Passepartout, however, went in like a simple tourist. He admired the splendid Brahmin ornamentation, but suddenly found himself on the sacred floor. He beheld three enraged priests, who tore off his shoes, and began to beat him with loud, savage exclamations. The agile Frenchman was soon upon his feet again, and ran away. Of course, he lost his package of shirts and shoes.
At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless rushed breathlessly into the station. Fix, who followed Mr. Fogg and saw that he was really going to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform. He resolved to follow the supposed robber to Calcutta, and farther, if necessary. Passepartout did not observe the detective, who stood in an obscure corner.
I hope that this will not happen again, said Phileas Fogg coldly, as he got into the train.
Poor Passepartout followed his master without a word. Fix wanted to enter another carriage, when an idea came to him.
No, Ill stay, muttered he.
Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train passed out into the darkness of the night.
Chapter XI
There were many officers, government officials, and opium and indigo merchants among the passengers. They all went to the eastern coast. Passepartout rode in the same carriage with his master, and a third passenger occupied a seat[57] opposite to them. This was Sir Francis Cromarty[58], one of Mr. Foggs whist partners on the Mongolia. He wanted to join his corps at Benares[59]. Sir Francis was a tall, fair man of fifty. He made India his home. He was almost familiar with the customs, history and character of India and its people. But Phileas Fogg did not inquire into these subjects.
Sir Francis Cromarty observed the oddity of his companion. Phileas Fogg did not conceal from Sir Francis his plan, nor all the circumstances. The general saw in the wager a useless eccentricity and a lack of common sense.
Passepartout did not realise that he was actually crossing India in a railway train. The travelers crossed the country of the goddess Kali[60]. Not far off rose Ellora[61], with its graceful pagodas, and the famous Aurungabad[62].
At half-past twelve the train stopped at Burhampoor[63] where Passepartout was able to purchase some Indian slippers, ornamented with false pearls.
At eight oclock the train stopped in the midst of a glade fifteen miles beyond Rothal, where there were several bungalows, and workmens cabins. The conductor shouted,
Passengers will get out here!
Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation; but the general did not tell what that meant. Passepartout rushed out and speedily returned. He cried,
Monsieur, no more railway!
What do you mean? asked Sir Francis.
I mean to say that the train isnt going on.
The general stepped out, while Phileas Fogg calmly followed him. They proceeded together to the conductor.
Where are we? asked Sir Francis.
At the hamlet of Kholby[64].
Do we stop here?
Certainly. The railway isnt finished.
What! not finished?
No. Theres still fifty miles from here to Allahabad, where the line begins again.
But the papers announced the railway.
So what, officer? The papers were mistaken.
Yet you sell tickets from Bombay to Calcutta, retorted Sir Francis.
No doubt[65], replied the conductor; but the passengers know that they must provide means of transportation for themselves from Kholby to Allahabad.
Sir Francis was furious. Passepartout did not dare to look at his master.
Sir Francis, said Mr. Fogg quietly, we will, if you please, look about for some means of conveyance to Allahabad.
Mr. Fogg, what a delay!
No, Sir Francis; its nothing.
What! You knew that the way
Not at all; but I know that some obstacle or other will sooner or later arise on my route. Nothing, therefore, is lost. I have two days to sacrifice. A steamer leaves Calcutta for Hong Kong at noon, on the 25th. This is the 22nd, and we shall reach Calcutta in time.
Many travelers were aware of this interruption, and they began to engage wagons, carriages, palanquins, ponies, and so on. Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty did not find anything.
I shall walk, said Phileas Fogg.
Passepartout said,
Monsieur, I think I found something.
What?
An elephant! An elephant that belongs to an Indian who lives a hundred steps from here.
Lets go and see the elephant, replied Mr. Fogg.
They soon reached a small hut. An Indian came out of the hut. His elephant was half domesticated. Kiouni[66]-this was the name of the beast-could travel rapidly for a long time. Mr. Fogg resolved to hire him. But elephants are not cheap in India. When Mr. Fogg proposed to the Indian to hire Kiouni, he refused. Mr. Fogg persisted. Ten pounds an hour for the loan of the beast to Allahabad? Refused. Twenty pounds? Refused also. Forty pounds? Still refused.
