Exquisite illustration of Rikki-Tikki-Tavi
the mongoose and an unspecified Indian snake, from a 1924 French edition of The
Jungle Book (public domain)
…when
Teddy came running down the path, Rikki-tikki was ready to be petted.
But
just as Teddy was stooping, something flinched a little in the dust, and a tiny
voice said: 'Be careful. I am death!' It was Karait, the dusty brown snakeling
that lies for choice on the dusty earth; and his bite is as dangerous as the
cobra's. But he is so small that nobody thinks of him, and so he does the more
harm to people.
…Karait
struck out. Rikki jumped sideways and tried to run in, but the wicked little
dusty grey head lashed within a fraction of his shoulder, and he had to jump
over the body, and the head followed his heels close…[but] Karait had lunged
out once too far, and Rikki-tikki had sprung, jumped on the snake's back,
dropped his head far between his fore-legs, bitten as high up the back as he
could get hold, and rolled away. That bite paralysed Karait [killing him].
Rudyard Kipling – 'Rikki-Tikki-Tavi', in
The Jungle Book
Two of my best-loved books as a child (and still
today, for that matter) were The Jungle Book (1894) and The Second
Jungle Book (1895), both authored by Rudyard Kipling, which I first read at
much the same time that Disney's classic animated movie version was first screened
in cinemas (1967), and which I also adored despite its many liberties taken
with Kipling's source material. Although they are most famous for their Mowgli
stories, these two books also contained a number of others that did not feature
him and were not set in the Indian jungle.
Of these non-Mowgli tales, my own personal
favourite was 'Rikki-Tikki-Tavi', which was included in the first of Kipling's
two Jungle Books. Its eponymous mongoose star (henceforth referred to
here simply as RTT for brevity) successfully and successively saved from a
series of potentially lethal attacks by Nag and Nagaina – a malign pair of garden-inhabiting
Indian (spectacled) cobras Naja naja – the human family that he had 'adopted'
after their young son Teddy had rescued him from almost drowning in a flood.
The front cover and spine (the latter
depicting RTT confronting a cobra) from the hardback first edition of The
Jungle Book (1894) (public domain)
However, cobras were not the only snakes that RTT
dispatched. He also killed a much smaller but seemingly no less deadly
serpentine threat to Teddy and family – namely, the "dusty brown snakeling"
Karait, whose meagre description provided by Kipling is quoted in full at the
beginning of this present ShukerNature blog article. Even as a child (and
nascent cryptozoologist), I was fascinated by Karait, for whereas cobras
were readily familiar to me, Karait remained mysterious, because no formal
identification of his species was provided by Kipling.
So what was Karait – possibly an
inaccurately-described known living species (i.e. a veritable bungle in The Jungle
Book), or an entirely fictitious one that Kipling had specifically invented
for his RTT story, or conceivably even a real species but one that was either now
long-extinct or had still to be formally described and named by science? There
was only one way to deal with these and other options on offer. So after watching a cartoon version of it and then re-reading the
original story a few months ago, I conducted some investigations into Kipling's minute but
highly mystifying Karait, and here is what I found out.
Adult specimen of the common Indian
krait Bungarus caeruleus (© Jayendra Chiplunkar/Wikipedia – CC BY-SA 3.0 licence)
Naturally, the name 'Karait' instantly calls to
mind the very similar name 'krait', applied both colloquially and
scientifically to a number of species of venomous elapid snake native to India
and elsewhere in Asia, and belonging to the genus Bungarus – which is
why as a child I had simply assumed from his name that Karait had indeed merely
been a krait. However, my fascination with Kipling's diminutive yet deadly dust
serpent increased during subsequent years, in tandem with my burgeoning
ophidian knowledge, when I realised that what little morphological and
behavioural information concerning Karait had been given by Kipling did
not accord with any krait species (either in its adult or in its juvenile form)
that was known to exist anywhere within or even beyond the Indian Subcontinent.
The most familiar krait species, and also the most
abundant, widely distributed one in India, is the common Indian krait B. caeruleus.
