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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 travelling-blanket, was reposing in one of the
howdahs.
The elephant, thanks to the skilful 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 county, and would, despite the English police, recover their
victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta. She would only be safe
by quitting India for ever.
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, whilst 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,
being 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 modelled 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 acceptation
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; which 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," said he 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 honour is giving me a fortune!" cried he.
"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
habiliments, and with travellers 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; though the Benares of to-day, which the Orientalists
call the Athens of India, stands quite unpoetically on the 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 being 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; and, 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
travellers 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, anglicised as it is to-day, 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 travellers
could scarcely discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles south-westward
from Benares, the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or
Ghazipur and its famous rose-water factories; 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, edgetool 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; and 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-hand 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.
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