Phileas Fogg then proposed to purchase the animal, and at first offered a thousand pounds for him. The Indian still refused. His small, sharp eyes were glistening with avarice. Mr. Fogg offered first twelve hundred, then fifteen hundred, eighteen hundred, two thousand pounds. At two thousand pounds the Indian yielded.
What a price, good heavens! cried Passepartout, for an elephant.
It only remained now to find a guide, which was easy. A young Parsee, with an intelligent face, offered his services, which Mr. Fogg accepted. The Parsee, a good elephant driver, covered the elephants back with a saddle-cloth, and attached to each of his flanks some uncomfortable howdahs. Phileas Fogg paid the Indian with some banknotes which he extracted from the famous carpet-bag.
They purchased provisions at Kholby. The Parsee perched himself on the elephants neck, and at nine oclock they left the village. The animal marched through the dense forest of palms.
Chapter XII
At eleven oclock the guide stopped the elephant, and gave it an hour for rest. Neither Sir Francis nor Mr. Fogg regretted the delay.
At noon the Parsee gave the signal of departure. The travelers several times saw bands of ferocious Indians. The Parsee avoided them as much as possible. But what will Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when he gets to Allahabad? Will he carry it on with him? Impossible! The cost will be very expensive. Will he sell it, or set it free?
The night was cold. The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a few dry branches. The warmth was very grateful. The travelers ate their supper ravenously.
At six oclock in the morning they woke up. The guide hoped to reach Allahabad by evening. The guide avoided inhabited places. Allahabad was now only twelve miles to the north-east. They stopped under a clump of bananas, the fruit of which was as healthy as bread and as succulent as cream.
At two oclock the guide entered a thick forest. The elephant suddenly stopped. It was then four oclock.
Whats the matter? asked Sir Francis.
I dont know, officer, replied the Parsee.
Whats the matter? asked Sir Francis.
I dont know, officer, replied the Parsee.
He listened attentively to a murmur which came through the thick branches. The murmur soon became more distinct. It now seemed like a distant concert of human voices with brass instruments. Mr. Fogg patiently waited without a word. The Parsee jumped to the ground, fastened the elephant to a tree. He soon returned:
A procession of Brahmins is coming this way. We must go aside, if possible.
The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into the wood. The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer, and the songs mingled with the sound of the tambourines and cymbals. The head of the procession soon appeared beneath the trees, a hundred paces away. The strange figures who performed the religious ceremony were among the branches. First came the priests, in long robes, with mitres on their heads. Men, women, and children surrounded them. They sang a lugubrious psalm and played tambourines and cymbals. Behind them there was a car[67] with large wheels. The spokes of the car represented serpents. Upon the car, stood a hideous statue with four arms, red body, haggard eyes, dishevelled hair, and protruding tongue.
Sir Francis recognised the statue and whispered,
The goddess Kali; the goddess of love and death.
Of death, perhaps, muttered Passepartout, but of love-that ugly old hag? Never!
A group of old fakirs made a wild ado round the statue. Some Brahmins led a woman who faltered at every step. This woman was young, and as fair as a European. Her head and neck, shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and toes were loaded down with jewels and gems with bracelets, earrings, and rings. She had a light muslin robe on.
The guards who followed the young woman were bearing a corpse on a palanquin. It was the body of an old man. Next came the musicians. Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad countenance, and said,
A suttee[68].
The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips. The procession slowly wound under the trees, and soon its last ranks disappeared in the depths of the wood. The songs gradually died away. Phileas Fogg asked:
What is a suttee?
A suttee, returned the general, is a human sacrifice, but a voluntary one. This woman will be burned tomorrow at the dawn of day.
Oh, the scoundrels! cried Passepartout.
And the corpse? asked Mr. Fogg.
