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Around the World in Eighty Days
Chapter 12. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND HIS COMPANIONS VENTURE ACROSS THE INDIAN FORESTS, AND WHAT ENSUED
In order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to the left of the line where the railway was still being built.
This line, because of the strange turnings of the Vindhias Mountains, didn't go straight.
The Parsee, who knew the roads and paths in the district well, said they'd gain twenty miles by going directly through the forest.
Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty sat up to their necks in the covered seats provided for them.
They were badly shaken by the elephant's quick trot, urged on by the skilled Parsee.
They endured the discomfort with true British calm, talking little and hardly able to see each other.
Passepartout was sitting on the beast's back and felt every shock as it walked.
Following his master's advice, he was very careful to keep his tongue from between his teeth.
Or it would have been bitten off.
The worthy man bounced from the elephant's neck to his rump and sprang like a clown on a spring board.
He laughed as he bounced on the elephant's neck and rump.
Sometimes he took a sugar piece from his pocket and put it in Kiouni's trunk, who took it without slowing his trot.
After two hours the guide stopped the elephant and gave him an hour to rest.
Kiouni drank at a nearby spring and then began to eat the branches and shrubs around him.
Neither Sir Francis nor Mr. Fogg was sorry for the delay, and both got down with a feeling of relief.
"Why, he's made of iron!" cried the general, looking at Kiouni with admiration.
"Of forged iron," said Passepartout, as he began to make a quick breakfast.
At noon the Parsee gave the signal to leave, the country soon looked wild.
Groups of date trees and dwarf palms followed the dense forests.
Then wide dry plains, with small bushes, and large blocks of rock.
All this part of Bundelcund, which few travellers visit, is lived in by a fanatical people, used to the worst practices of the Hindoo faith.
The English have not been able to fully control this land, which is under the power of rajahs.
It is almost impossible to reach those rajahs in their strong mountain places.
The travellers several times saw bands of fierce Indians, who, when they saw the elephant walking across the land, made angry and threatening moves.
The Parsee avoided them as much as he could.
Few animals were seen on the route, even the monkeys hurried from their path with odd faces that made Passepartout laugh.
In the middle of his fun, however, one thought worried the worthy servant.
What would Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when he got to Allahabad?
Would he take him further? Impossible.
The cost of moving him would make him ruinously expensive.
Would he sell him, or set him free?
The good beast certainly deserved some care.
If Mr. Fogg chose to give Kiouni to Passepartout, he'd be very embarrassed.
These thoughts kept worrying him for a long time.
They crossed the main chain of the Vindhias by eight in the evening, and stopped on the northern slope, in a ruined bungalow.
They had gone nearly twenty five miles that day, and an equal distance still lay between them and the station of Allahabad.
The night was cold and the travellers shivered beside the small welcome fire.
The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a few dry branches, and the warmth was very welcome.
Provisions bought at Kholby were enough for supper, and the travellers ate hungrily.
The talk, starting with a few short phrases, soon gave place to loud and steady snores.
The guide watched Kiouni, who slept standing, leaning against the trunk of a large tree.
Nothing happened during the night to wake the sleepers.
Now and then growls from panthers and chattering monkeys broke the silence.
The more dangerous beasts made no cries or attacks on the bungalow.
Sir Francis slept heavily, like an honest soldier beaten by fatigue.
Passepartout was wrapped in uneasy dreams of the bouncing of the day before.
As for Mr. Fogg, he slept as peacefully as if he had been in his calm house in Saville Row.
They started again at six in the morning, the guide hoped to reach Allahabad by evening.
In that case, Mr. Fogg would only lose part of the forty eight hours saved since the start of the tour.
Kiouni took up his fast pace and soon went down the lower slopes of the Vindhias.
Towards noon they passed the village of Kallenger on the Cani, one of the branches of the Ganges.
The guide avoided inhabited places, thinking it safer to keep the open country, which lies along the first low areas of the great river's basin.
Allahabad was now only twelve miles to the north east.
They stopped under a group of banana trees, the fruit of which, as healthy as bread and as juicy as cream, was eaten and enjoyed.
At two o'clock the guide went into a thick forest that stretched for several miles, he preferred to travel under cover of the woods.
They hadn't yet had any bad meetings, and the journey seemed likely to end well, when the elephant, growing uneasy, suddenly stopped.
It was then four o'clock in the afternoon, and the sun was low.
"What's the matter?" asked Sir Francis, putting out his head.
"I don't know, officer," said the Parsee, listening hard to a confused sound that came through the thick branches.
The sound soon became clearer, it now seemed like a far off concert of human voices with brass instruments.
Passepartout was all eyes and ears.
Mr. Fogg waited quietly without a word.
