Read the chapter
Around the World in Eighty Days
Chapter 14. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DESCENDS THE WHOLE LENGTH OF THE BEAUTIFUL VALLEY OF THE GANGES WITHOUT EVER THINKING OF SEEING IT
The bold act had been done.
For an hour Passepartout laughed happily about his success.
Sir Francis pressed the worthy fellow's hand, and his master said, "Well done!" which from him was high praise.
Passepartout answered that all the credit belonged to Mr. Fogg.
He said he had only had a strange idea.
He laughed to think that for minutes Passepartout, ex-gymnast and ex-sergeant fireman, had been husband of a charming woman and honored rajah.
The young Indian woman had been unconscious the whole time, and now, wrapped in a travelling blanket, she was resting in one of the howdahs.
Thanks to the Parsee, the elephant moved quickly through the dark forest and an hour after leaving the pagoda crossed a plain.
They stopped at seven o'clock, the young woman still very weak.
The guide made her drink a little brandy and water, but the sleep that had held her wouldn't go away.
Sir Francis, who knew the effects of hemp fumes, reassured the others about her.
He was more worried about her future.
He told Phileas Fogg that if Aouda stayed in India she'd very likely fall again into the hands of her killers.
These fanatics were spread through the area and would, in spite of the English police, get their victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta.
She'd only be safe if she left India for good.
Phileas Fogg said he'd think about it.
They reached the station at Allahabad at about ten o'clock.
The interrupted railway line was back, and would let them reach Calcutta in less than twenty four hours.
Phileas Fogg could arrive in time to take the steamer that left Calcutta the next day, October 25th, at noon, for Hong Kong.
The young woman was put in a station waiting room while Passepartout was told to buy her clothes, a shawl and furs.
His master gave him all the money he needed.
Passepartout went out at once and found himself in the streets of Allahabad, the City of God.
It is one of the most holy cities in India, built where the two sacred rivers Ganges and Jumna meet.
Pilgrims come from all over the peninsula to its waters.
The Ganges, the legends say, comes from heaven, and, by Brahma's action, it came down to earth.
As he bought things, Passepartout made a point of looking at the city.
It once had a fine fort, which is now a state prison.
Its trade had fallen, and Passepartout searched for a market like the one in Regent Street but could not find it.
At last he found an older, rough Jew who sold second hand goods.
He bought a Scotch cloth dress, a large mantle, and a fine otter-skin coat, and didn't hesitate to pay seventy five pounds.
He then returned proudly to the station.
The influence that the priests of Pillaji had put on Aouda began to go away, and she became herself again.
Her fine eyes came back to their soft Indian look.
When the poet-king Ucaf Uddaul praises the queen of Ahmehnagara he says this.
"Her shining hair, split in two parts, goes around the soft shape of her white and fine cheeks, bright and fresh."
"Her black brows have the form and charm of Kama's bow, the god of love."
"Under her long silk lashes the purest light swims in the black pupils of her great clear eyes, as in the sacred lakes of Himalaya."
"Her teeth, fine, even, and white, shine between her smiling lips like drops on a passion flower."
Her small ears, red hands, and little feet, bent and tender like a lotus bud, shine with Ceylon pearls and Golconda diamonds.
"Her narrow soft waist, small enough for a hand to hold, shows the line of her round figure and the beauty of her bosom."
"There youth, like a flower, shows its wealth of treasures."
"Under the silk of her tunic she seems to have been shaped in pure silver by Vicvarcarma, the immortal sculptor."
It's enough to say, without using this poetic praise for Aouda, that she was a charming woman in the European sense.
She spoke English very well, and the guide hadn't been wrong in saying that the young Parsee had been changed by her upbringing.
The train was about to leave Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg paid the guide the agreed price, not a penny more.
This surprised Passepartout, who remembered all that his master owed to the guide's devotion.
The guide had risked his life at Pillaji, and if he were caught later by the Indians he'd have a hard time escaping their revenge.
Kiouni also had to be dealt with.
What should be done with the elephant that had been bought at great cost? Phileas Fogg had already decided.
"Parsee," he said to the guide, "you have been useful and loyal."
"I have paid you for your service, but not for your loyalty, if you wish, this elephant is yours".
The guide's eyes shone with deep feeling and a bright, grateful light.
