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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