It is the prince, her husband, said the guide; an independent rajah of Bundelcund[69].
Is it possible, resumed Phileas Fogg, that these barbarous customs still exist in India, and that the English are unable to stop them?
These sacrifices do not occur in the larger portion of India, replied Sir Francis; but we have no power over these savage territories, and especially here in Bundelcund.
The poor wretch! exclaimed Passepartout, they will burn her alive!
Yes, returned Sir Francis, alive. And the sacrifice that will take place tomorrow at dawn is not a voluntary one.
How do you know?
Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund.
But the wretched creature did not resist, observed Sir Francis.
That was because they intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and opium.
But where are they taking her?
To the pagoda of Pillaji[70], two miles from here; she will pass the night there.
And the sacrifice will take place
Tomorrow, at the first light of dawn.
The guide wanted to urge Kiouni forward with a peculiar whistle. But Mr. Fogg stopped him, and turned to Sir Francis Cromarty,
Lets save this woman.
Save the woman, Mr. Fogg!
I have twelve hours; I can devote them to that.
Why, you are a man of heart!
Sometimes, replied Phileas Fogg, quietly; when I have the time.
Chapter XIII
The project was bold, full of difficulty, perhaps impracticable. Mr. Fogg was going to risk life, or at least liberty, and therefore the success of his tour. As for Passepartout, his masters idea charmed him; he began to love Phileas Fogg.
Officers, said the guide, I am a Parsee, and this woman is a Parsee. Command me as you will.
Excellent! said Mr. Fogg.
However, resumed the guide, it is certain, not only that we shall risk our lives, but horrible tortures.
That is clear, replied Mr. Fogg. I think we must wait till night.
I think so, said the guide.
The victim, said the Indian, was the daughter of a wealthy Bombay merchant. She received a good English education in that city. Her name was Aouda[71]. She was married against her will to the old rajah of Bundelcund. She escaped, they caught her and brought to the rajahs relatives, who wanted her death.
What did the travelers decide? The guide will direct the elephant towards the pagoda of Pillaji. They halted, half an hour afterwards, in a coppice, five hundred feet from the pagoda. They were well concealed; but they heard the groans and cries of the fakirs distinctly.
The guide was familiar with the pagoda of Pillaji, in which the young woman was imprisoned. The abduction will happen that night. As soon as night fell, about six oclock, they decided to make a reconnaissance around the pagoda. The cries of the fakirs ceased; the Indians were drunk. They drank liquid opium with hemp.
The Parsee led the travelers. They noiselessly crept through the wood, and in ten minutes they found themselves on the banks of a small stream, whence they perceived a pyre of wood. On the top of it lay the embalmed body of the rajah. The Indians wanted to burn him with his wife. The pagoda stood a hundred steps away.
Come! whispered the guide.
Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade. The ground was covered by groups of the motionless Indians. Men, women, and children lay together. Among the trees, the pagoda of Pillaji loomed distinctly. The Parsee led his companions back again. They lay down at the foot of a tree and waited.
The time seemed long, the guards watched steadily by the glare of the torches, and a dim light crept through the windows of the pagoda. They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the guards.
We have nothing to do but to go away, whispered Sir Francis.
Nothing but to go away, echoed the guide.
Meanwhile Passepartout resolved an idea.
What folly! said he. Why not, after all? Its a chance, perhaps the only one!
And he slipped to the lowest branches. The hours passed, and the lighter shades announced the approach of day. This was the moment. This was the hour of the sacrifice. The doors of the pagoda swung open[72], and a bright light escaped from its interior. In the midst of it Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis saw the victim. Sir Franciss heart throbbed. Just at this moment the crowd began to move. The young woman passed among the fakirs, who escorted her with their wild, religious cries.
Phileas Fogg and his companions followed; and in two minutes they reached the banks of the stream. Then they stopped fifty paces from the pyre, upon which still lay the rajahs corpse. They saw the victim, quite senseless, stretched out beside her husbands body. Then a torch was brought, and the wood, heavily soaked with oil, instantly took fire[73].