The Parsee jumped to the ground, tied the elephant to a tree, and went into the thicket, he soon came back, saying,
"A procession of Brahmins is coming this way. We must stop them from seeing us, if we can."
The guide untied the elephant and led him into a thicket, at the same time asking the travellers not to move.
He was ready to mount the animal at a moment's notice if flight became necessary.
He clearly thought the procession of the faithful would pass without seeing them in the thick leaves where they were hidden.
The harsh tones of the voices and instruments came nearer, and now low songs mixed with the sound of tambourines and cymbals.
The head of the group soon showed under the trees, a hundred paces away.
The strange people taking part in the ceremony were easy to see through the branches.
First came the priests, with tall hats on their heads, and wearing long lace robes.
They were surrounded by men, women, and children who sang a kind of sad song, sometimes stopped by the tambourines and cymbals.
Behind them a cart with large wheels, whose spokes looked like snakes twisted together, was pulled along.
On the cart, which was drawn by four richly dressed zebus, stood a horrible statue with four arms.
Its body was a dull red, its eyes wild, its hair loose, its tongue sticking out, and its lips stained with betel.
It stood above the figure of a lying and headless giant.
Sir Francis, knowing the statue, whispered, "The goddess Kali, the goddess of love and death."
"Of death, perhaps," said Passepartout back, "but of love that ugly old hag? Never!"
The Parsee made a sign to be quiet.
A group of old fakirs were jumping and making a wild show round the statue.
They were striped with ochre and had cuts that let their blood drop little by little.
These stupid fanatics, who in the great Indian ceremonies still throw themselves under the wheels of Juggernaut, made a wild sight.
Some Brahmins, dressed in all the richness of Oriental clothes, and leading a woman who faltered at every step, followed.
This woman was young, and as fair as a European.
Her head and neck, shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and toes were full of jewels and gems with bracelets, earrings, and rings.
A tunic edged with gold, and a thin muslin robe over it, showed the outline of her form.
The guards who followed the young woman were a strong contrast to her.
They were armed with naked sabres at their waists, long decorated pistols, and carried a corpse on a palanquin.
It was the body of an old man, richly dressed in the clothes of a rajah.
He wore a turban with pearls, a robe of silk and gold, cashmere scarf with diamonds, weapons of a Hindoo prince.
Next came the musicians and a rear group of dancing fakirs, whose cries sometimes drowned the sound of the instruments, these closed the procession.
Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad face, and, turning to the guide, said, "A suttee."
The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips.
The procession slowly moved under the trees, and soon its last ranks went deep into the wood.
The songs slowly faded, sometimes cries were heard far away, until at last all was quiet again.
Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as the procession had gone, asked, "What's a suttee?"
"A suttee," said the general.
"Is a human sacrifice, but a voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned tomorrow at the first light."
"Oh, the scoundrels!" cried Passepartout, who couldn't hold back his anger.
"And the corpse?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"Is that of the prince, her husband," said the guide, "an independent rajah of Bundelcund."
"Is it possible," said Phileas Fogg, his voice showing no emotion.
"That these cruel customs still exist in India, and that the English haven't been able to stop them?"
"These sacrifices don't happen in most of India," said Sir Francis.
"But we have no power over these wild lands, and especially here in Bundelcund."
"The whole district north of the Vindhias is the place of constant murders and pillage."
"The poor wretch!" cried Passepartout, "to be burned alive!"
"Yes," said Sir Francis.
"Burned alive."
"If she were not burned, her family would shave her head, give little rice, treat her as unclean, and she would die like a dog."
"The thought of such a life often forces poor women to the sacrifice more than love or religion, though sometimes the sacrifice is truly voluntary."
"And it takes active work by the Government to stop it."
Years ago, when I lived in Bombay, a young widow asked the governor to let her be burned with her husband's body, but he refused.
"The woman left the town, took refuge with an independent rajah, and there carried out her self chosen fate."
While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several times, and now said,
"The sacrifice that'll take place tomorrow at dawn isn't a voluntary one."
"How do you know?"
"Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund."
"But the poor woman didn't seem to resist," said Sir Francis.
"That was because they had made her drunk with fumes of hemp and opium."
"But where are they taking her?"
"To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here, she'll spend the night there."
"And the sacrifice will take place, "
"Tomorrow, at the first light of dawn."
The guide now led the elephant out of the thicket, and jumped on his neck.
Just as he was about to urge Kiouni forward with a special whistle, Mr.
Fogg stopped him, and, turning to Sir Francis Cromarty, said,
Fogg stopped him, and, turning to Sir Francis Cromarty, said,
"Suppose we save this woman."
"Save the woman, Mr. Fogg!"
"I've yet twelve hours to spare. I can use them for that."
"Why, you're a man of heart!"
"Sometimes," said Phileas Fogg, calmly, "when I have the time."