Mangala: Chapter Three

Author's Note

This story is intended to be both a partner to the novel ‘The Pilgrim Kamanita,’ written by Karl Gjellerup in 1906, and a tale that stands on its own. There is no need to have read the earlier book in order to make sense of this one, however, should you wish to go to the source from which many of the characters and scenes of this tale have sprung, an English version of it is to be found on this same web-site at http://www.abhayagiri.org/main/book/366/.

This book is being published here as a ‘serial novel,’ which is to say that it that it will appear one chapter at a time, on the first day of every month, over the next couple of years. The plan is that, after the entire twenty-six chapters of the story have been released, a pdf file of the complete book will be posted, and available for free download.

Finally, gentle reader, please note that the original author (Karl Gjellerup) switched freely between using Sanskrit (the language of the Northern Buddhist and Hindu scriptures) and Pali (the language of the Southern Buddhist scriptures) during the course of his tale. In our efforts to be true to his original style we have maintained this mixture of usage.

Amaro Bhikkhu
Abhayagiri Monastery
December 2008

Chapter Three – The Deadly Bite

or most of the day Sita and the children had enjoyed the relative comfort of a ride in a local ox-cart. The steady tread of the two brahma bulls who pulled it lulled them into a doze in the late afternoon light. The rumble of the axle and the tall wheels on rutted earth, the creak of wood against wood and iron and leather, all mingled with the sounds of the forest around them – the birds and the crickets, the calling of langurs and the burst of leaf-crash as these brave leapers made their own journeys through the tree-tops.

It had been at least a month since the last monsoon shower so dust was already beginning to rise from the road. It hovered and gently swirled in the long shafts of golden light that lanced through the canopy round about them.

Sita’s mood was rising. The land was steadily sloping down toward the north-east and the valley of the River Yamuna and the River Ganga below them. Their road meandered mostly through wooded slopes and dales, with villages dotted here and there. Occasionally, when there was a break in the trees and the fall of the land allowed it, they would glimpse the far valley. Amba and Tamba would cry out that they could see the great river, although in truth it was mostly hazy and unclear. These were bright days, close to the shortest of the year, but still the great distances masked all within their veil. They would see, when they were lucky, a flash or a sparkle off the waters but mostly the Yamuna and Kosambi lay secreted. As when one knows the hiding place of a precious gift, it was like a promise soon to be fulfilled.

The farmer whose cart they were riding in now had assured them that Kosambi was no more than four leagues away. “Just four days journey in a waggon like this should get you there give or take. Course I never been there myself – never had no need to – still, those that make the journey regularly from my village, that’s what all of them says. You aren’t far off now – I suspect you’ll be real glad to get there, after all the travelling you’ve done – and all the way from Ujjeni, with those two young ones as well.”

They had been getting much the same word from the others that they had encountered on the road – mostly the foot traffic of villagers between their homes and their fields but also they had seen one or two royal messengers. These men rode on horseback, or drove chariots, and were always in a hurry, as you would naturally expect. It was exciting to see them as they rode such fine steeds and wore the bright colours of the king. If they could be persuaded to stop, or even slow down enough to exchange a few words, they always had the best information about the region the family was travelling through and about the possibilities of shelter, water or dangers on the road up ahead. They had even once been passed by a troop of royal cavalry, whose arms and uniforms, the bold caparisons of their charges, made even the messengers look pallid.

It was being rumored that the terrible bandit Angulimala, although once thought to have been captured and executed, was now loose in these parts again. Other stories, even more fantastical, held that he had given up his life as a brigand and had become a monk instead, a disciple of the Buddha. Whatever the truth of the matter was, the effect of even the rumor of his presence was to terrify the villagers of this area, so King Udena now had the roads all patrolled with shows of force. Needless to say, when Tamba had called out to them as they rode by, not even an eye in any of the 30 helmed heads had moved in her direction. They were far too grand to engage with roadside urchins. Nevertheless, while Tamba was grumbling about how rotten and rude they were, without having seen any of them as much as twitch a hand, Amba’s eye caught the shimmer of a spinning coin, arcing through the air behind the last pair of riders. She dived for it and caught it before it even hit the dust.

“Tamba look – they’re not so bad – a whole kahapana. Mum look! We can get some more things at the next village.”

