine over-crowded lanes that touch the outskirts of Chandigarh, a planned city designed by Swiss-French architect le Corbusier.
Of a medium height with a thin frame, hair almost completely grey, Salim was standing in a pair of black pants and an untucked purple shirt (he had cut and stitched himself) with his trademark black plastic slippers in his feet (he hardly ever wore shoes), at the gate of the gurdwara with his back turned towards me when I approached him calling his name.
Salim had wary eyes that I thought shone when he smiled and extended his slender hands to shake mine and to hand me at the same time his visiting card, which had SALIM SNACK CATCHER written in bold red.
“The printing press guy did that,” said Salim laughing and nodding. I was to come to know during the rest of the day that Salim had a wicked sense of humour and how he never missed an opportunity to laugh out loud or laugh off most things.
We drove down through a congested road to a nearby temple and on way Salim, lighting a beedi with a translucent green cigarette lighter, told me he had arrived in Chandigarh some twenty years ago and started living in Naya Gaon as many do who come to the city looking for ways to survive by doing odd jobs as the rents are comparatively cheaper and life not too demanding.
As we reached the temple, we went behind it and sat under a Peepal tree.
Born in Sitarganj in Udham Singh Nagar district of Uttarakhand, Salim, now in his late 40s (47 or 48, he had said) told me he had started catching snakes as early as 11 or 12.
“We are seven brothers and two sisters. Our father was a blacksmith in Sitarganj and wanted me to become a tailor and start earning my livelihood. But I was more interested in snakes and started catching them young, initially just to impress folks in the neighbourhood. After a long persuasion, my father and I hammered out a deal that I could learn snake-catching as long as I did not unlearn tailoring. So I went to Ustad Bale Khan and asked him to teach me the art of snake-catching.”
The first lesson Ustad Bale Khan taught Salim was how not to get killed for which it was important to learn the difference between a poisonous and non-poisonous snake.
As Salim honed his skills, he gradually came to know about the various species of snakes, their types, and behavioural patterns.
Today, he speaks of them as if they are part of his some extended family.
“You can tell a snake type from its colour, how it moves, comes at you or recoils. I have seen hundreds of poisonous and non-poisonous types from so close that I know this: The last thing they want to do is attack others. For example, Cobra warns you by raising its hood and letting out a hiss. It’s another matter that Cobra is treated like a hero because of its fancy hood. Other snakes try to slither away avoiding any confrontation. A python is the simplest of the reptiles despite the size. Actually, he is an ass who can be led in any direction. But I tell you something: they are more afraid of us than we are of them.”
In the early days of his snake-catching, Salim would not ask for money and do it for fun. As he became little known and many people started calling him for help, he turned his skills into an occupation.
For almost 10 years, Salim caught snakes in the houses, shops, courtyards and even cars of panic-stricken people in the Udham Singh Nagar and Nainital districts of Uttarakhand but the money that came from small town like Sitarganj was not sufficient to keep him going and he decided to try his luck in Chandigarh.
Salim lighted another beedi, took a deep drag, wiped sweat off his forehead, and spoke, blowing smoke through his mouth and nostrils, in Western-UP accent he has not lost in all these years of living away from his ancestral home in Sitarganj.
“I had come to Chandigarh to work as a tailor and got a job at a tailor shop in Naya Gaon. I was doing fine but then one day I saw the picture of Captain Suresh Sharma holding a snake in the newspapers and thought maybe I could use some of my skills here as well.”
Before Salim, Captain Suresh Sharma (retd), an army veteran, used to be a rage in the region. Panchkula-based Captain Suresh had taken to snake-catching as a hobby after retirement and later turned pro by setting up a Snake Cell to help catch reptiles in the Chandigarh-Mohali-Panchkula areas, also known as the Tricity region, in the Shivalik foothills.
Cobra, Common Krait and Russell’s viper are the most commonly found venomous species in the foothills of Shivalik along with the non-venomous types like Rat snake, Wolf snake, Kukri snake, Royal snake and Pythons etc.
