The bus from Alappuzha to Kottayam takes some two hours, and after a quick stretch, we board another bus headed for Kumily. It's an allegedly small village right on the edge of Periyar, and according to plan, Linda is going to meet the three of us there and has already hooked up with a travel-planner named Abbas. The wheels seem to be in motion once again. We're traveling into India, away from the coast, up onto higher ground, and toward the Kerala-Tamil Nadu border.
Speaking of wheels, these roads are rough. The Indian Tata-buses are tank-like, roaring things with barred windows and little or no shock absorption. My neck's a bit stiff at the stop in Kottayam, and I suspect it's going to get worse, as Kumily is still far away.

Hours later, we are making our way along narrow, winding mountain roads, with quite some distance to fall should anything go wrong. I sit leaned forward, cradling my head and trying to lessen the impact from various bumps and turns. The slightest movement of my neck seems to hurt.
Some hours ago, I was thinking that we probably drove dangerously fast, but well.. at least it was still light. We'll be ok. It got dark in a hurry though, and I figured, oh, ok.. but it could be worse.. at least it's not raining. In retrospect, I should probably have kept my mental mouth shut and focused on keeping my neck steady. At this time I wondered whether or not my head would just fall off if I didn't keep it from going too far to either side.

Either way, naturally, it started to rain heavily, and if anything, it made our driver go even faster, as if trying to show the elements who was truly in charge of these roads. I started giving serious consideration to the notion of getting off the bus, waiting until morning and finding a safer ride to Kumily. A lot of people die in Indian traffic, and on a high-speed drive along dark, slippery mountain roads like this, that's not very hard to believe. Stocked up on statistics, I'm even considering eventual outcomes of a crash that seemed to get more likely by the minute.
Like I said, these buses are very heavy, and would pack a tremendous punch. It would probably take something of equal size, like a truck or another bus to send us off the road. A car might feel like another bump in the road, and a rickshaw.. well, we could go through several of those without ever noticing.

A jolt of pain through my neck pulls me out of my morbid train of thought, and I decide to stay and take my chances. The native passengers after all, seem calm as the veritable Hindu cows. When you are in Rome, and all that. But I'm not entirely convinced, and truth be told, I think I stay on as much due to an extreme unwillingsness to move my neck as due to courage in the face of statistical risk.

It's very late, and a long time past the point where I stopped worrying wether or not I could salvage a semblance of mobility in my neck, when we pull into Kumily. I exit, mobile as a stick-figure, when two men introducing themselves as friends of Abbas walk up to us and promptly offer us a lift to a lodge where we can meet up with Linda. My neck-condition doesn't really make me Mr. Friendly at the time though, and at first mistaking them for usually ubiquitous peddlers, I groan and tell them to back off. Barni and Martin are thinking more clearly, fortunately, and pretty soon we arrive at what seems to be a rather cosy lodge, with the three of us housed on the second floor.
Linda is here as well, and it's nice to see her again. The four of us spent a fair amount of time together in Trivandrum and Varkala, and we seem to make a good group. Barni and Linda have definitely found each other as friends, as well, and a lot of hugs and squeezes are exchanged. As happy as Barni and I are though, chances are Martin is feeling even better.

The rest of the night passes smoothly. We kick back and talk about our various adventures of the past few days, happy to be someplace where we can relax. Bruce Lee is on, and Abbas shows up as well, giving me a chance to apologize for my outburst, and even bringing some oil for my neck. Seems like a genuinely nice guy. Barni administers a long, oily massage, and ever so slowly, my neck starts regaining its mobility. I hope I never get ill without you around, Bee.

It's a lazy night. In a day or two we are going to venture out into the jungle here, and see if we can spot any great Bengal striped ones. For now though, I'm comfortably tired, and well at ease being someplace new in the company of friends.