They had often met with such unbidden acts of kindness on the journey, and the rumours of the various perils of the road – the threats of starvation and wild animals, and particularly of the fearsome gangs of bandits – had all proved unfounded. They had survived and their goal now was, almost literally, in sight.

The girls’ bouyancy also began to lift the spirits of their mother: “You know, even if we got kidnapped by Angulimala now it might not be such a bad thing after all. Your father used to say that he got quite friendly with some of them, after they captured him on this road all those years ago. One, who was like a priest for the gang, even seemed to act like a father to him. He protected his life a few times from the ill-temper of the other bandits and was just about in tears when the ransom for your dad arrived and he was released.

“Your father also confessed to me, when he had had a few drinks too many one time, that he learned quite a few tricks of the business when he was in their company. He told me we should thank Angulimala and pray for his welfare as our benefactor, as much of the wealth that we enjoyed – the palace he built, all the fine food and clothes
and jewels – was due to the lessons he learned while he was with their gang. So, if Angulimala took us prisoner, maybe we would come out ahead as well!”

Amba and Tamba made no reply to this but each seemed to feel that their mother had been a bit too long in the sun, otherwise she’d never have said such strange and disturbing things. Her lightness of heart was a relief, though, as she had been so tense and anxious for so long. “I think I’d rather pray not to meet him, mum,” Amba finally responded, “he sounds a really horrible man.”

She had, in fact, just spent half the morning being regaled by gruesome and mostly tall tales about the demonic bandit by the teenage son of Janaka, the farmer who was giving them the lift. Her eyes had got wider and wider and her brow more furrowed with fear as young Punnaka’s yarns got gorier and more monstrous.

“You do know, of course, that he’s very partial to human flesh. Those fingers he’s so famous for wearing round his neck, they’re all from people what he ate. Mostly folks aren’t in much danger of him doing away with them like that though, ‘cos he likes his meat to be real young and fresh.

“I’ve heard he’s sent people away that he’s captured ‘cos they were too old and scrawny for him, you know, like over ten years old, but anyone under seven… Well he’s right partial to those tender ones.

“Likes his meat rare too, you know – get’s gamey if it’s left too long – so he generally stakes them and puts them over the fire while they’re still alive. He lives near here these days; if I were you I’d…”

“Now just you shut up!” Tamba had barked. “She might believe your stupid stories but I don’t for a second. You’re just trying to wind her up and make us frightened. Why don’t you find someone your own age to pick on rather than trying to scare little girls?!”

Even though she was but five years old and the younger of the two, Tamba was by nature a fire-spitting type and had often leapt to the defense of her credulous and trusting sister when she was being teased or taken advantage of in some way. They certainly squabbled as any siblings do, especially when stressed and tired and hungry, but there was a fierce love between them that showed at times like this. And neither was it just one way: Tamba was a proud girl and hated to be taunted about their current poverty, being scruffy and low tatterdemallions. When even poor village children had a go at them, mocking their ragged clothes and grubby hair, Tamba’s usual fire was well-subdued – she even became tearful a few times – and it was gentle Amba that leapt to her defense, rounding on their mockers with a sudden vehemence that surprised and gladdened Tamba, as it did their mother: “Well, our little doe-eyed deva has some heat in her as well…”

As it was, on the subject of Angulimala, Tamba echoed Amba very quickly and said, “I really don’t want to meet him either; anyway, we’re nearly there. And, even if dad did see him disguised as a monk that was ages ago. So I’m sure he’s not around anymore.” All of this was put forth with her usual, slightly over-confident, but nevertheless clear and convincing manner. Somehow she always got taken seriously even though she was so young a child.

* * *

The sun was beginning to fall when they reached a fork in the road. Farmer Janaka pulled the bulls to a halt. “This here is where we say goodbye, madam, unless you and the little ones would like to spend the night in our village. Don’t expect you would though, seeing as how you‘d just have to come back another three miles to be at this same spot again in the morning.”

They were grateful to receive the offer but, as there looked like another good couple of hours of daylight, they decided to bid farewell and set off down the main road on foot. Tamba had been looking daggers at the farmer’s son ever since she had given him that earful and he in turn had studiously tried to ignore their presence for the last few hours. Sita and Amba gave them both their grateful thanks, however, and the family set off alone once again.

