《Around the World In 80 Days》 CHAPTER14
by Jules Verne
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 dark-some 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 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 dew-drops in a passion-flower's
half-enveloped breast. Her delicately formed ears, her vermillion 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 for his service, and not a farthing
more; which astonished Passepartout, who remembered all that this master
owed to the guide's devotion. He had, indeed, risked his life in the
adventure at Pillaji, and 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, anglicized 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, 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 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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