Bedias at Vidyasagar Mela. Picture by Sanat Kumar Sinha

Visitors to Vidyasagar Mela on EM Bypass last Wednesday were struck by a sad, strange chorus over the loudspeaker. A bigger surprise awaited those who sought out the source. Seated in a semicircle on the ground were women and in front of them, rearing their hoods from wooden baskets, were half a dozen snakes. The rustic figures sang dolefully, stopping intermittently to catch one’s breath or a snake slithering away.

This is jhapan gaan, a genre of music peculiar to bedias, a nomadic tribe for which snakes are the sole means of livelihood. This group had come all the way from Baruipur. With it had come a dozen cobras, ornamental snakes and rat snakes.

“Ei holo shamukbhanga keute. It can finish an adult in 15 minutes,” said Samsuddin Bedia, displaying an off-white speckled specimen as on-lookers hastily stepped back. Such a show is rare as use of snakes for public performance is banned.

Persecuted by law and stricken by poverty, the tribe has its back to the wall. “We are in this profession for seven generations. The men catch the snakes. We do the singing,” explained Naran Bibi. She has travelled far with her charges — Burdwan, Asansol, Adra... “But the earnings hardly cross Rs 200 a month.” “Less,” niece Chhobi Bibi corrects her.

Their troubles are compounded by the sharp decline in the snake population. “The way snakes are being slaughtered, or are dying due to pesticides or fishing nets, hardly one in five outings yields a catch,” said Rabia Bibi, as her husband Samsuddin pleaded with people not to kill snakes.

It is not enough to perform with snakes avoiding the eyes of the law. Every other week, the reptiles have to be fed — lyata machh or charapona, as the preferences are. Are the snakes their pets? “Saap ki aar posh maney? Jotoi khaoao, tomakei katbe (Do snakes ever get domesticated? However much you feed them, they bite you),” a shadow pales young Rahima Bibi’s face.

The bedias have no choice. “All my father left me with were a wicker basket and a shovel,” said 55-year-old Shamsuddin. He caught his first snake at 16 when his father’s failing reflexes made the venture risky. At 38, he was bitten by a cobra. He rolls up his sleeve to show the mark of a tourniquet that saved him.

He is loath to pass on “the deadly profession” to his children. “My youngest is five. The rest are in school.” But not all can stick to their stand. “Look at little Rinku,” said Rahima, as an eight-year-old wrapped a cobra around her drawing gasps from the crowd.

The only umbrella over their head is one they have formed themselves — Bharoter Bedia Federation — with the help of city-based social workers who are trying to reach word of their plight to the government. But till they succeed, “buke shahosh, chokhe roshni ar hater keramoti (A stout heart, keen eyesight and deft hands)”, are all that the bedias can bank on.