As the three of them had been riding in the cart for so many hours, Amba had forgotten that she had injured her foot the night before – with her legs propped up on some sacks or tucked underneath her, and what with either being assailed by horror stories or snoozing in the afternoon heat, the presence of the wound had slipped her mind almost completely. Now as she walked it throbbed quite terribly and she winced every time it hit the ground; it was hard to put any weight on it at all.

She had gashed it badly on an acacia thorn while on a firewood hunt in the forest where they had last camped. Tamba was the great fire-lighter so it had become Amba’s job to gather kindling and larger deadwood for the fuel. It had been late when they had stopped but the moon was bright and she had been scavenging by its light with great success.

She had had a bundle of sticks gathered in her arms when she strode into a patch of shadow. The thorn on the forest floor had ripped an ugly gash three finger-breaths long and a half a finger-breadth deep along the sole of her foot.

The firewood had scattered hither and yon as she cried out and fell but, doing her best to wear a brave face, when Sita called to her, “What happened?” She had just answered, “I tripped and fell, that’s all.” She collected up the precious sticks once more and hobbled over to their camp. “Did you hurt yourself?” Her mother asked. “Not badly; I just trod on a thorn,” and they made little more of it that night. They were all tired and hungry at the end of a long day’s travel so getting the fire going and cooking some food was all their thought. Before they went to sleep, Amba did her best to mop up the blood-stains and clean it out with some water from their gourd; she then wrapped it in a tattered piece of cloth to help staunch the last of the bleeding and to protect it as much as possible.

Come the morning it was very sore but the bustle of breaking camp had pushed it far from her mind once again, that and the sound of an approaching wagon – the very one which had brought them all this distance today.

She didn’t want to be a nuisance or to hold the others back so she tried all sorts of ways of walking to ease the pain. Nothing worked that well but she found that using the outside of her foot and not touching the cut to the ground helped a little. What was better was the variety of games she invented to occupy her mind while they walked for she found that, if she was distracted, the pain wasn’t there for that time. She counted trees, footsteps, clouds, birds, she invented names, rhymes, sang songs – all of these helped a little but, sooner or later, the aching throb and the sharp sting would come back through her defenses and she would limp and often whimper involuntarily.

Neither Sita nor Tamba were people who missed much so they both soon noticed how Amba was struggling. As she had always tended to be the most delicate of the family and prone to grand reactions to minor ailments, the others kept half an eye on her but continued walking for quite a while. Sita could see how hard Amba was trying not to be a drag on them or to complain, so she called a halt after a mile or so and, once they were seated on the verge, asked to have a look at her daughter’s foot. “That thorn you trod on still seems to be a bother – take that rag off and let’s see what’s going on there.”

She had expected no more than a small puncture with part of the barb, perhaps, broken off inside the wound. When she saw the cruel tear along the sole, and the depth of the cut, she was startled and immediately concerned, but did her best to swallow the shock. “Well, that was a thorn and a half, young miss, wasn’t it? What a nasty gash – it must hurt like the fires of hell.”

“It’s not too bad.”

“Oh Amba, look at this whole bit hanging off here,” said her sister, rapidly getting involved with the examination, “that’s so disgusting!” She had a fascinated, almost rapturous smile on her face. “You must have been in agony – why didn’t you say anything? I’d have been screaming hours ago.”

Amba felt annoyed with herself that she was now going to be holding them all up but she also felt a distinct glow of pride that the fearless tough-nut Tamba was impressed with her fortitude and courage for a change.

“This isn’t really that good a place to stop for the night. May be there’s some water nearby though and we can get that foot washed out and properly dressed – or at least as well as we can manage.”

“How far did the farmer say to the next village, mum?” asked Tamba. “I think he said it was at least three or four miles from the junction. We’ve only gone a mile or so, so it would be a good couple more on from here. There’s no point even thinking of trying to get there tonight though – with Miss Mango here on one leg – not unless another cart came by and offered us a lift.” Sita saw that they had very few options at that moment; the only thing that made sense was to take care of Amba now and to pray to the gods and spirits that some locals would come by who could help them along the way until she could walk properly again.

They had settled themselves under the branches of a broad banyan by the roadside; this ancient tree, being held as sacred and the dwelling place of protective forest-spirits, was decked and draped with many faded and weathered votive flags and festoons of orange wrapping. There were both fresh flowers and the remains of numerous others with which it had once been begarlanded, and old clay lamps and the ashes of incense were scattered all around it.

