How Austin Stevens helped me

Austin Stevens

For regular viewers of Animal Planet, Austin Stevens is a familiar name and a known face. I myself came to know him not more than 6 months back. I was more interested before while watching nature programs, with the animals rather than the presenter. Somehow though, this saffron-shirted (mostly) free spirit fascinated me with his sheer energy, simple narratives and almost-schoolboy passion. Austin Stevens is a herpetologist and wildlife photographer who travels across the globe in search of nature’s wild treasures, photographing them and making short films. His chief interest lies in snakes and he is better known as ‘the snakemaster’.

When handling snakes, Austin is always careful, respectful and very deft. In his commentary and through his movements while handling a snake, he explains the characteristics of the reptile and wherever possible, describes the unique physical attributes of the snake, mostly fangs, scales etc. There is a common thread which runs through his commentaries in snake programmes which is basically this – the snake will not harm you unless you advertently or otherwise, exhibit behavior which it might construe as threatening. Since man is not the natural prey or predator of the snake, it shies away from us. Also, if you follow Austin’s shows, you will see that it is the snake more often, which is trying to get away and Austin who is the one compelling the snake to stay/ react. It dawned on me eventually that it is the snake who is more afraid of us.

This brings me to my own story. Years ago when I was maybe 6 or 7 years old, we were residing in a small town (my father was posted there). I was in kindergarten and our government-provided quarter was a large single-storey house with a large backyard which was over-run by weeds and shrubs. There was no running water but there was a tube-well in the backyard to pump water and carry it back inside the house in buckets. The tube-well was constructed on a cement plinth and served as a nice platform to wash clothes and dishes. Also, being a small kid, I mostly used to perform my ablutions there rather than inside the bathroom. A nullah existed beside the plinth for draining the dirty water from all the washing. It was my custom then to take a long afternoon nap after school and one evening, as I woke up, I remember I was feeling particularly groggy and disoriented from waking up. So groggy in fact, that I had thought that I had woken up in the morning. So, I took my toothbrush outside and went to the tube-well to brush my teeth. My father was away and mother was in the kitchen. As I was intently brushing my teeth with my head down and still-heavy from all that sleep, I heard a loud hiss.

I looked up and saw a hooded cobra not more than a foot away from me; to my small eyes, its hood looked almost as tall as myself. The cobra’s hard glinty eyes stared at me, it seemed and then it just climbed back into the nullah and raced away from me, its hood still high and its scales making a swishing sound along the wet surface of the nullah. To this day, I can see the back of that long dark hood swaying from side to side as the cobra weaved its way through the nullah. I stood like a statue for I know not how long; then uttered a long scream, and then with my toothbrush still in my hand and foam still in my mouth, ran to my mother inside. I clutched at her, shaking all over and not being able to utter a word after that one scream. My mother did not know what happened, and I was dumb for as long as it took my father to reach the house after work.

Cobra sketch by Karen Murray

That one childhood incident impacted me in a way that I found any pictures, mention of snakes terrifying. Their long sleek shiny bodies, forked tongues and hisses pervaded my dreams. Many a night, I have woken up in cold sweat after a nightmare in which a raised hood had stared at me and then moved away. This dream had continued all these years, the only difference being that sometimes they came regularly and sometimes, after long intervals. In fact, they had continued till well into this year but then, around July, I discovered Austin Stevens and his snake-wisdom. In the last 6 months, I might have seen many snakes on TV – sidewinding over sand dunes, flying (or falling with style!) from tree to tree, coiling around each other’s bodies during mating, baby snakes and many other facets of a snake’s life. I have seen too, Austin Steven’s wonderful presence in my mind’s eye and his cool collected words of wisdom.

I have not had any nightmares involving snakes for a while now. I do not know if they will start coming again in the future but somehow, the vision of a person named Austin Stevens re-assures me. “The snake will not harm me”.

Portrait of the Countryside in Winter

I was fortunate to take 2 trips through the countryside this month – once by road and again by train. Though Assam has great bio-diversity across, both the trips I undertook were along the Brahmaputra valley, which is sub-tropical. As the name itself suggest, the river Brahmaputra is the principal geographical feature here, influencing as it has for centuries now, both the land and the people that live in it.

To be sure, when you are in these areas, the perceptible difference between summer and winter landscapes is not great. Nevertheless to the discerning, winter landscapes in the valley present uniqueness. The first sign that winter has crept in often lies along the roadside in the tall, silver stalks of the kohua bon. These slender reeds thrusting their tall cottony stalks into the sky grow in big bunches, creating large undulating splotches of silver and green. The second sign grins in your face with blossoms of varying shades of yellow, rising up from flower beds, tumbling down from corners of walls, the bamboo fences of peoples’ dwellings – marigolds and black-eyed susans. These two flowers grow profusely in this season, often voluntarily, with little care, presenting their sunny faces and soaking in the wintry air.

Fields of winter paddy clothe the ground in gold, often wreathed in mist till late in the day. Of course, when you are in the valley, you can trust the river to present the starkest feature of the season. Every winter, the deep waters of the Brahmaputra recede, unearthing large sand-banks (chaporis) of clayey soil, stretching for miles around. This wonderful illustration of regenerative nature provides sustenance to man and beast – people grow varieties of winter vegetables and mustard here, and animals like the rhino and large herds of elephants, make these chaporis their winter home, feeding on the grasses that grow in this short season.

Winter is also the time when you find entire roadside markets of vendors selling oranges, with their citrusy smell pervading the road. People do take advantage of the nippy air, the receding river, the soft sun and the vistas that nature presents and go out; picnicking by the shores, even in the fallow paddy fields by the road. Sometimes these picnics (bon-bhuj) are interspersed with little trips to wildlife sanctuaries like Pobitora and Kaziranga, where an early morning jeep or elephant safari is succeeded by large meals prepared by the families themselves al fresco at the picnic sites (on the river shore, or by forests, or near hilly glades, or by streams). December and January is the time for such excursions, and they come out in droves – in cars, in minivans, small and large buses. Yes, winter is fun!