On Nag Panchami, two old snakes met. They were poets. They argued. One asked, 'Who is more dangerous these days, humans or snakes or humans who are like snakes?' We have written a timeless poem about this, my friend! Listen... Just then, a python nearby came and kicked both of them twice. 'You don't even let me sleep. You're arguing about snakes and humans while you're just a tiny piece now. What did your venom achieve before? Now you're old and poets on top of that. If anyone hears you, you'll be killed for nothing.' Both snakes started wrestling in front of the python again. The python wrapped one in its tail, gulped the other, and threw each down forcefully. Then it spoke, 'Scoundrels! You think you're great literary figures. If you want to fight over poems, follow literary rules. Fight in closed rooms, backstab each other, but hug publicly. There were enough humans; now you too are hissing your creations. Anyway, the python swallows everything, digesting it all. Show me your poems. We'll see who's got the real power!'
Then the first snake panted, coughed, adjusted its glasses, and started.
Here, my friend, listen. The title is... The python interrupted, 'Mr. Friend, call us with proper etiquette. We are a python and currently, your audience. These days, listeners are rare. So, respect protocol.'
The snake began again, 'Alright, Chairman Sir, here's the poem...'
Human in the Sleeve... Dear Snake... If you're a snake, be a snake... Spit venom or shed your skin... Bite or become prey... Your snakehood lies in this... Becoming a snake in the sleeve is the disgrace of the entire species...
Dear Snake... You've grown old... But you haven’t forgotten to hiss... Holding a gram or so of venom... You still think you can threaten... When a human shows you their venom, you’ll remember your place...
Dear Snake... Rolling on the ground... Coiling up... Filling your eyes with thoughts of revenge... You're no actor... You’ll be killed in politics... Imitating humans, Your hobby is dangerous...
Dear Snake... You serve the gods... Become the umbrella of Vishnu... Your venom like medicine in pain... You become a benefactor... But the human in the sleeve... More dangerous than the snake in the sleeve... Humans know everything... While the snake is in illusion...
Dear Snake... Stay away from humans... Flicking your tongue, hissing, slithering... Forget all your tricks... They will make you forget your poisonous identity...
The python’s eyes filled with tears. It got up, patted the snake on the back, and kissed its cheeks twice. Then it pulled another chick from the hollow tree and devoured it after offering it to the snake. Finally, with a full throat it said, 'Master! What a line...'
Forget all your tricks... They will make you forget your poisonous identity... Bravo! Bravo!
There's nothing left to say. The poem speaks for itself, expressing it all. The poet is old, but his verses are sharp, deeply concerned with caste issues. You, my friend, have the potential to become a national poet for the serpent species. Bravo! Bless you! With that, the python took a chick from a hollow tree and devoured it after offering it to the snake. Then, looking at the other snake, it said, 'Now, let’s hear your poem. Let's see how powerful your words are.'
The other snake rolled a bit, moved back slightly, and started again...
Listen, sir, with respect, here is the opening... Your honor will appreciate it. You come from a great lineage. Your ancestors have honored many writers. Please, sir...'
The python stopped him and said, 'Mister! Just recite. Don’t bring human-style flattery and sycophancy into our animal literature.'
The other snake bowed, greeted, and started again...
Human’s Shedding... The most dangerous is the human in the sleeve... He doesn’t use teeth but a sharp knife... Under the guise of dew, he sows thorns... Spreading like a vine, he does favors... But is bent on making the tree hollow... Pouring buttermilk at the roots, he tarnishes the tree’s name... And sometimes waters it with acidic venom... Disturbing the very foundations while staying in the sleeve... When a pillar falls, taking out fearsome claws... He slips away to find another prey... Sometimes he comes out of his own sleeve... And then lives are lost... charged with betrayal… The most dangerous is the human in the sleeve...
The python wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. He rose, patted the snake's back, kissed its cheeks four times, and for the third time, pulled another chick from the hollow tree and devoured it after offering it to the snake. Then, with a full throat, he said, 'Master! What a line...'
Sometimes he comes out of his own sleeve... And then lives are lost... charged with betrayal… Bravo! Bravo!!!
There's nothing left to say. The poem speaks for itself, expressing it all. The poet is old, but his words are powerful, with deep contemplation. You have voiced the concerns of caste beautifully. You too have the potential to become a national poet for the serpent species. Bravo! Bless you! After all formalities, the python asked, 'Sons, tell me. How did you both weave such deep thoughts, intense emotions of pain, and the amazing world of reality into your poems? Don’t be shy, speak up. Where did you recharge the venom inside you even in this old age?'
Then both snakes bowed, saluted his seniority, praised his insight, and with choked voices, said, 'Sir, there's a deep secret behind this venom. We spent some time among humans, suffering their cruelty and bitterness. Watching their actions and venomous words, we forgot our venom. While in their captivity, we trembled in fear. Since we were freed, we have been praying for our safety. At least there's a cure for our bite, but human venom, sir, is incurable!!'