Sita was sure she could hear the sounds of rushing water nearby so she decided to set off and refill their near-empty gourd. Even though there was less danger of robbers these days, she got the girls tucked away on the forest side of the great tree, telling them to stay hidden if someone came along the road, unless of course it was an oxcart that looked likely to be able to give them a ride to the next village. By now they knew well who were the types that were safe to travel with and who were to be avoided at all costs. The ground sloped evenly downwards from the banyan so Sita picked her way carefully into the forest, following the sound of the water.

* * *

The undergrowth was dense around there so she had to make her way fairly slowly. Nevertheless the sound of the stream grew steadily louder and soon, to her great delight, she found herself at the top of a bank looking down into a clear and strongly flowing brook.

It looked good to drink and she guessed that it must be coming from a spring rising nearby. Often at this time of year, after all the rains, the streams were full but mostly turbid with muddy run-off from the hills. This clear water was a great find. In addition, when she looked around her to seek a good way down to reach the stream, she saw that there was already a path that led from the road to the waterside. They had missed it as it began just north of the sacred tree, and she realized she had scrambled through the bushes needlessly.

She quickly crossed over to where the path came down the bank, rinsed out the gourd in the cool, fresh current and then filled it to the brim. She plugged in the stopper and drew the shoulder-strap over her head, rising to her feet at the same time.

Filled with water the gourd was now heavy. She had long-since stopped taking into account how thin and physically weakened she was – hunger and weariness had been her companions for weeks now – and she lived mostly on will, all of her energy being narrowed into the single beam of fierce intent to reach Kosambi. As she straightened up she suddenly became dizzy, her vision blackened while multi-coloured sparkles swam and floated. She stumbled toward the bushes, her feet shifting instinctively to try and correct her balance.

Before she had time to see anything she felt a sharp burst of pain in her ankle. She heard her voice cry out and simultaneously her vision cleared; she looked down and saw the deep orange bands of the snake that had just bitten her. In her mind a single word formed ‘dvapadamarana’ – the name of this type of snake meaning ‘take two steps and die.’ A wave of terrible despair rose in her heart, a vista of anguish and loss that she had failed to complete the journey, that her daughters would have no protection from now on and that they had been so tantalizingly near to safety and happiness.

She crumpled to her knees as the swirling lights and darkness returned and she breathed her last right there, beside the water.

* * *

The girls heard their mother’s cry and Tamba immediately leaped to her feet, shouting out, “What happened? Where are you?” Not receiving any reply, she dashed off into the woods, following the path her mother had just taken, as best she could.

She bashed her way through the thick brush beneath the trees, not able to see much ahead of her but letting the slope lead her down to the stream that Sita had been seeking. She reached the water but again, could not see far. For a while she looked among the bushes downstream, calling out all the while but still she heard nothing in response.

She then had the idea of climbing down into the water and using the streambed itself as a path. It only reached her calves, being no more than a swiftly flowing brook, and she was well-used to the art of walking on slippery rocks in chilly water from the last couple of months of their travels.

She decided to try upstream, calling “Mum! Mum! Where are you? Are you all right?!” as she went. She soon rounded a bend and saw her mother’s body, lying slumped half on the path and half in the bushes. She splashed ahead at a run and soon was at her side.

“Mum! Mum!, what happened? Are you all right?” She shook Sita’s shoulder and took firm hold of her hand, squeezing as many of the fingers as she could grip in her small palm. “Mum, Mum, what’s the matter? Did something hit you? Did you get bitten by a snake or a giant centipede? Did you slip on a rock?”

She felt sure that her mother was just unconscious but, when she stroked her brow and ran her hand over her mother’s head, she could find no blood or swelling that would have come from a blow. It was then that she noticed her swollen foot and the marks of the lethal bite on Sita’s ankle.

If Tamba had looked into the shrubbery nearby, she would have seen the tell-tale orange bands of the krait that had just killed her mother. These snakes are famous throughout the East for being both the most poisonous of reptiles and for their apparent knowing that that’s the case – they never hurry to get out of the way or show fear of any other being. They seem to know their own power.

“Amba! Amba! Mum’s been hurt!” Tamba hurtled up the track and back to her sister’s side. “She looks really ill. She’s been bitten by some kind of snake – you can see these really nasty marks on her leg – at least that’s what I think it must have been. She’s been knocked right out by it anyway, whatever it was. We need to get help for her, some medicine or something, right away.” Even though she lay so still, neither of the girls allowed themselves even to consider that she might have died – it was too sudden, too unthinkable – they seemed to agree tacitly not to say even so much as the word.