"Your honour is giving me a fortune!" he cried.
"Take him, guide," Mr. Fogg replied, "and I'll still be your debtor."
"Good!" Passepartout cried.
"Take him, friend. Kiouni is a brave and faithful beast."
Then he went up to the elephant and gave him several lumps of sugar, saying, "Here, Kiouni, here, here.".
The elephant grunted with pleasure, and, wrapping his trunk around Passepartout's waist, lifted him as high as his head.
Passepartout wasn't at all afraid, he stroked the animal, which put him gently back on the ground.
Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty and Passepartout, with Aouda in the best seat, moved at full speed toward Benares.
It was a run of eighty miles and took two hours.
During the journey the young woman fully woke up.
She was surprised to find herself in this carriage on the railway, dressed in European clothes, with travellers she didn't know.
Her companions first tried to revive her with a little drink, and then Sir Francis told her what had happened.
He talked about the courage with which Phileas Fogg had risks his life to save her.
And he told the happy result of Passepartout's bold idea.
Mr. Fogg said nothing, while Passepartout, embarrassed, kept repeating that "it wasn't worth telling."
Aouda thanked her rescuers with tears rather than words.
Her fine eyes showed her gratitude more than her lips.
Then, as she thought of the sacrifice scene and remembered the dangers that still threatened her, she shuddered with fear.
Phileas Fogg understood Aouda and offered to go with her to Hong Kong, where she could stay safe until the danger passed.
She accepted his offer eagerly and gratefully, with tears and a bright smile.
She had, it seems, a Parsee relative who was one of the main traders of Hong Kong.
Hong Kong is an English city, though it is on an island off the Chinese coast.
At half past twelve the train stopped at Benares.
Brahmin stories say this city was built on old Casi, which, like Mahomet's tomb, was once held between heaven and earth.
The Benares of today, which the Orientalists call the Athens of India, stands on solid ground.
Passepartout saw its brick houses and clay huts, which made the place look poor as the train entered it.
Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty's stop.
The troops he was joining were camped some miles north of the city.
He said goodbye to Phileas Fogg, wishing him success, and hoping he'd come this way again in a less strange but more useful way.
Mr. Fogg pressed his hand lightly.
Aouda's farewell showed more warmth because she didn't forget what she owed to Sir Francis.
As for Passepartout, he got a strong shake of the hand from the brave general.
After leaving Benares the railway ran for a while along the valley of the Ganges.
Through the carriage windows the travellers saw the changing landscape of Behar.
It had green hills, fields of barley, wheat, and corn, jungles with green alligators, neat villages, and still leafy forests.
Elephants bathed in the sacred river, and groups of Indians, despite the late season and cold, did their holy baths.
These were fervent Brahmins, the bitterest enemies of Buddhism.
Their gods were Vishnu, the sun god, Shiva, the god of natural forces, and Brahma, the chief ruler of priests and law makers.
What would these gods think of India anglicised today?
Steamers whistle along the Ganges, frightening gulls on its surface, turtles on its banks, and the faithful on its shores.
The scene passed before their eyes like a flash, except when steam from the engine hid it for a moment.
The travellers could hardly see the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles south west of Benares, the old stronghold of the rajahs of Behar.
They could hardly see Ghazipur with its well-known rose-water factories, nor the tomb of Lord Cornwallis rising on the left bank of the Ganges.
They also couldn't make out the fortified town of Buxar or Patna, a large manufacturing and trading place where India's main opium market is held.
They could hardly see Monghir, a town more than European, as English as Manchester or Birmingham.
It had iron works, tool factories, and tall chimneys sending black smoke up to the sky.
Night came, the train moved fast, in the noise of tigers, bears, and wolves that ran from the locomotive.
The wonders of Bengal, Golconda, ruined Gour, Murshedabad the old capital, and Burdwan were hidden in the dark.
Hugly and the French town of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would have been proud to see his country's flag, were also hidden.
They reached Calcutta at seven in the morning, and the packet left for Hong Kong at noon.
Phileas Fogg had five hours to spare.
According to his journal he was to be at Calcutta on the 25th of October, and that was the exact date of his arrival.
He was therefore neither behind nor ahead of time.
The two days he had gained between London and Bombay had been lost, as we saw, in the journey across India.
But it isn't to be thought that Phileas Fogg was sorry for them.