write
But she was just a child, and didn’t understand the nature of snakes, much less why one would want to hurt her, especially if she didn’t hurt it first, or hurt it back.
No one was watching, and the rain pelting the sales tent had reduced the number of people in the bazaar. Curious, she could no longer stop herself. She’d seen snakes of course, undulating, writhing on her father’s outstretched arms, watching her brother’s hands as he played; it seemed as if they were waiting to strike, but never did.
Whereas her mother found them repugnant, Jigna found them spellbinding, but they never let her handle one, and never let any get close to her.
This was her one chance, and she wasn’t going to let it pass.
She lifted the lid of a large basket, dropping it as it was too heavy to hold.
She dared not look inside, but sat with her legs under her, waiting, breathing deeply.
It seemed like forever, but the snake finally emerged from the basket, slithering over the top to spill itself in the straw floor covering like a living rope.
Jigna scooted back on her butt, her legs unfurled to shuffle her to safety, or so she thought; her movement caught the snake's attention, and it whipped around, thinking itself to be under attack. It lunged, and stopped inches from her face, its mouth open, and all its muscles poised to finish the task if she did anything to attack it.
Jigna started crying, but whether in fear or at the sheer magnificence of the creature in front of her, she couldn’t say.
The snake was swaying like a reed stalk, its eyes never leaving hers, a small sac of venom trailing a long, glistening string down the side of its jaw.
Name me, little one.
She stopped sniffling, still scared, but not frightened. She tilted her head: “You don’t have a name?”
Oh, yes, little one, I do, but if I speak it to you, we both shall die. And I would have you live.
She didn't fully understand. “You won’t... hurt me…?”
Of course not. Tell me my name...