Amba had had a hundred different horrible possibilities running through her mind whilst Tamba had been searching so, even though it was some bad news that she brought, at least she now knew what had happened; and, even if it was a snakebite, she knew that lots of people (especially out here in the country) were well-acquainted with all sorts of remedies, and that they would probably be able to get something to cure her without too much trouble.

“So, what do you think we should do?” she asked.

“Well, we need help so I’ll have to go for it – you can’t get very far on your foot with that big flap of skin all open and sore.”

“That farmer’s village was a few miles back and he said that we would not meet any other houses along this road for another couple of miles yet. Even if you ran all the way it would take you ages to get to either place and look, the sun has gone all the way down already.”

Tamba then remembered that the path that she had just come up on had seemed to continue across the stream, winding up the bank on the other side. It had looked very much as though it was an oft-used trail. “I think the path by the stream where mum is carries on over the other side. There must be a village close by through the forest and that’s where they come to get water and to reach the main road here. I didn’t actually see any houses through the trees but I’m sure it can’t be far away – that track looks like it’s used by a lot of people.”

As was usually the case, Tamba’s forthright confidence and reasoned self-assurance carried the decision, even though there was precious little in the way of facts to back her up. They swiftly gathered up their few things, including the gear that their mother had been carrying and made their way down the path to where Sita was lying. Amba hobbled on her bad foot while Tamba dashed by, making several trips to collect everything together.

Between the two of them they managed to maneuver Sita into what seemed would be a more comfortable position, for even though they were very young, their mother was so light now it was not too hard for them to do. While Amba did her best to make her mother a little more comfy, talking to her and humming the songs that they had all sung together many times, Tamba sprang away, leaping the stream, racing to reach the forest village before dark.

* * *

She ran and ran with every ounce of will and strength that she could muster. To her dismay there was no cluster of houses and fields just over the rise, instead the path weaved it’s way among the trees and undergrowth – now traversing a slope, now dipping and then rising once again. She also found that, far from there being just a single clear path to a village, there were several places where it forked in two directions and other paths altogether that it crossed.

At each of these junctions she did her best to pick the most well-worn route but it got harder and harder to be sure – dusk was now falling and the light from the waxing moon made all the shapes and shadows different in the woods. By the time night had closed in completely she admitted to herself that she was lost.

While she paused and got her breath back again she tried to decide what to do. She remembered the first branch in the paths that she had come to and felt sure that was where she had gone wrong. She was tired and upset now, especially that her mother was so ill that all help depended on her and so far she was failing at the job. Still, being one who, like Sita, could focus her will with great intensity, she set her jaw and trotted on, trying to retrace her steps back to the stream.

The winding paths among the trees had seemed so clear, even in the twilight, but now the moon-shadows and the flat silver-grey light warped her sight and made her lose her way: the blackness of the shadows would hide the real track while the bright blades of light often made her run into the bushes, tricking her that the beams were the forest path.

She also tried hard to listen out for the sound of running water, when she thought she was getting near but by now not only was she well beyond ear-shot of that stream, but the ocean of sound which is the tropical forest night – the countless crickets’ ringing and the vast orchestra of nocturnal life – submerged all other sounds beneath its racket. Nevertheless she refused to give up, even though there were by now no signs of any landmark that she had passed by before, and little clue of where she now wanted to go. She had even occasionally spotted lights winking in the distance and had raced toward them, believing them to be houses, cutting deliberately off the path. However, when she had got closer, or when her sight re-focused, she had realized that these had only been fireflies – bursting into glowing life with their tiny floating lamps and then dimming into blackness once again.

After several hours she found she could go no more; she was hungry, hot and thirsty but, more importantly, her wiry legs would simply no longer work – they were cramping and ready to buckle under her. Up ahead she saw a broad clearing, brightly lit by the clear three-quarter moon; on the northern side of this glade stood a thick-trunked Bodhi tree. The buttresses of its roots were drenched in the cool white light and Tamba could see how they formed a little bench – at least big enough for an almost-six-year-old like her. She clambered up and nestled into the tree’s pocket, gratefully leaning her head on one of the descending ribs.

