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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 cumbrous
methods of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or unwieldly
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 north-east as far as Burhampoor, skirts the
nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to Allahabad,
turns thence eastwardly, meeting the Ganges at Benares, then departs
from the river a little, and, descending south-eastward by Burdivan
and the French town of Chandernagor, has its terminus 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-bye 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 a 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 south-east 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 travellers as well!"
After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner. 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
sorely disappointed, and tried to obtain an order of arrest from
the director of the Bombay police. This the director refused,
as the matter concerned the London office, which alone could legally
deliver the warrant. Fix did not insist, and was fain to resign
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, civilised, 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-coloured 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 espy the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, and was seized with
an irresistible desire to see 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 of a sudden
he found himself sprawling on the sacred flagging. He looked up
to behold three enraged priests, who forthwith 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 a vigorous application of his toes; then, rushing
out of the pagoda as fast as his legs could carry him, he soon
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
crestfallen, 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.
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