As a wildlife rescuer specializing in snakes for nearly a decade at cars.edu.vn, I’ve become accustomed to a certain level of… exaggeration when the phone rings. The most common descriptor? “Chocolatey” colored snake. This is often code for a harmless rat snake, but in the back of my mind, a tiny spark of hope always flickers: could this be the call about the big one? While my internal monologue might be playfully dismissive, “This is beyond you,” my professional response is always prompt and reassuring: “I’ll be there in 10-15 minutes.”
The initial report is crucial. Calm callers provide accurate details, while panic breeds monster tales. Claims of “10 feet long!”, “It has a hood!”, or simply “It’s HUGE!” usually deflate into much smaller realities. Yet, the dream of a record-breaking Indian Cobra lurking somewhere keeps me ever-vigilant.
This particular incident, however, started with genuine ambiguity. The report was minimal: a snake had disappeared into the chassis of a car – possibly a Santro – with no details on its appearance. From my home in Aundh to the location in Khadki, it’s roughly a 10-minute drive, preceded by my usual 5-minute scramble to get ready. Arriving on scene, I found a crowd of about ten people encircling a car in an underground parking. After a quick initial survey, the dim lighting was clearly a hindrance. We decided to move the “Cobra Car” into the daylight, ensuring the reptile wasn’t inside the passenger compartment first, of course. Then, bonnet up – and there he was. A Naja Naja, an Indian Cobra, perfectly at home nestled behind and beneath the air filter.
The challenge now was coaxing him out. The goal is always to grab the tail, keeping a safe distance from the potentially dangerous head. Gentle prodding with my rescue stick was the first approach, encouraging him to uncoil and reposition. A false opportunity arose, and my hand instinctively reached in, only to be met with the cobra’s head inches from my fingers – a stark reminder to maintain composure. More careful nudges, and finally, “hoodie” (my nickname for cobras) began to shift. Head and tail became discernable and separated… GRAB!
The rest, as they say, is online viewing history. As one onlooker aptly declared, “HORIGINAL NAAG HOTA!” – “It was an original cobra indeed!”
