In Which Phileas Fogg Descends the Whole Length of the
Beautiful Valley of the Ganges without Ever Thinking of Seeing It
The rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour
Passepartout laughed gaily at his success. Sir Francis pressed
the worthy fellow's hand, and his master said, "Well done!"
which, from him, was high commendation; to which Passepartout
replied that all the credit of the affair belonged to Mr. Fogg.
As for him, he had only been struck with a "queer" idea; and he
laughed to think that for a few moments he, Passepartout, the
ex-gymnast, ex-sergeant fireman, had been the spouse of a
charming woman, a venerable, embalmed rajah! As for the young
Indian woman, she had been unconscious throughout of what was
passing, and now, wrapped up in a traveling blanket, was
reposing in one of the howdahs.
The elephant, thanks to the skillful guidance of the Parsee, was
advancing rapidly through the still darksome forest, and, an hour
after leaving the pagoda, had crossed a vast plain.
They made a halt at seven o'clock, the young woman being still in
a state of complete prostration. The guide made her drink a
little brandy and water, but the drowsiness which stupefied her
could not yet be shaken off. Sir Francis, who was familiar with
the effects of the intoxication produced by the
fumes of hemp, reassured his companions on her account. But he
was more disturbed at the prospect of her future fate. He told
Phileas Fogg that, should Aouda remain in India, she would
inevitably fall again into the hands of her executioners. These
fanatics were scattered throughout the country, and would,
despite the English police, recover their victim at Madras,
Bombay, or Calcutta. She would only be safe by quitting India
forever.
Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.
The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o'clock, and, the
interrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable them to
reach Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours. Phileas Fogg would
thus be able to arrive in time to take the steamer which left
Calcutta the next day, October 25th, at noon, for Hong Kong.
The young woman was placed in one of the waiting-rooms of the
station, while Passepartout was charged with purchasing for her
various articles of toilet, a dress, shawl and some furs; for
which his master gave him unlimited credit. Passepartout started
off forthwith, and found himself in the streets of Allahabad,
that is, the City of God. One of the most venerated in India, it
was built at the junction of the two sacred rivers, Ganges and
Jumna, the waters of which attract pilgrims from every part of
the peninsula. The Ganges, according to the legends of the
Ramayana, rises in heaven, whence, owing to Brahma's agency, it
descends to the earth.
Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take a
good look at the city. It was formerly defended by a noble fort,
which has since become a state prison. Its commerce has dwindled
away, and Passepartout in vain looked about him for such a bazaar
as he used to frequent in Regent Street. At last he came upon an
elderly, crusty Jew, who sold second-hand articles, and from whom
he purchased a dress of Scotch stuff, a large mantle and a fine
otter-skin pelisse, for which he did not hesitate to pay
seventy-five pounds. He then returned triumphantly to the
station.
The influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda
began gradually to yield, and she became more herself, so that
her fine eyes resumed all their soft Indian expression.
When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms of the
queen of Ahmehnagara, he speaks thus: "Her shining tresses,
divided in two parts, encircle the harmonious contour of her
white and delicate cheeks, brilliant in their glow and freshness.
Her ebony brows have the form and charm of the bow of Kama, the
god of love, and beneath her long silken lashes the purest
reflections and a celestial light swim, as in the sacred lakes of
Himalaya, in the black pupils of her great clear eyes. Her teeth,
fine, equal and white, glitter between her smiling lips like
dewdrops in a passion-flower's half-enveloped breast. Her
delicately formed ears, her vermilion hands, her little feet,
curved and tender as the lotus-bud, glitter with the brilliancy
of the loveliest pearls of Ceylon, the most dazzling diamonds of
Golconda. Her narrow and supple waist, which a hand may clasp
around, sets forth the outline of her rounded figure and the
beauty of her bosom, where youth in its flower displays the
wealth of its treasures; and beneath the silken folds of her
tunic she seems to have been modeled in pure silver by the
godlike hand of Vicvarcarma, the immortal sculptor."
It is enough to say, without applying this poetical rhapsody to
Aouda, that she was a charming woman, in all the European
acceptance of the phrase. She spoke English with great purity,
and the guide had not exaggerated in saying that the young Parsee
had been transformed by her bringing up.
The train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg
proceeded to pay the guide the price agreed upon for his service,
and not a farthing more. This astonished Passepartout, who
remembered all that his master owed to the guide's devotion. He
had, indeed, risked his life in the adventure at Pillaji, and, if
he should be caught afterwards by the Indians, he would with
difficulty escape their vengeance. Kiouni, also, must be disposed
of. What should be done with the elephant, which had been so
dearly purchased? Phileas Fogg had already determined this
question.
