married to a snake
June 22, 2006
This is a traditional Hindu wedding between a woman and a King Cobra (the snake didn’t show, so a brass replica is standing in for him):
Dan Henninger on Fox News said:
A woman in India last week married a snake. I would like to ask the proponents of gay marriage–which violates, after all, traditions going back through all of human history–to now absolutely, positively guarantee that the next movement is not going to be allowing people to marry their pet horse, dog or cat. And you know What? Given the “anything goes” culture we live in, I don’t think they can deliver that guarantee.
Stephen Colbert’s response (we are “manning the barricades at Fort Marriage!”) is here.
According to the Khaleej Times, this was a love match, and Bimbala Das’s neighbors were delighted that she had fallen in love with a snake, because they believe the marriage will bring good luck to the village. (From an AFP story: “Snakes and particularly the King Cobra are venerated in India as religious symbols worn by Lord Shiva, the god of destruction.”)
Hrm. So the conservative argument is: if you can marry someone of the same gender, it’s a slippery slope to … snakes!
What I haven’t heard anyone mention is that alternatives to traditional marriage, however restrictive or weird, have long been sought out by gay people living in societies restrictive to gays. For instance, nunneries were at one time chock-full of (along with girls who’d gotten knocked up) women who simply couldn’t bear the thought of marriage to a man — so being a bride of Christ, along with lots of other chicks, seemed a suitable alternative.
Das says “Though snakes cannot speak nor understand, we communicate in a peculiar way. Whenever I put milk near the anthill where the cobra lives, it (the snake) always comes out to drink.” She will now live in a hut near the snake’s anthill.
Hrm…. Maybe Bimbala is pulling a fast one, no? Here are the choices — get married off to a man twice my age, be a slave to his jealous mother-in-law, have his kids, and do everything he says until he dies, after which, fortunately I won’t be burned alive, but I’ll still be considered basically useless; or … live by myself at this anthill! Do some embroidery, cook whatever I want, maybe get a Netflix membership….
…and maybe my best friend Priya can come over, scented with cardamom, and we’ll have privacy, glorious privacy, as long as we don’t get strangled by a cobra mid-cunnilingus.