“I’ll just stop and rest for a few minutes… oooh this is so nice… just until my legs can go again, then I’ll carry on – mum needs my help…” Her eyes closed; the lids let a little of the moon’s brightness through but her mind knew nothing whatever of it, already she was fast asleep.


* * *

During the hours that Tamba had been vainly searching for the village, her sister had been trying hard to nurse their mother. She spent some time gathering the large fallen leaves from around about them and made the best bed that she could, at the top of the bank. She gently wriggled Sita’s body over on top of these, hoping that they would help to keep out the coolness from the ground in the night; they had carried out this little leaf-mattress ritual many times now and it had saved them quite a few chills on their journey. For even though it was nowhere near as cold down here, close to the plains, as it was up in the mountains, it was still the cold season and the iciness of the dark hours had often kept them huddled together shivering.

She folded up her own wrap and tucked it beneath Sita’s head to make a pillow. Then, using both the clothes her mother was wearing and the patched and tattered warm wrap she kept in her bundle of belongings, Amba covered her up and tucked her in, just as her mother had done for her a thousand times.

As night fell she became a little more frightened than usual of the forest and its noises rising round her. Even though she was the elder of the two sisters, Tamba’s resilience and devil-may-care character had always provide an unconscious reassurance – without her, and the comforting, familiar words and songs of her mother, she shrank back into her habitual nervous coil. She felt vulnerable and frail for this was the first time she had ever been without her sister for a night.

She thought about trying to get a fire going, as the warmth and light would, as it always did, make her feel safer and more cozy in the wilds, however, she was a hopeless fire-lighter – always being cack-handed with the fire-sticks – and so didn’t even want to bother trying, besides, with her foot so bad she couldn’t get about to collect much in the way of wood anyhow. She also had in the back of her mind the thought that, any moment now, Tamba would come dashing down the path across the stream bearing a fire brand and with the snake-bite doctor from the village. She would get a fire going in no time while the doctor treated their mother so there was no real point in Amba making the effort.

Thick pellucid shafts of silver-grey now illumined their little camp beside the rivulet. There was nothing else to do but wait for Tamba to return. She had dressed her foot as well as she could, after having washed it out in the cool of the waters. She pulled up the side of her mother’s wrap and nestled herself under Sita’s arm, now going strangely stiff and swollen. Keeping up a gentle stream of all the encouraging words she could conjure, almost as much for herself as for her mother, she closed the wrap around them both and settled down for the night.

She lay awake for a long time; her ears straining for the sounds of deadly animals as well as for the voice of Tamba or some rescuing night-traffic on the road. She drew in closer to her mother, still not allowing the thought that she might have died to surface for a moment. She lay very still in the crook of Sita’s arm, feeling the strangely inert presence of the body next to her and the hot throbbing pain in her foot.


≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡≡


Notes and References

Chapter 3:

1. Page 25 — Angulimāla… was now loose in these parts again… The references to Angulimāla are related to passages in ‘The Pilgrim Kāmanīta,’ pp 243, 250 & 274.

2. Page 25 — a whole kahāpana… This was a unit of currency in circulation during the time of the Buddha. It had a value of four pādas or twenty māsakas.

3.Page 26 — One, who was like a priest for the gang, even seemed to act like a father to him… This reference is to Vājashravas, the brahmin; his fondness for Kāmanīta and his protection of him from harm by Angulimāla, is mentioned in Chapters 9 and 11 of ‘The Pilgrim Kāmanīta,’ pp 66, 68-9 & 82-3.

4. Page 26 — he learned quite a few tricks of the business when he was in their company… This facet of Kāmanīta’s life is mentioned in ‘The Pilgrim Kāmanīta’ on pp 69-71, 93 & 103.

5.Page 26 — very partial to human flesh… In a previous life, Angulimāla was indeed a yakkha fond of human flesh; the account of this is found in ‘The Stories of Previous Births’ at Jat. §513. In another life, described at Jat. §537, he was a cannibalistic king.

6. Page 31 — the name of this type of snake meaning ‘take two steps and die.’… This name, rendered into the local dialect, is indeed used for the banded krait in many parts of the world. In Thai this is rendered deurn-nah-song-gau-leow-dai. It is an accurate term for this most lethal of snakes.

7. Page 35 — with the snake-bite doctor from the village… It is common in Asia, a land of many many snakes, to have one person in a village who is particularly trained and skilled to deal with such injuries.