CHAPTER XLIII
"Thence shall I pass, approved
A man, for ay removed
From the developed brute; a god,
Though in the germ."—Browning.
Blazing hot simply did not describe the degree of heat which pressed down upon and around Leonie as she sat totally unconscious of it on the verandah of the Bongong dâk bungalow.
For the benefit of those who have not experienced the assorted joys of travelling in India, a dâk—pronounced dork—bungalow is a travellers' rest, humble or spacious, presided over or not, as the case may be, by a simple and courteous native. They are to be found dotted about everywhere—in jungles, on roads, and outside ruined cities; and there you can stay for an hour or a night, sleeping in comfort, provided you have brought your own bedding and mosquito netting; eating according to the contents of your hamper.
In the cooler hours vivid flashes of orange and black, or black and red, or turquoise blue and green, or white flit across from tree to tree; parrots chatter, crows scream, and the brain-fever bird soothes or irritates you according to your mood, and you tap your fingers on the table in time to the metallic anvil cry of the coppersmith bird, until a tiger-ant or some such voracious insect claims your undivided attention.
In the heat of noon the only sounds to break the intense stillness are the metallic anvil cry of the aforesaid coppersmith bird, and the never-ceasing call of his brain-fever brother.
Except for your own there is no movement whatever—the voracious insect is always with you.
Quite alone in the bungalow, with her back to the open bedroom, Leonie sat undisturbed, with her eyes fixed unseeingly upon the tree-lined road, and a torrent of disconnected thought swirling through her mind.
Exactly what she was doing, and why she was doing it, she had no idea; she only knew that do it she must, and was content to let it rest.
Programme or plan she had none, only an intolerable desire to get to the ruined temple in the jungle.