As snakes are cold-blooded, they remain dormant in winters and are spotted in the summer and monsoon months when they become active and come out searching for food or when rains flood their underground dens, making these four months ― June to September ‒ a season of the snakes and of their catchers. Snakes start retreating underground when winters approach.
In Chandigarh, Salim got instantly noticed for catching venomous snakes bare-handed, without flinching or using any crowbar. But it was the act of putting a live Rat snake in his mouth, around 11 years after he was first bitten by a Rat snake, that shot him to instant fame.
“I had done that to show that a non-poisonous snake can’t harm you and to tell the people that they should not be unnecessarily afraid of these creatures. But yes, I must have left many people feeling disgusted. Hehe.”
As we sat there under the tree talking, a small group of giggling children, who were there to have lunch the temple offers every Sunday, and some grown-up men, had started gathering around us.
“Aren’t you Salim, the famous snake guy?” a man interrupting Salim asked.
“Ji, I am Salim,” replied Salim.
I asked the man if he knew Salim.
“Who doesn’t know Salim Bhai, Ye to Zahar se bhee zahreela hai (he is more poisonous than poison),” said the man.
“Main zahreela nahin hoon (I’m not poisonous). Pyorrhea has damaged all my teeth. I am a venomoid now,” said Salim laughing and exposing slanted and decaying lower teeth on the verge of falling off.
A panic call
For years, Salim never used a crowbar or a snake tong. He would always be bare-handed even when facing the most venomous snakes — loving the excitement of putting himself in danger, getting nearer to death and then overcoming and overpowering it, not to mention the praises he enjoyed that people would heap on him later.
“Many think I like playing with death and derive some kind of pleasure out of it. Well, to some extent it’s true. I do get a kick out of this entire act of catching snakes especially the dangerous ones. But then my friends started telling me that I was risking my life and should use a stick at least when I am handling a poisonous snake. I think it’s always risky whenever you go and play with a snake, with or without a stick. But now I do use a stick, any stick, mostly from floor wipers, which are in all houses, whenever there is a venomous snake sighting.”
He may not carry a stick but he is always armed with a flash light (snakes love to hide in the dark), a bar of Dettol soap (as he catches them without using gloves), a plastic jar with million small holes in it (to keep the snakes after catching and before releasing them) ―― all of this remains in the boot of his battered second-hand Bajaj Chetak 150cc scooter (he calls a snake carrier), whose petrol tank he keeps always filled up to the top. You never know how far you might need to go and at what time.
He buys the old models of Bajaj for Rs 5000 to Rs 6000 from second-hand motor markets in Chandigarh and junks them every two years or so. This is the only model in scooters these days that gives him ample storage space in the front.
“One time I was returning on my scooter after catching a Cobra from a house in Chandigarh and stopped at a busy traffic light. I looked down and saw that the lid of the plastic jar had come off and the Cobra was trying to raise its head. I realised I had been careless while putting the lid on the jar. I was right in the middle of traffic with a Cobra trying to get out. I felt a sweat slide down my forehead and slowly took the scooter to a nearby forest area and released him there. Thank goodness, he couldn’t get out on to the road. Imagine the chaos on a busy road if he had.”
As I laughed with him, his phone rang. The ringtone sounded a little familiar and somewhat apt ――― a song (Tere Sang Pyar Main Nahin Todna) from the Hindi movie Nagin. I overheard a panicked female voice, almost screaming. Salim must’ve had turned the volume of his phone to the max.
“Bhaiya, he is in the bathroom. We are scared. Please come now.”
“Don’t panic. I am coming. It will take 40 to 45 minutes for me to reach there,” said Salim.
The call was from Dhakoli village near Zirakpur town on the periphery of Chandigarh. Salim picked up his scooter and we reached the house in Dhakoli almost at the same time.
A visibly-shaken girl in her early twenties was standing outside the house waiting for Salim. The girl told him she was not coming inside. He took off his slippers, asked for a floor wiper, removed the plastic stick and hastened to the bathroom on the first floor. It was a baby Rat snake, lying on toilet tank. As I stood in the doorway and watched that slimy and writhing snake, I could imagine the horror the girl must have felt upon entering the bathroom.
