From Folklore to Stage: The Journey of a Hundred Snake Charmers

As the clock struck 8 on a warm Friday evening, a hundred snake charmers lit ablaze what was otherwise a silent, damp corner a university campus in Sonipat. In unison, the musicians swayed to the tunes they played on their beens, as if a flock of starlings in a murmuration, painting the sky in shades of orange, blue and purple.

The charmers— about one hundred of them— stood on a rather simple stage set-up, bringing to life a tradition that figures prominently in the pages of history but has now faded out of public memory. Wearing traditional orange kurtas and dhotis, the orchestra played both folk as well as Bollywood numbers, in the flagpole area of OP Jindal Global University as part of the university’s annual cultural festival. With soft smiles and heads bouncing along the cadence of their snake-tunes, the male entourage seemed to enjoy their own performance almost as much as the audience, if not more.

The performance was led by Roysten Abel, a renowned theatre director and playwright, popularly known for his theatrical renditions of Othello, Flowers, The Manganiyar Seduction, The Kitchen, and other folk directorial projects such as this one.

Snake charming has long been remembered as an ancient tradition, performed to exterminate and control snakes. While no longer a common practice was, it was, in the past, often the most invoked image in the eyes of foreigners who deployed their oriental lens to characterise India as the famed ‘land of snake charmers’.

Hailing from various villages across Delhi, Uttar Pradesh, Punjab, Rajasthan, and Maharashtra, these charmers largely belong to the Gorakh-Naath sect. After their profession came to be banned in the early 1990s, many of those who practiced the art sought alternative ways to sustain themselves. Today, this group has travelled across India, and even opened for a festival in Naples, Italy. From indigenous to international, their identity has transformed radically, ever since their art joined hands with Abel.

According to Abel, the revival of this art form, hence, became pertinent not only to pay homage to the forgotten folk traditions of India but also to prevent the charmers’ talent from squandering. According to him, if the practitioners of this art are alive, the art form must be too.

Collaborating with Bahar Dutt— a journalist who runs the Jeevika Foundation in Delhi— Abel conceived the idea of the performance during his time spent with indigenous folk performers. The vision was to add an unanticipated, contemporary twist to an otherwise familiar art form. A hundred charmers, performing altogether, in perfect symphony and synchronisation, hence, became the only right answer.

The performance, in my simplest description, was mesmerising. The charmers’ music was powerful, riveting and irreverently intoxicating. My gaze remained glued to the musicians, as they playfully conducted themselves through the show, unlike any stage performance I have been audience to before. From one tune to the next, the music of their beens flowed like water in the Ganga— holy, pristine, and comforting. The reality of being human didn’t seem to affect their genius; the charmers kept going, as if breathing air was simply a choice they didn’t wish to make.

The interplay of the stage set-up and the lights also blended in with the performance beautifully. The contradictory colours of the lights— cool tones paired with extremely warm ones— remained consistent throughout the performance, maintaining a rather balanced and comforting view for the eyes of the audience. Often enough, the lighting also shifted as and when the pace of the charmers’ music quickened or declined— the juxtaposition of technology with tradition played out wonderfully with neither overpowering the other.

Another intriguing aspect of the performance was the build-up of the tunes. It felt as though the notes were structured like an iceberg, beginning with a consistent, gradual tune, then picking up a tempo, reaching a peak, and finally, gradually coming back to where it all started form. The structure of the tunes established a unique synergy between the reverberations of the sound as well as the bodily movements of the charmers. At many points during the performance, the sound of the instruments was thrown at the audience from only one part of the entourage. The music kept travelling all around us, changing in terms of scale and direction, which added to the drama of the performance significantly. Our curiosity peaked as we found ourselves looking for where the music will originate from next. As the sound reached us from different ends of the auditorium, it felt akin to a premonition of what’s next.

A fascinating addition to the charmers’ playlist were the numerous tunes of Western music which were played on classical, Indian instruments. According to the director of the show, the traditional beens sound quiet a lot like Scottish bagpipes. This is why the performance also comprised a number of Scottish tunes to complement the instrument’s versatile nature.

Paired with their music was also the director’s narration of the evolution that the charmers had undergone, transcending all barriers of caste, creed, and even language.

Done under the premise of reviving an otherwise extinct art form, I believe the authenticity of the snake charmers’ story would truly be unveiled only if spoken from their own mouths, in their own tongues. Allowing them to tell their own story would perhaps allow them to voice the true spirit of their craft and its profound cultural significance—something an outsider can not fully capture.

Their experiences, struggles, and relationship with the art form are distinctly their own. When told in their own words, it would not only honour their history and identity but also provide a more nuanced, layered understanding of their traditions. The power of their music and performance lies not just in its visual or auditory appeal but also in the emotions, rituals, and the generational wisdom that it embodies.

My favourite part about it would have to be seeing the lovely charmers smile away, as if their art was the most magnificent love they had ever experienced.

As the hundred snake charmers concluded their performance at 9:15 P.M., they left us wanting more, more, and more. The harmony of their beens and the graceful coordination of their dancing bodies weaved a tale of a tradition that we had lost to oblivion. And just like that, on an ordinary Friday evening, the snake charmers brought back the lost colour of our university’s silent and damp flagpole area, with their ever-charming tunes.

Muskan Kaur is a final-year journalism student at JSJC