Misri Jogi and Deen Mohammad Jogi, snake charmers

n the realm of semi-nomadic mystics known as sapera or jogi, a captivating story unfolds, weaving a tale of ancient traditions and mystical connections. These snake charmers, nomads from a bygone era, traverse urban centres, leaving behind the echoes of their mysterious artistry for a fortnight or a month, only to return briefly to their enigmatic homes in the Tharparkar desert.

Among these wandering souls, a delicate interplay of faith and culture comes to life. The Hindu saperas, devotees of the Shakti cult, pay homage to the formidable goddess, Kali. Meanwhile, the Muslim jogis of Sindh, embodied by figures like Misri Jogi and Deen Mohammad Jogi, embark on a pilgrimage to the sacred 500-year old shrine of Baba Shah Bilawal Noorani in Lasbela district. Leaving their families behind in the vast Tharparkar desert, they undertake a two-day journey to reach the busy cities of Hyderabad or Karachi.

In the fading light of a dying profession, the jogis cling steadfastly to the art of snake charming, a skill passed through generations. It’s not merely a livelihood; it’s also a sacred legacy etched into their very beings by fathers and grandfathers. Despite the dwindling allure of their craft, the jogis find solace in the familiar dance of the serpents.

Performance and begging, entwined in the fabric of their existence, create a captivating spectacle. Even without a snake, the saperas bear their distinctive jhola – bag – housing a round rattan box, a pitari, believed to contain the elusive reptile, though it remains mysteriously empty. Should curiosity spark interest in their art, a companion with a snake, usually a naag (cobra), is summoned, and a performance ensues in the street.

Deen Mohammad Jogi, a custodian of ancient secrets, shares tales of his encounters with naags, jalebis (a small red-coloured snake), and teermars (4 to 5 feet in length), each adding a layer of mystique to their nomadic existence. “For a sapera,” he says, “a cobra is the embodiment of wealth. We also catch the large azhdaha (python) sometimes, if we are lucky. The rainy season becomes a window of opportunity, as we, through hypnotic rituals, communicate our pact of non-harm to the serpentine brethren.”

The snake charmers play a distinctive, haunting melody of the been, a flute fashioned from a gourd. The cobra, with its threatening, yet mesmerising posture, appears to dance to this ethereal tune. The flute carries two reeds – one for melody and the other for a haunting drone, echoing the ancient sound that envelopes these wandering artists.

According to these men, a cobra’s performance typically fetches a humble sum of Rs 500 to Rs 1,000. Misri Jogi reveals the secret to enhancing this modest income – the inclusion of a mongoose. Allowing the mongoose to kill a smaller snake elevates their craft, fetching them a more substantial reward.

As Misri Jogi, paan tucked delicately in a corner of his mouth, shares tales of life in their communal existence in the city, rented rooms, devoid of electricity but filled with the whispers of ancient practices, house ten saperas and their slithering companions.

Musa Kaleem, peanut seller

As winter blankets the air, the streets come alive with the sight of Pathan vendors skillfully manoeuvring their handcarts, laden with an enticing array of seasonal delights. Roasted peanuts, almonds, pistachios, raisins, roasted chickpeas, walnuts, dried dates and the tempting meethay chanay (sugar-coated chickpeas) are meticulously arranged, creating a vibrant display. The centrepiece of this mobile market is the towering heap of peanuts, drawing attention to its warm, earthy aroma that permeates the winter air.

Nestled behind the cart, transparent plastic jars stand guard on three sides, each housing a variety of nuts and dried fruits. It’s a visual feast, inviting passers-by to indulge in the experience of winter’s delights. The vendors also sell sweet treats crafted from jaggery and nuts, such as cheeki, gazak and rewri, each contributing its own distinct flavour to the palate.

Musa Kaleem, 17, belongs to Khezi Gwazhi village, 128 kilometres from Quetta. His journey traces back to a simple yet profound motivation – the pursuit of economic opportunity in a big place. In his village, Musa was a tailor, stitching new clothes exclusively for the festive celebrations of Eid. “During the harsh winter there, people don’t get look for new clothes,” he says about the locals refraining from commissioning new clothing during the rest of the year. Faced with economic challenges inherent in this cycle, Musa made the decision to venture out of his village to the city where pre-existing connections awaited him.

Communicating mainly in his mother tongue, Pushto, Musa speaks just a few words of Urdu, and needs interpretation through helpful assistance provided by supportive customers. His daily routine involves selling five to six kilos of peanuts, a modest yet crucial contribution to the local economy.

Musa reveals a financial constraint – the absence of Rs 15,000 needed to purchase the ‘rehri’ (handcart). Consequently, he pays a monthly rent of Rs 800 for the cart, which includes the essential weighing scale and other fixtures integral to his trade. This admission reflects a bittersweet reality; while Musa successfully manages the financial dynamics of his venture, the ownership of the handcart remains an elusive aspiration.

The writer is an author, illustrator and educator. She may be contacted at husain.rumana@gmail.
com