there is a season

I hiss loudly to prevent myself from crying out as the nurse dresses my open wounds.  Otherwise I remain pacified by shock only intermittently spitting information such as my name, observance of sensation, and the brief details of what brought us to the emergency room.  It is the sight of my companion’s raw bloodied limbs that sends a surge of guilt to my consciousness as I feel myself surrendering the battle of equanimity.  Had it not been my hands at the helm, my attitude would have been much more undisturbed.  However, self-indulgent pity is swiftly dissolved as a large, scantily-clad man on a stretcher is wheeled into our room with five others excitedly at his heels.  He too had met his fate in a motor bike accident.  The man’s left foot is trembling involuntarily and I observe that his right eye is swollen shut.  Inasmuch as I try to overt my gaze, the visual imprint of his blood spattered body remains married with the thought that his pain was so immense he could scarcely make a sound.  As I softly murmur a prayer, I am again reminded as to how fortunate we are.

Aside from roadside spills, the time spent at Varkala beach was pleasant and reasonably low-key.  The beach itself lay violently underneath picturesque cliffs which would have proved to be a vision to behold had they not been populated with tourist restaurants and resorts falsely claiming Ayurvedic expertise.  The tide appeared to resent such a presence as it was almost impossible to swim amidst the strong undercurrents.  However, as per usual, I was in good company and receiving an abundance of experiences and insight of matters existential and Indian.  

On a more successful night of motorbike navigation, we found ourselves on remote peninsulas dancing with the setting sun on a more inviting part of the coast.  Gazing at palm tree lined shores it was hard to imagine that so many inhabitants were still chasing the illusion of going to the West when equally as many Westerners dream of places like the Keralan backwaters.  The grass is always greener...

Nonetheless, limp and all, it was time to move on to Kerala’s neighbouring state in the south, Tamil Nadu; the destination and final stop in India being Tiruvannamalai.  Although my main objective was a reunion with an old friend, a driving force for several ventures, coming to this city also coincided beautifully with my desire to see the holy mountain Arunachala, a mission inspired by Paul Brunton’s account in “A Search in Secret India”.

The dry heat in Tiru was initially overwhelming, but not as much as the mountain itself.  It’s difficult to put into words the power of this particular location, but I can assuredly say that if I had started my journey here I would have undoubtedly seen much less of the rest of India.  I’ve encountered countless amounts of individuals who have been unable to escape the pull of Tiru with endless stories of cancelled train tickets and abandoned flights.  In fact, it is the first place that I have met travellers who have rented their accommodation by the month, even by the year. My original thought was to visit neighbouring cities on my way out, but I’ve joined the masses in rooting myself here for the next two weeks despite the zealous mosquitos and unwavering heat.  I've found a mountain and not a moment too soon.