Salim used the stick to push the Rat snake off the tank and kept it on the floor. There was no need for the stick now. In a flash Salim held the snake by the neck and lifted him off the floor. He put him in his plastic jar and as we came out the girl dramatically covered her mouth with her hands.
“700 Rupaye Madam ji,” Salim said.
Snake charmer
Salim charges Rs 700 for a snake that he catches and releases and Rs 500 if he reaches the spot but snake has disappeared. But many start bargaining with him and he ends up getting less than what had asked for. The four months are his only ‘business months’ when snakes come out of their hides. He catches at least two snakes a day during this time. For the rest of the year, Salim, who is single and lives with his sister and her children, returns to tailoring.
“The money I make by working as a catcher and tailor is sufficient. I just need to take care of my mother.”
From Dhakoli, we went to the Sukhna lake. The sky had turned cloudy and there were few people at the lake. We walked down to the forest area behind the lake where Salim freed the Rat snake. Over the years, Salim has released thousands of snakes in the forests, mostly falling in Chandigarh and Panchkula.
“People are unnecessarily afraid of the snakes. When they see a snake they just run out of their houses or take to their heels. They must not. A snake does not attack you until you try to harm him or if you unknowingly step on him. Otherwise, a snake loves to mind his own business. People kill snakes because they fear them. A good catcher will never let people kill a snake. Sometimes I feel that I save people from snakes and snakes from people. If there is no snake catcher around, people just try to kill the snakes.”
Whenever Salim goes on television or has a lecture in any educational institution, he mostly talks about fears and superstitions associated with the snakes like they love to drink milk, it’s auspicious to feed them milk on Nag Panchami or Nagmani (snake stone), a mythical gem, that cures a snake bite.
“These are all lies. Snakes feed on meat only. These are myths spread by people for drawing benefits by fooling people. Snakes don’t like milk at all, only meat.”
Walking back from the forest, Salim remembered how once during a television interview a host had told him that how once he had seen a snake charmer feeding milk to his snake.
“So I told this television presenter wearing a red tie that if you keep a snake thirsty and hungry for four days, he would drink anything even milk. And if you lock that snake charmer in a room and don’t give him any food or water for a week, he would drink even urine on the eighth day. Hahaha.”
During his ‘business months’, Salim gets all sorts of calls from all sorts of people. Besides the common folks, his client list includes who’s who of the Tricity ――― from judges, bureaucrats to politicians. They contact him whenever there is a ‘snake emergency’ and everybody is hysterical but some call him for favours of different kind.
“So this one time the staff of a former Haryana governor called me. The governor sahib wanted me to reach a temple with a couple of snakes so that he could feed them milk for whatever reasons ―― shooing away evil or inviting prosperity. Imagine, a governor doing this. So what do I do? I call up some media people and tell them to be at the temple. At the appointed hour as these government vehicles pull up near the temple, media guys start clicking pictures. The staff bolts on seeing the company with me. Next day, the governor was all over the city newspapers. I had ruined the governor’s day but I knew I was right. If a state’s governor has such weird ideas, think of the man on the street.”
A former big shot minister, who had lost in an election, wanted Salim’s help in sacrificing a goat as an upay (solution) suggested by his pandit to ward off evil forces he believed were behind his debacle. Salim politely declined but not before having informed the newspaper men. The minister also found himself in the spotlight for all the wrong reasons.
“And then once some movie guys called me up one fine day. They wanted me to play a snake charmer. A snake charmer? A myth-spreading character? I told them, No Sir, I am not an actor, not even a bad one. Haha.”
Little girl
Many a times, Salim receives calls seeking his help even in cases of snake bites believing him to be some kind of a Tantrik in possession of a Nagmani that would cure them.
“I lose my mind and tell them to immediately seek medical help from a nearby hospital. Anti-venoms are available in almost all the good hospitals. A victim of a snake bite can be cured if they get timely medical aid. I have seen so many of them dying because they wasted time in searching for some quack instead of going to a hospital. This is so sad.”
Salim is right.
According to the World Health Organisation (WHO), an estimated 54 lakh people are bitten every year out of which around 1.38 lakh people die globally. It is believed that half of these snake bite deaths occur in India.