When adult, however, it can attain a total length of up to 5.75 ft (3 ft on average, but still very much longer than
Kipling's Karait), and its body is handsomely marked with a characteristic
banded pattern of light and dark stripes (often black and white, but famously
black and gold in the closely-related banded krait B. fasciatus, also
native to India and up to 7 ft long). Moreover, when it is a juvenile and
therefore much smaller (hence much more comparable in size to Karait than the
adult is), its stripes are even more distinct than they are in the adult snake
and its background colouration is bluish, not brown.
The banded krait Bungarus
fasciatus as depicted in Joseph Ewart's book The Poisonous Snakes of
India (1878) (public domain)
Most other krait species also exhibit striping,
albeit of different degrees of vividness. Needless to say, however, any mention
of such markings in Kipling's description of Karait is conspicuous only by its
absence, which would be highly unusual for Kipling if he had indeed intended
Karait to be a krait, because his knowledge and descriptions of other Indian
fauna was always very skilled. True, a few krait species do not possess
stripes, but these still tend to have a very bold background body colour, such
as shiny brown, glossy black, or even deep blue with a bright red head in one species
(B. flaviceps from southeast Asia), so once again they differ
substantially from the nondescript appearance ascribed by Kipling to Karait.
It is odd, therefore, that Wikipedia's entry for
the genus Bungarus refers to Kipling's Karait as "a small
sand-colored krait", apparently unaware of the fundamental morphological flaws
in such an identification that I have enumerated above. Similarly unaware, it
would seem, is the Kipling Society, because on its official website its brief
entry for Karait states: "karait (or krait) A small highly
poisonous snake, known to Kipling and common in India". Common in India it may be (and, indeed,
is), but small it certainly is not.
No less damaging to a krait identity claim for
Karait than incompatible morphology is the notable reluctance of these snakes
to bite or strike out at a potential aggressor, preferring to coil up and hide
their head within their coils, exposing and lifting up their tail tip instead.
This behaviour does not correspond at all with the much more active,
antagonistic striking behaviour of Karait, plus their predominantly nocturnal
lifestyle means that kraits rarely encounter humans during the daytime anyway,
which is when Karait encountered Teddy. Consequently, as the only link between
the kraits and Karait is a shared colloquial name, it would seem most
parsimonious to assume that Kipling simply selected the name Karait for its
sound or familiarity, rather than to indicate any taxonomic affinity between his
story's snake and the genuine kraits.
The website Litcharts offers a very different ophidian
identity from a krait for Karait – nothing less, in fact, than an infant cobra.
In its list of minor characters that appear in Kipling's story
'Rikki-Tikki-Tavi', it describes Karait as:
The
young cobra hatchling, implied to be a child of Nag and Nagaina, whom
Rikki-tikki battles in the garden early in the story. His small size in fact
makes him more dangerous than the older snakes, as he is quicker and
harder to catch, but Rikki-tikki defeats him nonetheless.
This entry's claim baffles me, because nowhere in
Kipling's coverage of Karait and his unsuccessful attack upon RTT can I spot
any implication that Karait was a young cobra hatchling, other than perhaps the
term 'snakeling', which may imply a young snake. Equally, however, it may imply
a small adult snake. In any case, even the smallest Indian cobra hatchlings, which still measure a respectable 10 in long, possess their species' characteristic hood – yet which,
just like the stripes of kraits, is again conspicuous only by its absence in
Kipling's description of Karait. Furthermore, by specifically stating that
Karait's bite "is as dangerous as the cobra's", surely Kipling is
actually delineating Karait from the cobra, rather than assimilating it with
the latter snake? Certainly, that is how this statement reads to me.
A young Indian cobra Naja naja
exhibiting its species' characteristic hood (© Muhammad Sharif Khan/Wikipedia –
CC BY-SA 2.5 licence)
A third snake identity, and one that I feel has much
greater plausibility than either of the previous two discussed here, is a
species of saw-scaled viper, belonging to the genus Echis, which
includes among its number the Indian saw-scaled viper E. carinatus, the
best-known representative. Just like Karait, these snakes are small, predominantly
brown with only faint patterning sometimes, extremely venomous, notoriously irascible,
and often found in dry, dusty, arid terrain, where they are very inconspicuous,
frequently burying themselves in sand or dirt until only their head is visible,
thereby enabling them to ambush unsuspecting approaching prey. Is it just a
coincidence, therefore, that Kipling specifically states that Karait "lies
for choice on the dusty earth"?
