In Which Passepartout Is Only Too Glad
to Get off with the Loss of His Shoes
Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with
its base in the north and its apex in the south, which is called
India, embraces fourteen hundred thousand square miles, upon
which is spread unequally a population of one hundred and eighty
millions of souls. The British Crown exercises a real and
despotic dominion over the larger portion of this vast country,
and has a governor-general stationed at Calcutta, governors at
Madras, Bombay and in Bengal, and a lieutenant-governor at Agra.
But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven
hundred thousand square miles, and a population of from one
hundred to one hundred and ten millions of inhabitants. A
considerable portion of India is still free from British
authority; and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interior
who are absolutely independent. The celebrated East India Company
was all-powerful from 1756, when the English first gained a
foothold on the spot where now stands the city of Madras, down to
the time of the great Sepoy insurrection. It gradually annexed
province after province, purchasing them of the native chiefs,
whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-general and his
subordinates, civil and military. But the East India Company has
now passed away, leaving the British possessions in India
directly under the control of the Crown. The aspect of the
country, as well as the manners and distinctions of race, is
daily changing.
Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old unwieldy
methods of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or
unwieldy coaches. Now fast steamboats ply on the Indus and the
Ganges, and a great railway, with branch lines joining the main
line at many points on its route, traverses the peninsula from
Bombay to Calcutta in three days. This railway does not run in a
direct line across India. The distance between Bombay and
Calcutta, as the bird flies, is only from one thousand to eleven
hundred miles; but the deflections of the road increase this
distance by more than a third.
The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as
follows: Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to
the continent opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the Western
Ghauts, runs thence northeast as far as Burhampoor, skirts the
nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to
Allahabad, turns towards the east, meeting the Ganges at Benares,
then departs from the river a little, and, descending
southeastward by Burdivan and the French town of Chandernagor,
ends at Calcutta.
The passengers of the Mongolia went ashore at half-past four P.M.
At exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta.
Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-by to his whist partners, left the
steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon
him to be at the station promptly at eight, and, with his
regular step, which beat to the second, like an astronomical
clock, directed his steps to the passport office. As for
the wonders of Bombay--its famous city hall, its splendid
library, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues,
its Armenian churches and the noble pagoda on Malabar Hill, with
its two polygonal towers--he cared not a straw to see them. He
would not deign to examine even the masterpieces of Elephanta, or
the mysterious hypogea, concealed southeast from the docks, or
those fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian
grottoes of the island of Salcette.
Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas
Fogg repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordered
dinner. Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord
especially recommended a certain giblet of "native rabbit," on
which he prided himself.
Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced
sauce, found it far from palatable. He rang for the landlord,
and, on his appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, "Is
this rabbit, Sir?"
"Yes, my lord," the rogue boldly replied, "rabbit from the
jungles."
"And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?"
"Mew, my lord! What, a rabbit mew! I swear to you--"
"Be so good, landlord, as not to swear, but remember this: cats
were formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals. That was a
good time."
"For the cats, my lord?"
"Perhaps for the travelers as well."
After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner.
Meanwhile Fix had gone on shore shortly after Mr. Fogg, and his
first destination was the headquarters of the Bombay police. He
made himself known as a London detective, told his business at
Bombay, and the position of affairs relative to the supposed
robber, and nervously asked if a warrant had arrived from London.
It had not reached the office; indeed, there had not yet been
time for it to arrive. Fix was very disappointed, and tried to
obtain an order of arrest from the director of the Bombay police.
But the director refused, as the matter concerned the London
office, which alone could legally deliver the warrant. Fix did
not insist, and resigned himself to await the arrival of the
important document. But he was determined not to lose sight of
the mysterious rogue as long as he stayed in Bombay. He did not
doubt for a moment, any more than Passepartout, that Phileas
Fogg would remain there, at least until it was time for the
warrant to arrive.
Passepartout, however, had no sooner heard his master's orders on
leaving the Mongolia than he saw at once that they were to leave
Bombay as they had done Suez and Paris, and that the journey
would be extended at least as far as Calcutta, and perhaps beyond
that place. He began to ask himself if this bet that Mr. Fogg
talked about was not really in good earnest, and whether his fate
was not in truth forcing him, despite his love of repose, around
the world in eighty days!
Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and shoes, he took a
leisurely promenade about the streets, where crowds of people of
many nationalities--Europeans, Persians with pointed caps, Banyas
with round turbans, Sindes with square bonnets, Parsees with
black mitres and long-robed Armenians--were collected. It
happened to be the day of a Parsee festival. These descendants of
the sect of Zoroaster--the most thrifty, civilized, intelligent
and austere of the East Indians, among whom are counted the
richest native merchants of Bombay--were celebrating a sort of
religious carnival, with processions and shows, in the midst of
which Indian dancing-girls, clothed in rose-colored gauze, looped
up with gold and silver, danced airily, but with perfect modesty,
to the sound of viols and the clanging of tambourines. It is
needless to say that Passepartout watched these curious
ceremonies with staring eyes and gaping mouth, and that his
countenance was that of the greenest booby imaginable.
Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drew
him unconsciously farther off than he intended to go. At last,
having seen the Parsee carnival wind away in the distance, he was
turning his steps towards the station, when he happened to see
the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, and was seized with an
irresistible desire to view its interior. He was quite ignorant
that it is forbidden to Christians to enter certain Indian
temples, and that even the faithful must not go in without first
leaving their shoes outside the door. It may be said here that
the wise policy of the British Government severely punishes a
disregard of the practices of the native religions.
Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple
tourist, and was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin
ornamentation which everywhere met his eyes, when suddenly he
found himself sprawling on the sacred flagging. He looked up to
behold three enraged priests, who fell upon him, tore off his
shoes and began to beat him with loud, savage exclamations. The
agile Frenchman was soon upon his feet again, and lost no time in
knocking down two of his long-gowned adversaries with his fists
and vigorous kicks. Then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as
his legs could carry him, he escaped the third priest by mingling
with the crowd in the streets.
At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless,
and having in the squabble lost his package of shirts
and shoes, rushed breathlessly into the station.
Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he
was really going to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform.
He had resolved to follow the supposed robber to Calcutta, and
farther, if necessary. Passepartout did not observe the
detective, who stood in an obscure corner; but Fix heard him
relate his adventures in a few words to Mr. Fogg.
"I hope that this will not happen again," said Phileas Fogg
coldly, as he got into the train. Poor Passepartout, quite
crest-fallen, followed his master without a word. Fix was on the
point of entering another carriage, when an idea struck him which
induced him to alter his plan.
"No, I'll stay," muttered he. "An offence has been committed on
Indian soil. I've got my man."
Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train
passed out into the darkness of the night.