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Chapter X 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 unwieldy 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 an 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 *** 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.