Moreover, these snakes readily strike out aggressively
if threatened, just as Karait did, and so potent is their venom (as was
Karait's) that saw-scaled vipers are one of the most significant snake-bite
threats throughout their zoogeographical range, killing many people every year.
Yet some such species are no more than 1 ft long even as adults. Clearly, therefore, this type
of snake corresponds very closely with Karait across a wide range of different
characteristics – morphological, behavioural, and ecological. Also worthy of note here is the hump-nosed viper Hypnale hypnale, which is native to India, greyish-brown in colour with a double row of large black spots, and no more than around 2 ft long (averages 12-15 in). However, it generally frequents dense jungles and hilly coffee plantations, rather than the more arid, dusty terrain favoured by Echis, and spends the day hidden in thick bushes and leaf litter.
The fourth identity to be considered here is fundamentally
different from the others inasmuch as it is based not upon factual similarities
but rather upon fallacious ones. Superstitious, non-scientific traditional
native lore in many regions of the world often ascribes all manner of fanciful,
often highly venomous attributes to various animal species that in reality are
entirely harmless. For instance, there is an Indian lizard known locally as the
bis-cobra that for untold ages has been deemed by fearful villagers in rural
areas to be totally lethal in every way, yet as confirmed by scientific
examination of specimens it is in reality completely innocuous (click here
to read my ShukerNature blog article concerning this unfairly-maligned
saurian). Various geckos and chameleons are viewed with comparable yet wholly
unwarranted native dread too. Certain equally inoffensive species of worm-like
limbless amphibian known as caecilians, various worm-like limbless reptiles called
amphisbaenians, and some reclusive fossorial snakes like sand boas and blind
(thread) snakes have also suffered persecution due to similarly erroneous layman
beliefs.
While investigating the possible taxonomic identity
of Karait, I communicated with Mark O'Shea, the internationally-renowned snake
researcher and handler from the West Midlands Safari Park, based not very far
from where I live, and Mark echoed my own thoughts regarding this identity
option, stating: "People fear what they think are dangerous even if they
aren't, i.e. blue-tongued skink or large geckos". Could it be, therefore,
that Karait belongs to one such species, i.e. a very small and thoroughly
harmless dust-dwelling serpent (or serpentine herp of some other kind) that has
been wrongly deemed to be venomous? But why would Kipling continue to
perpetrate such a fallacy? Surely as a keen amateur naturalist he would have
preferred to expose it in his story as being nonsensical folklore with no
foundation in fact?
Also well worth considering is that Karait may have
been a total invention on Kipling's part, created perhaps to add an unexpected,
additional element of danger into a plot that already contained the
ever-present threat posed by the malevolent pair of cobras Nag and Nagaina (whose
evil plan was to kill RTT and the humans, and then move into their house). There
is, after all, a notable literary precedent for the incorporation of a deadly
but zoologically non-existent Indian serpent into a work of fiction – none other
than the lethal Indian swamp adder or 'speckled band' that confronted the
master detective Sherlock Holmes in a famous short story penned by Holmes's
creator, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. 'The Adventure of the Speckled Band' was first
published in 1892 (by London's
Strand Magazine), i.e. just a couple of years before Kipling's Jungle
Books were published (click here
to see my comprehensive investigation of Conan Doyle's sinister swamp adder on
ShukerNature). Who knows, might it even have directly inspired Kipling to dream
up a fictitious death-dealing serpent of his own?
Rather less likely, but by no means impossible, is
that Karait represented either a valid species that did exist back in Kipling's
time but has since become extinct without ever having been formally named and
described, or one that still exists but is so elusive that it has yet to be
officially discovered and recognised by science. With no supportive evidence
known to me for either of these two options, however, they must remain for now
entirely speculative.
