In Which Phileas Fogg and His Companions Venture
across the Indian Forests, and What Follows
In order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to the left of
the line where the railway was still in process of being built.
This line, owing to the capricious turnings of the Vindhia
Mountains, did not pursue a straight course. The Parsee, who was
quite familiar with the roads and paths in the district, declared
that they would gain twenty miles by striking directly through
the forest.
Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, plunged to the neck in the
peculiar howdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled by the
swift trotting of the elephant, spurred on as he was by the
skillful Parsee. But they endured the discomfort with true
British phlegm, talking little, and scarcely able to catch a
glimpse of each other.
As for Passepartout, who was mounted on the beast's back, and
received the direct force of each concussion as he walked along,
he was very careful, in accordance with his master's advice, to
keep his tongue from between his teeth, as it would otherwise
have been bitten off short. The worthy fellow bounced from the
elephant's neck to his rump, and vaulted like a clown on a
spring-board; yet he laughed in the midst of his bouncing, and
from time to time took a piece of sugar out of his pocket, and
inserted it in Kiouni's trunk, who received it without in the
least slackening his regular trot.
After two hours the guide stopped the elephant, and gave him an
hour for rest, during which Kiouni, after quenching his thirst at
a neighboring spring, set to devouring the branches and shrubs
round about him. Neither Sir Francis nor Mr. Fogg regretted the
delay, and both descended with a feeling of relief. "Why, he's
made of iron!" exclaimed the general, gazing admiringly on
Kiouni.
"Of forged iron," replied Passepartout, as he set about preparing
a hasty breakfast.
At noon the Parsee gave the signal of departure. The country soon
presented a very savage aspect. Copses of dates and dwarf-palms
succeeded the dense forests; then vast, dry plains, dotted with
scanty shrubs, and sown with great blocks of syenite. All this
portion of Bundelcund, which is little frequented by travelers,
is inhabited by a fanatical population, hardened in the most
horrible practices of the Hindoo faith. The English have not been
able to secure complete dominion over this territory, which is
subjected to the influence of rajahs, whom it is almost
impossible to reach in their inaccessible mountain retreats. The
travelers several times saw bands of ferocious Indians, who, when
they perceived the elephant striding across-country, made angry
and threatening motions. The Parsee avoided them as much as
possible. Few animals were observed on the route. Even the
monkeys hurried from their path with contortions and grimaces
which convulsed Passepartout with laughter.
In the midst of his gaiety, however, one thought troubled the
worthy servant. What would Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when he
got to Allahabad? Would he carry him on with him? Impossible! The
cost of transporting him would make him ruinously expensive.
Would he sell him, or set him free? The estimable beast certainly
deserved some consideration. Should Mr. Fogg choose to make him,
Passepartout, a present of Kiouni, he would be very much
embarrassed. These thoughts did not cease worrying him for a long
time.
The principal chain of the Vindhias was crossed by eight in the
evening, and another halt was made on the northern slope, in a
ruined bungalow. They had gone nearly twenty-five miles that day,
and an equal distance still separated them from the station of
Allahabad.
The night was cold. The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a
few dry branches, and the warmth was much appreciated. Provisions
purchased at Kholby sufficed for supper, and the travelers ate
ravenously. The conversation, beginning with a few disconnected
phrases, soon gave place to loud and steady snores. The guide
watched Kiouni, who slept standing, bolstering himself against
the trunk of a large tree. Nothing occurred during the night to
disturb the slumberers, although occasional growls from panthers
and chatterings of monkeys broke the silence; the more formidable
beasts made no cries or hostile demonstration against the
occupants of the bungalow. Sir Francis slept heavily, like an
honest soldier overcome with fatigue. Passepartout was wrapped in
uneasy dreams of the bouncing of the day before. As for Mr. Fogg,
he slumbered as peacefully as if he had been in his serene
mansion in Saville Row.
The journey was resumed at six in the morning. The guide hoped to
reach Allahabad by evening. In that case, Mr. Fogg would only
lose a part of the forty-eight hours saved since the beginning of
the tour. Kiouni, resuming his rapid gait, soon descended the
lower spurs of the Vindhias, and towards noon they passed by the
village of Kallenger, on the Cani, one of the branches of the
Ganges. The guide avoided inhabited places, thinking it safer to
keep the open country, which lies along the first depressions of
the basin of the great river. Allahabad was now only twelve miles
to the northeast They stopped under a clump of bananas, the fruit
of which, as healthy as bread and as succulent as cream, was
eaten and appreciated.
At two o'clock the guide entered a thick forest which extended
several miles. He preferred to travel under cover of the woods.
They had not as yet had any unpleasant encounters, and the
journey seemed on the point of being successfully accomplished,
when the elephant, becoming restless, suddenly stopped.
It was then four o'clock.
"What's the matter?" asked Sir Francis, putting out his head.
"I don't know, officer," replied the Parsee, listening
attentively to a confused murmur which came through the thick
branches.
