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Chapter XIV 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 "***" 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 ***, 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 ***
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.