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12 - Around The World in Eighty Days - Jules Verne · Adventure Books Collection

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  Chapter twelve, in which Phileas Fogg and his companions venture across the Indian forests
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  and what ensued. In order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to
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  the left of the line where the railway was still in process of being built.
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  This line, owing to the capricious turnings of the Vindhia mountains, did
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  not pursue a straight course. The Parsi, who was quite familiar with the
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  roads and paths in the district, declared that they would gain twenty miles by
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  striking directly through the forest. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty plunged to the
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  neck in the peculiar howdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled by the swift
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  trotting of the elephant, spurred on as he was, by the skillful Parsi.
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  But they endured the discomfort with true British phlegm, talking little and scarcely
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  able to catch a glimpse of each other. As for Passepartout, who was
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  mounted on the beast's back and received the direct force of each cushion as he
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  trod along, he was very careful in accordance with his master's advice, to
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  keep his tongue from between his teeth, as it would otherwise have been bitten
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  off. Short the worthy fellow bounced from the elephant's neck to his rump,
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  and vaulted like a clown on a springboard. Yet he laughed in the midst
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  of his bouncing, and from time to time took a piece of sugar out
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  of his pocket and inserted it in Keyunie's trunk, who received it without in
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  the least slackening his regular trot. After two hours, the guide stopped the
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  elephant and gave him an hour for rest, during which Keiyuni, after quenching
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  his thirst at a neighboring spring, set to devouring the branches and shrubs round
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  about him. Neither Sir Francis nor mister Fogg regretted the delay, and both
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  descended with a feeling of relief. Why he is made of iron, exclaimed
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  the general, gazing admiringly on Keiyuni. Of forged Aarren replied, passepartout as
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  he set about preparing a hasty breakfast. At noon, the Parsi gave the
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  signal of departure. The country soon presented a very savage aspect. Copses of
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  dates and dwarf palms succeeded the dense forests, then vast dry plains, dotted
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  with scanty shrubs and sown with great blocks of seaonite. All this portion of
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  Bundelkund, which is little frequented by travelers, is inhabited by a fanatical population
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  hardened in the most horrible practices of the Hindu faith. The English have not
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  been able to secure complete dominion over this territory, which is subjected to the
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  influence of Rajas, whom it is almost impossible to reach in their inaccessible mountain
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  fastnesses. The travelers several times saw bands of ferocious Indians, who, when
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  they perceived the elephants striding across country, made angry and threatening motions. The
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  Parsi avoided them as much as possible. Few animals were observed on the route,
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  Even the monkeys hurried from their path with contortions and grimaces which convulse passepartout
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  with laughter in the midst of his gaiety. However, one thought troubled the
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  worthy servant. What would mister Fogg do with the elephant when he got to
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  Allahabad? Would he carry him on with him? Impossible? The cost of
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  transporting him would make him ruinously expensive. Would he sell him or set him
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  free? The estimable beast certainly deserves some consideration. Should mister Fogg choose to
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  make him passepartout a present of Chiuni, he would be very much embarrassed.
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  And these thoughts did not cease worrying him for a long time. The principal
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  chain of the Vindhias was crossed by eight in the evening, and another halt
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  was made on the northern slope in a ruined bungalow. They had gone nearly
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  twenty five miles that day, and an equal distance still separated them from the
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  station of Allahabad. The night was cold. The Parsi lit a fire in
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  the bungalow with a few dry branches, and the warmth was very grateful.
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  Provisions purchased at Colby sufficed for supper, and the travelers ate ravenously. The
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  conversation, beginning with a few disconnected phrases, soon gave place to loud and
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  steady snores. The guide watched Keyuni, who slept standing bolstering himself against the
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  trunk of a large tree. Nothing occurred during the night to disturb the slumberers,
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  although occasional growls from panthers and chatterings of monkeys broke the silence. The
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  more formidable beasts made no cries or hostile demonstration against the occupants of the bungalow.
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  Sir Francis slept heavily, like an honest soldier overcome with fatigue. Passepartout
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  was rapt in uneasy dreams of the bouncing of the day before. As for
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  mister Fogg, he slumbered as peacefully as if he had been in his serene
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  mansion in Savile Road. The journey was resumed at six in the morning.
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  The guide hoped to reach Allahabad by evening. In that case, mister Fogg
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  would only lose a part of the forty eight hours save since the beginning of
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  the tour. Kiyuni, resuming his rapid gait, soon descended the lower spurs
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  of the Vindhias, and towards noon they passed by the village of Kallinger on
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  the Khani, one of the branches of the Ganges. The guide avoided inhabited
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  places, thinking it safer to keep the open country which lies along the first
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  depressions of the basin of the great river. Allahabad was now only twelve miles
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  to the northeast. They stopped under a clump of bananas, the fruit of
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  which, as healthy as bread and as succulent as cream, was amply partaken
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  of and appreciated. At two o'clock, the guide entered a thick forest which
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  extended several miles. He preferred to travel under cover of the woods. They
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  had not as yet had any unpleasant encounters, and the journey seemed on the
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  point of being successfully accomplished when the elephant, becoming restless, suddenly stopped.
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  It was then four o'clock. What's the matter, asked Sir Francis, putting
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  out his head. I don't know, officer replied the parsis listening attentively to
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  a confused murmur, which came through the thick branches. The murmur soon became
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  more distinct. It now seemed like a distant concert of human voices accompanied by
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  brass instruments. Passepartout was all eyes and ears. Mister Fogg patiently waited without
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  a word. The Parsi jumped to the ground, fastened the elephant to a
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  tree, and plunged into the thicket. He soon returned, saying, if
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  procession of Brahmins is coming this way, we must prevent their seeing us,
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  if possible. The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket,
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  at the same time asking the travelers not to stir. He held himself ready
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  to bestride the animal at a moment's notice, should flight become necessary. But
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  he evidently thought that the procession of the faithful would pass without perceiving them.
