Dad was seen rushing towards us. “A Brahmin boy, who is to become a priest, never kills,” he said. He took the stick in his hand. I closed my eyes.
The sound of a couple of thrashes followed, but I was untouched. I saw him walking away, the snake dangling from the stick.
“He took your sin on himself by beating the dead snake”, someone told me.
Sorry, dad. I’d never kill again.