Artistic representation of the
possible morphology of Conan Doyle's fictitious Indian swamp adder (© Tim
Morris)
At this stage in my investigation, therefore, the identity for
Karait that I personally deemed to be most tenable was that of a
saw-scaled viper, but I always greatly value receiving the thoughts, opinions,
and possible additional information offered by other interested parties too. Consequently,
on 25 March 2019 I
posted the following concise summary of the Karait case on my Facebook timeline
and also in various snake-relevant FB groups:
Watching
the 1974 Chuck Jones cartoon version of Rudyard Kipling's mongoose-starring
story Rikki-Tikki-Tavi recently, I was reminded of a mystery that always
puzzled me when reading it as a child. To which species did the extremely
venomous but tiny dust-inhabiting, "dusty brown snakeling" Karait
belong? As a child, I'd simply assumed that it was a species of krait, on
account of the similarity in names and the occurrence of kraits in India. but when I learnt
more about such snakes I discovered that young Indian kraits Bungarus
caeruleus are actually vividly striped and bluish in colour, not unmarked
and dusty brown. And even young kraits seem bigger than Karait was. I've since
read various alternative suggestions, e.g. that Karait was actually a
saw-scaled viper, or even an infant cobra. Or could he have been a wholly
fictional species, as apparently the Indian swamp adder that confronted Conan
Doyle's detective Sherlock Holmes was? There may even be the possibility that it is a real
yet totally harmless small species, like one of the Gerrhopilidae blind snakes
of India,
but which is erroneously deemed in local folklore to be very venomous. There
are many such cases on record, from caecilians to an Indian lizard dubbed the
bis-cobra, which I have previously documented. Do any of my
herpetological friends or those of Indian heritage have any ideas as to
Karait's likely identity? If so, I'd love to read your thoughts! Here is
Kipling's all-too-brief description of Karait's morphology: [I then quoted the
first major paragraph of the excerpt from Kipling's book that opens this
present ShukerNature article.]
The common Indian krait as depicted in
Joseph Ewart's book The Poisonous Snakes of India (1878) (public domain)
I then sat back to await any postings that may be
forthcoming. In the event, I received quite a number of comments (including a greatly
welcomed, detailed evaluation by American biologist Dr Christopher Mallery that closely echoed my own
thought processes regarding the case), which revealed that the overriding
opinion concerning Karait's likely identity was the same as mine – a saw-scaled
viper.
However, there was one nagging problem with this
identity that I could neither resolve nor overlook. If Karait had truly been
based upon a saw-scaled viper, why did Kipling, who was so knowledgeable
concerning Indian fauna, give to it a name that is applied locally to the
krait? This made no sense at all – until, that is, Robert Twombley, a longstanding
Facebook friend who is passionately interested in both herpetology and
cryptozoology, and is also the creator of the reptile/amphibian-specific cryptozoological
group Ethnoherpetology, posted a brief but remarkable revelation there on 29
March 2019 that was entirely new to me, but which in my opinion provides the
long sought-after missing piece of the perplexing Karait jigsaw puzzle. Here is what he wrote:
Bungarus
caeruleus (Schneider, 1801) and Bungarus fasciatus (Schneider, 1801),
were once placed in the same genus Pseudoboa (Schneider, 1801) same with
Echis carinatus (Schneider, 1801).
In other words, back in 1801 the Indian (as well as
the banded) krait and the Indian saw-scaled viper had been taxonomically lumped
together by German naturalist Johann G.T. Schneider within the very same genus,
Pseudoboa (which he had officially coined in his 1801 treatise Historiae
Amphibiorum Naturalis et Literariae Fasciculus Secundus Continens Crocodilos,
Scincos, Chamaesauras, Boas, Pseudoboas, Elaps, Angues, Amphisbaenas et
Caecilias), and were therefore viewed scientifically as closely-related,
similar serpents. (It was only in later years that they were eventually shown
to be quite distinct, both anatomically and genetically, so were duly split not
only into separate genera but also into separate taxonomic families – Elapidae for
the kraits as well as the cobras, and Viperidae for the vipers.) So it is not
unreasonable to assume that back then the colloquial name 'karait' had been more
inclusive too, all of which could in turn explain why Kipling had applied the
latter name to a snake that was quite evidently not a krait but a saw-scaled
viper.
My sincere thanks to Robert Twombley, Dr Christopher
Mallery, Mark O'Shea, and all of the other correspondents who so kindly
responded to my FB enquiry with their greatly-valued thoughts and views.