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  Amid the thick foliage in which they were wholly concealed, the discordant tones of
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  the voices and instruments drew nearer, and now droning songs mingled with the sound
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  of the tambourines and cymbals. The head of the procession soon appeared beneath the
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  trees a hundred paces away, and the strange figures who performed the religious ceremony
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  were easily distinguished through the branches. First came the priests, with miters on
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  their heads and clothed in long lace robes. They were surrounded by men,
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  women, and children, who sang a kind of lugubrious psalm, interrupted at
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  regular intervals by the tambourines and cymbals, while behind them was drawn a car
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  with large wheels, the spokes of which represented serpents. Entwined with each other.
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  Upon the car, which was drawn by four richly caparaissan zebrus, stood
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  a hideous statue with four arms. The body colored a dull red with haggard
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  eyes, disheveled hair, protruding tongue, and lips tinted with betel. It
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  stood upright upon the figure of a prostrate and headless giant. Sir Francis,
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  recognizing the statue, whispered the goddess Collie, the goddess of love and death.
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  Of death perhaps muttered back passepartout, but of love, that ugly old
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  hag. Never the Parsi made a motion to keep silence. A group of
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  old fakirs were capering and making a wild adiou around the statue. These were
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  striped with ochre and covered with cuts, whence their blood issued drop by drop.
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  Stupid fanatics who in the great Indian ceremonies still throw themselves under the wheels
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  of juggernaut. Some Brahmins, clad in all the sumptuousness of oriental apparel and
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  leading a woman who falded at every step followed. This woman was young and
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  as fair as a European, her head and neck, shoulders, ears,
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  arms, hands, and toes were loaded down with jewels and gems, with
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  bracelets, earrings and rings, while a tunic bordered with gold and covered with
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  a light muslin robe betrayed the outline of her form. The guards who followed
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  the young woman presented a violent contrast to her, armed as they were,
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  with naked sabers hung at their waists and long damascened pistol, and bearing a
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  corpse on a palanquin. It was the body of an old man, gorgeously
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  arrayed in the habiliments of a rajah, wearing as in life, a turban
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  embroidered with pearls, a robe of tissue of silk and gold, a scarf
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  of cashmere sewed with diamonds, and the magnificent weapons of a Hindoo prince.
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  Next came the musicians and a rear guard of capering fakirs, whose cries sometimes
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  drowned the noise of the instruments. These closed the procession. Sir Francis watched
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  the procession with a sad countenance, and, turning to the guide, said
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  a sattee. The pars nodded and put his finger to his lips. The
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  procession slowly wound under the trees and soon its last ranks disappeared in the depths
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  of the wood. The songs gradually died away. Occasionally cries were heard in
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  the distance, until at last all was silence again. Phileas Fogg had heard
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  what Sir Francis said, and as soon as the procession had disappeared, asked,
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  what is a satie? A satie returned the general is a human sacrifice,
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  but a voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned
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  tomorrow at the dawn of day. Oh the scoundrels, cried passepartout, who
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  could not repress his indignation. And the corpse, asked mister Fogg, is
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  that of the prince? Her husband? Said the guide, an independent rajah
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  of Bundelcund. Is it possible? Resumed Phileas Fogg, his voice betraying not
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  the least emotion, that these barbarous customs still exist in India, and that
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  the English had been unable to put a stop to them. These sacrifices do
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  not occur in the larger portion of India, replied Sir Francis. But we
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  have no power over these savage territories, and especially here in Bundelcund. The
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  whole district north of the Vindhiers is the theater of incessant murders and pillage.
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  The poor wretch exclaimed, passepartout to be burned alive. Yes, returned,
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  Sir Francis, burned alive. And if she were not, you cannot conceive
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  what treatment she would be obliged to submit to from her relatives. They would
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  shave off her hair, feed her on a scanty allowance of rice, treat
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  her with contempt. She would be looked upon as an unclean creature and would
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  die in some corner like a scurvy dog. The prospect of so frightful an
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  existence drives these poor creatures to the sacrifice, much more than love or religious
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  fanaticism. Sometimes, however, the sacrifice is really voluntary, and it requires
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  the active interference of the government to prevent it. Several years ago, when
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  I was living at Bombay, a young widow asked permission of the governor to
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  be burned along with her husband's body, but as you may imagine, she
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  refused. The woman left the town, took refuge with an independent rajah,
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  and there carried out her self devoted purpose. While Sir Francis was speaking,
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  the guide shook his head several times, and now said, this sacrifice,
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  which would take place tomorrow at dawn, is not a voluntary one. How
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  do you know? Everybody knows about this affair in Bunducun. But the wretched
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  creature does not seem to be making any resistance, observed Sir Francis. That
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  was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and opium. But where
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  are they taking her? To the Pogorda Epilaji, two miles from here.
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  She will pass the night there, and the sacrifice will take place tomorrow at
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  the first light of dawn. The guide now led the elephant out of the
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  thicket and leaped upon his neck. Just at the moment that he was about
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  to urge Keune forward with a peculiar whistle, mister Fogg stopped him, and,
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  turning to Sir Francis, Cromarty said, suppose we save this woman.
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  Save the woman, mister Fogg, I have yet twelve hours to spare.
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  I can devote them to that. Why you are a man of heart,
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  sometimes replied Phileas Fogg quietly. When I have the time. End of chapter