The murmur soon became more distinct. It now seemed like a
distant concert of human voices accompanied by brass instruments.
Passepartout was all eyes and ears. Mr. Fogg patiently waited
without a word. The Parsee jumped to the ground, fastened the
elephant to a tree, and plunged into the thicket. He soon
returned, saying: "A procession of Brahmins is coming this way.
We must prevent their seeing us, if possible."
The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, at
the same time asking the travelers not to stir. He held himself
ready to bestride the animal at a moment's notice, should flight
become necessary; but he evidently thought that the procession of
the faithful would pass without perceiving them amid the thick
foliage, in which they were wholly concealed.
The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer,
and now droning songs mingled with the sound of the tambourines
and cymbals. The head of the procession soon appeared beneath the
trees, a hundred paces away; and the strange figures who
performed the religious ceremony were easily distinguished
through the branches. First came the priests, with mitres on
their heads, and clothed in long lace robes. They were surrounded
by men, women and children, who sang a kind of lugubrious psalm,
interrupted at regular intervals by the tambourines and cymbals;
while behind them was drawn a car with large wheels, the spokes
of which represented serpents entwined with each other. Upon the
car, which was drawn by four richly caparisoned zebus, stood a
hideous statue with four arms, the body colored a dull red, with
haggard eyes, dishevelled hair, protruding tongue, and lips
tinted with betel. It stood upright upon the figure of a
prostrate and headless giant.
Sir Francis, recognizing the statue, whispered, "The goddess
Kali. The goddess of love and death."
"Of death, perhaps," muttered Passepartout, "but of love--that
ugly old hag? Never!"
The Parsee made a motion to keep silent.
A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado round
the statue. They were striped with ochre, and covered with cuts
whence their blood issued drop by drop--stupid fanatics, who, in
the great Indian ceremonies, still throw themselves under the
wheels of Juggernaut. Some Brahmins, clad in all the
sumptuousness of Oriental apparel, and leading a woman who
faltered at every step, followed. This woman was young, and as
fair as an European. Her head and neck, shoulders, ears, arms,
hands and toes were loaded down with jewels and gems--with
bracelets, earrings and rings; while a tunic bordered with gold,
and covered with a light muslin robe, betrayed the outline of her
form.
The guards who followed the young woman presented a violent
contrast to her, armed as they were with naked sabres hung at
their waists, and long damascened pistols, and bearing a corpse
on a palanquin. It was the body of an old man, gorgeously
arrayed in the dress of a rajah, wearing, as in life, a turban
embroidered with pearls, a robe of tissue of silk and gold, a
scarf of cashmere sewed with diamonds and the magnificent weapons
of a Hindoo prince. Next came the musicians and a rearguard of
capering fakirs, whose cries sometimes drowned the noise of the
instruments. These closed the procession.
Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad countenance, and,
turning to the guide, said, "A suttee."
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.
Occasionally cries were heard in the distance, until at last all
was silence again.
Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as the
procession had disappeared, asked: "What is a suttee?"
"A suttee," returned the general, "is a human sacrifice, but a
voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned
tomorrow at the dawn of day."
"Oh, the scoundrels!" cried Passepartout, who could not repress
his indignation.
"And the corpse?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"Is that of the prince, her husband," said the guide. "An
independent rajah of Bundelcund."
"Is it possible," resumed Phileas Fogg, his voice betraying not
the least emotion, "that these barbarous customs still exist in
India, and that the English have been unable to put a stop to
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 whole
district north of the Vindhias is the theatre of incessant
murders and pillage."
"The poor wretch!" exclaimed Passepartout. "To be burned alive!"
"Yes," returned Sir Francis, "burned alive. And, if she were not,
you cannot conceive what treatment she would be obliged to submit
to from her relatives. They would shave off her hair, feed her on
a scanty allowance of rice, treat her with contempt. She would be
looked upon as an unclean creature, and would die in some corner,
like a scurvy dog. The prospect of so frightful an existence
drives these poor creatures to the sacrifice much more than love
or religious fanaticism. Sometimes, however, the sacrifice is
really voluntary, and it requires the active interference of the
Government to prevent it. Several years ago, when I was living at
Bombay, a young widow asked permission of the governor to be
burned along with her husband's body; but, as you may imagine, he
refused. The woman left the town, took refuge with an independent
rajah, and there carried out her self-devoted purpose."
While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several
times, and now said: "The sacrifice which 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 seem to be making any
resistance," observed Sir Francis.
"That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and
opium."
"But where are they taking her?"
"To the pagoda of Pillaji, 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 now led the elephant out of the thicket, and leaped
upon his neck. Just at the moment that he was about to urge
Kiouni forward with a peculiar whistle, Mr. Fogg stopped him,
and, turning to Sir Francis Cromarty, said, "Suppose we save this
woman."
"Save the woman, Mr. Fogg!"
"I have yet twelve hours to spare. I can devote them to that."
"Why, you are a man of heart!"
"Sometimes," replied Phileas Fogg, quietly, "when I have the
time."