A venomous snake bite can cause paralysis leading to fatal haemorrhage, irreversible kidney failure and tissue damage that can cause permanent disability and limb amputation.
According to the WHO, snake bites are a ‘global health priority’ and a most neglected tropical disease with agricultural workers and children falling in the top risk category.
As we got out of the forest, Salim talked about incidents in which snake victims were first taken to quacks or snake charmers and not hospitals and how myths and superstitions associated with snakes are the top reasons behind higher number of deaths in India.
Salim’s feet paused under a tree to light another beedi.
For the first time in the day, I noticed a sombre note in his tone as he spoke about a little girl, Payal.
On the Friday of August 23, 2019, Payal was sleeping with her parents in a small mud room, a part of hutments of migrant workers in Kaimbwala, a village in Chandigarh, when her father, Ram Karan, in the wee hours around 5.30 am felt a sticky slowly-moving object on his bare chest. He woke up with a start and pushed the object away from his chest. As his wife, Meera, switched on the light, they screamed in horror on seeing a bluish-black snake with dots lying on the ground.
The neighbours gathered and they bludgeoned the snake to death. The snake was later identified as a Common Krait, one of the most poisonous snake species.
Later as Meera started getting Payal ready for school, she realised her daughter was not her usual self. She was staggering and finding it tough to keep her eyes open. Her eye lids kept closing. Meera looked closely and noticed hardly-visible fang marks on her daughter’s forefinger.
The snake must have bitten her before it came on my husband’s chest, Meera thought feeling a shiver. It was 7.30 am and more than two hours had already passed since the snake had bitten her.
The family immediately took Payal to the nearby PGIMER but doctors couldn’t save her. Payal was dead by afternoon. She was 6.
“When a common Krait bites, you hardly feel any pain. It’s like a mosquito’s bite. Payal in her sleep must have not felt anything and her family also didn’t know anything. They lived in hutments where snake sightings are common. Snakes enter these kutcha houses chasing rodents,” said Salim, who had gone to the area and met the parents of Payal.
“First thing to do when a snake bites you is to remain calm as you are instantly thrown into a state of shock. You must also know whether you have been bitten by a poisonous or non-poisonous snake. If a poisonous snake has bitten you, the symptoms are of more serious nature, a doctor will tell you immediately. And never go to a quack or wait for him to save your life.”
Salim himself had once thought of becoming a Tantrik and dabbled in the esoteric world of magic and mysteries but later abandoned what he thought was his calling after realising that these were just means to fool people.
“I had also bought a Lal Kitab, a book on astro-palmistry, and started learning, if you can call it that. But then I saw how these so-called Tantriks were duping people and I never finished that book.”
Child’s play
It had begun to drizzle and we went into a roadside tea stall. We asked for tea from an old man sitting cross-legged, lost in thoughts and staring blankly into the Sukhna forest across the road.
As he handed us the tea glasses, it started raining heavily. I moved and sat close to Salim as his words were disappearing in the loud sound of the rain beating against the overhead tarpaulin hung over the tea stall.
I asked him whether he feared for his life?
“Catching a snake is like a Jhunjhuna (child’s play) to me. The fear had ended the first time that snake had bitten me. Now I can catch the most venomous snake even when I am drunk. I love what I do. What I am really afraid of is a dog. Haha.”
After a moment’s pause he laughed again and lighted another beedi.
“And what if a poisonous snake does bite you one of these seasons?” I must have sounded as if warning him.
“Tab ki tab dekhenge (We’ll see about that when it happens)” he replied.
The rain had stopped. It was almost dark, the best time for snakes to venture out. As we walked and neared the Sukhna lake’s parking lot where Salim had parked his snake carrier, his phone rang.
“Hello, Salim Snake Catcher bol rheya hoon ji (Salim the Snake catcher is speaking)”
I overheard an agitated male voice coming from the other end explaining Slim about a snake in his bedroom.
“Aa rheya hoon ji, 40-45 minutes main (I am coming in 40 to 45 minutes),” said Salim heading towards his scooter and waving me goodbye with his left hand.
