hat is so not a cobra,â said Ash. It couldnât be. Werenât cobras endangered? You couldnât have them as pets, not even here in India.
âThat so totally is a cobra. Look,â said his sister, Lucky.
Ash leaned closer to the snake. It swayed in front of him, gently gliding back and forth in tempo with the snake charmerâs flute music. The scales, oily green and black, shone in the intense sunlight. It blinked slowly, watching Ash with its bright emerald eyes.
âTrust me, Lucks,â said Ash. âThat is not a cobra.â
The snake revealed its hood.
It was, totally, a cobra.
âTold you,â she said.
If there was anything worse than a smug sister it was a smug sister three years younger than you.
âWhat I meant was, of course itâs a cobra, but not a real cobra,â replied Ash, determined his sister wasnât going to win this argument. âItâs been defanged. They all are. Hardly a cobra at all. More like a worm with scales.â
Almost as though it had been following the conversation, the cobra hissed loudly and revealed a pair of long, needle-sharp ivory fangs.
Lucky waved at it.
âI wouldnât do that ifââ
The cobra darted at Lucky and before Ash knew it heâd jumped between them. The snakeâs mouth widened and he stared at the two crystal drops of venom hanging off its fangs.
âParvati!â snapped the snake charmer. The cobra stopped a few centimetres from Ashâs neck.
Whoa.
The snake charmer tapped the basket with his flute and the cobra, after giving Ash one last look, curled itself back into it and the lid went on.
Ash started breathing again. He looked at Lucky. âYou OK?â
She nodded.
âSee that? I just saved your life,â Ash said. âI practically hurled myself between you and that incredibly poisonous snake. Epically brave.â And, now the heart palpitations had subsided, epically stupid. But protecting his little sister was his duty in the same way hers was to cause as much trouble as possible.
The charmer hopped to his feet. He was ancient and bow-legged, a bundle of bones wrapped in wrinkled ash-coated dark skin and a saffron loincloth. His only possessions, apart from the snake and his flute, were a shoulder bag made from sackcloth and a long bamboo walking stick. Serpentine dreadlocks hung down to his waist.
A sadhu, a holy man. There were thousands of them in Varanasi. It was Indiaâs holiest city, built on the banks of the sacred Ganges river. Hindu legend says that if you die here you get instant access to Heaven with no worries about the religious cycles of reincarnation and rebirth. That meant the streets were cluttered with old people, just waiting to live up to the famous saying: See Varanasi and die.
The entire city was a living museum with an ancient temple or some dilapidated palace on every street. Ash was mad on history. He loved nothing better than exploring castles, going to museums and checking out the weapons displays. The first day had been an amazing adventure, exploring the dingy alleys and winding lanes, experiencing the intense, almost overwhelming life of India first-hand.
But now?
Now, two weeks into their trip, Ash felt suffocated by the oppressive heat, the stench, the crowds and the touts and the death.
The narrow streets shimmered in the July heat. Cars, rickshaws, beggars, merchants, pilgrims and holy men jammed the lanes and footpaths. A scooter bounced past, its horn crying out like a distressed duck, swerving violently as it dodged round a malnourished-looking cow that had decided to take an afternoon nap in the middle of the road.
âWhere is that car?â swore Ashâs uncle, Vik. Uncle Vik gazed up and down the crowded road, trying to spot the taxi theyâd hired to take them to the party. Unfolding a white handkerchief from his breast pocket, he wiped the sweat off his shiny bald head.
âThereâs a cow blocking the road,â said Ash. âItâs just sitting there with its tongue up its nose.â
The cowâs skin hung off huge shovel-sized hip bones and shoulder-blades. One horn was missing. It sat serene and relaxed while all around it scooters, cars and irate motorists yelled and swore.
Uncle Vik huffed loudly. âThis is very bad. We will be late.â