A splendid bridge spans the swollen torrent of the more
formidable Markunda, and the well-metalled highway now cuts a wide
straight swath through inundated jungle. A big wild monkey, the first of
his species thus far encountered on the road, utters a shrill squeak of
apprehension at seeing the bicycle come bowling down the road, and in his
fright he leaps from the branches of a road-side tree into the shallow
water and escapes into the jungle with frantic leaps and bounds.
Travelling leisurely, and resting often, for thirty miles, the afternoon
brings me to the small town of Peepli, where a dak bungalow provides food
and shelter of a certain kind. The sleeping-accommodation of the dak
bungalow may hardly be described as luxurious; ants and other insects
swarm in myriads, and lizards drag their slimy length about the timber of
the walls and ceiling. The wild jungle encroaches on the village, and the
dak bungalow occupies an isolated position at one end. The jungle
resounds with the strange noises of animals and birds, and a friendly
native, who speaks a little English, confides the joyful information that
the deadly cobra everywhere abounds.
For the first time it is cool enough to sleep without the services of the
punkah-wallah, and not a soul remains about the dak bungalow after
nightfall.
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