"Parsee," he said to the guide, "you have been serviceable and
devoted. I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion.
Would you like to have this elephant? He is yours."
The guide's eyes glistened.
"Your honor is giving me a fortune!" he cried.
"Take him, guide," returned Mr. Fogg, "and I shall still be your
debtor."
"Good!" exclaimed Passepartout. "Take him, friend. Kiouni is a
brave and faithful beast." And, going up to the elephant, he gave
him several lumps of sugar, saying, "Here, Kiouni, here, here."
The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping
Passepartout around the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high
as his head. Passepartout, not in the least alarmed, caressed the
animal, which replaced him gently on the ground. Soon after,
Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty and Passepartout, installed in
a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat, were whirling at
full speed towards Benares. It was a run of eighty miles, and was
accomplished in two hours.
During the journey, the young woman fully recovered her senses.
What was her astonishment to find herself in this carriage, on
the railway, dressed in European clothes, and with travelers who
were quite strangers to her! Her companions first set about fully
reviving her with a little liquor, and then Sir Francis narrated
to her what had passed, dwelling upon the courage with which
Phileas Fogg had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, and
recounting the happy sequel of the venture, the result of
Passepartout's rash idea. Mr. Fogg said nothing; while
Passepartout, abashed, kept repeating that "it wasn't worth
telling."
Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears than
words. Her fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better than her
lips. Then, as her thoughts strayed back to the scene of the
sacrifice, and recalled the dangers which still menaced her, she
shuddered with terror.
Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda's mind, and
offered, in order to reassure her, to escort her to Hong Kong,
where she might remain safely until the affair was hushed up--an
offer which she eagerly and gratefully accepted. She had, it
seems, a Parsee relation, who was one of the principal merchants
of Hong Kong, which is wholly an English city, though on an
island on the Chinese coast.
At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares. The Brahmin
legends assert that this city is built on the site of the ancient
Casi, which, like Mahomet's tomb, was once suspended between
heaven and earth. But the Benares of today, which the
Orientalists call the Athens of India, stands quite unpoetically
on solid earth. Passepartout caught glimpses of its brick houses
and clay huts, giving an aspect of desolation to the place, as
the train entered it.
Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty's destination. The troops he was
rejoining were encamped some miles northward of the city. He bade
adieu to Phileas Fogg, wishing him all success, and expressing
the hope that he would come that way again in a less original but
more profitable fashion. Mr. Fogg lightly pressed him by the
hand. The parting of Aouda, who did not forget what she owed to
Sir Francis, betrayed more warmth. As for Passepartout, he
received a hearty shake of the hand from the gallant general.
The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the
valley of the Ganges. Through the windows of their carriage the
travelers had glimpses of the diversified landscape of Behar,
with its mountains clothed in verdure, its fields of barley,
wheat and corn, its jungles peopled with green alligators, its
neat villages and its still thickly-leaved forests. Elephants
were bathing in the waters of the sacred river, and groups of
Indians, despite the advanced season and chilly air, were
performing solemnly their pious ablutions. These were fervent
Brahmins, the bitterest foes of Buddhism, their deities being
Vishnu, the solar god, Shiva, the divine impersonation of natural
forces and Brahma, the supreme ruler of priests and legislators.
What would these divinities think of India? Anglicized as it is
today, with steamers whistling and scudding along the Ganges,
frightening the gulls which float upon its surface, the turtles
swarming along its banks and the faithful dwelling upon its
borders?
The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the
steam concealed it fitfully from the view. The travelers could
scarcely discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles southwestward
from Benares, the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or
Ghazipur and its famous rose-waterfactories; or the tomb of Lord
Cornwallis, rising on the left bank of the Ganges; the fortified
town of Buxar, or Patna, a large manufacturing and trading-place,
where is held the principal opium market of India; or Monghir, a
more than European town, for it is as English as Manchester or
Birmingham, with its iron foundries, edge-tool factories and high
chimneys puffing clouds of black smoke heavenward.
Night came on. The train passed on at full speed, in the midst of
the roaring of the tigers, bears and wolves which fled before the
locomotive. The marvels of Bengal, Golconda, ruined Gour,
Murshedabad, the ancient capital, Burdwan, Hugly and the French
town of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would have been proud to
see his country's flag flying, were hidden from their view in the
darkness.
Calcutta was reached at seven in the morning, and the packet left
for Hong Kong at noon; so that Phileas Fogg had five hours before
him.
According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th of
October, and that was the exact date of his actual arrival. He
was therefore neither behind nor ahead of time. The two days
gained between London and Bombay had been lost, as has been seen,
in the journey across India. But it is not to be supposed that
Phileas Fogg regretted them.