by Jules Verne
Chapter 10
In Which Passepartout Is Only Too Gladto Get off with the Loss of His Shoes
Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, withits base in the north and its apex in the south, which is calledIndia, embraces fourteen hundred thousand square miles, uponwhich is spread unequally a population of one hundred and eightymillions of souls. The British Crown exercises a real anddespotic dominion over the larger portion of this vast country,and has a governor-general stationed at Calcutta, governors atMadras, Bombay and in Bengal, and a lieutenant-governor at Agra.
But British India, properly so called, only embraces sevenhundred thousand square miles, and a population of from onehundred to one hundred and ten millions of inhabitants. Aconsiderable portion of India is still free from Britishauthority; and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interiorwho are absolutely independent. The celebrated East India Companywas all-powerful from 1756, when the English first gained afoothold on the spot where now stands the city of Madras, down tothe time of the great Sepoy insurrection. It gradually annexedprovince after province, purchasing them of the native chiefs,whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-general and hissubordinates, civil and military. But the East India Company hasnow passed away, leaving the British possessions in Indiadirectly under the control of the Crown. The aspect of thecountry, as well as the manners and distinctions of race, isdaily changing.
Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old unwieldymethods of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins orunwieldy coaches. Now fast steamboats ply on the Indus and theGanges, and a great railway, with branch lines joining the mainline at many points on its route, traverses the peninsula fromBombay to Calcutta in three days. This railway does not run in adirect line across India. The distance between Bombay andCalcutta, as the bird flies, is only from one thousand to elevenhundred miles; but the deflections of the road increase thisdistance by more than a third.
The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is asfollows: Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing tothe continent opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the WesternGhauts, runs thence northeast as far as Burhampoor, skirts thenearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends toAllahabad, turns towards the east, meeting the Ganges at Benares,then departs from the river a little, and, descendingsoutheastward by Burdivan and the French town of Chandernagor,ends 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-by to his whist partners, left thesteamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it uponhim to be at the station promptly at eight, and, with hisregular step, which beat to the second, like an astronomicalclock, directed his steps to the passport office. As forthe wonders of Bombay--its famous city hall, its splendidlibrary, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues,its Armenian churches and the noble pagoda on Malabar Hill, withits two polygonal towers--he cared not a straw to see them. Hewould not deign to examine even the masterpieces of Elephanta, orthe mysterious hypogea, concealed southeast from the docks, orthose fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanheriangrottoes of the island of Salcette.
Having transacted his business at the passport office, PhileasFogg repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordereddinner. Among the dishes served up to him, the landlordespecially recommended a certain giblet of "native rabbit," onwhich he prided himself.
Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spicedsauce, found it far from palatable. He rang for the landlord,and, on his appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, "Isthis rabbit, Sir?"
"Yes, my lord," the rogue boldly replied, "rabbit from thejungles."
"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: catswere formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals. That was agood time."
"For the cats, my lord?"
"Perhaps for the travelers as well."
After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner.
Meanwhile Fix had gone on shore shortly after Mr. Fogg, and hisfirst destination was the headquarters of the Bombay police. Hemade himself known as a London detective, told his business atBombay, and the position of affairs relative to the supposedrobber, and nervously asked if a warrant had arrived from London.It had not reached the office; indeed, there had not yet beentime for it to arrive. Fix was very disappointed, and tried toobtain an order of arrest from the director of the Bombay police.But the director refused, as the matter concerned the Londonoffice, which alone could legally deliver the warrant. Fix didnot insist, and resigned himself to await the arrival of theimportant document. But he was determined not to lose sight ofthe mysterious rogue as long as he stayed in Bombay. He did notdoubt for a moment, any more than Passepartout, that PhileasFogg would remain there, at least until it was time for thewarrant to arrive.
Passepartout, however, had no sooner heard his master's orders onleaving the Mongolia than he saw at once that they were to leaveBombay as they had done Suez and Paris, and that the journeywould be extended at least as far as Calcutta, and perhaps beyondthat place. He began to ask himself if this bet that Mr. Foggtalked about was not really in good earnest, and whether his fatewas not in truth forcing him, despite his love of repose, aroundthe world in eighty days!
Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and shoes, he took aleisurely promenade about the streets, where crowds of people ofmany nationalities--Europeans, Persians with pointed caps, Banyaswith round turbans, Sindes with square bonnets, Parsees withblack mitres and long-robed Armenians--were collected. Ithappened to be the day of a Parsee festival. These descendants ofthe sect of Zoroaster--the most thrifty, civilized, intelligentand austere of the East Indians, among whom are counted therichest native merchants of Bombay--were celebrating a sort ofreligious carnival, with processions and shows, in the midst ofwhich Indian dancing-girls, clothed in rose-colored gauze, loopedup with gold and silver, danced airily, but with perfect modesty,to the sound of viols and the clanging of tambourines. It isneedless to say that Passepartout watched these curiousceremonies with staring eyes and gaping mouth, and that hiscountenance was that of the greenest booby imaginable.
Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drewhim unconsciously farther off than he intended to go. At last,having seen the Parsee carnival wind away in the distance, he wasturning his steps towards the station, when he happened to seethe splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, and was seized with anirresistible desire to view its interior. He was quite ignorantthat it is forbidden to Christians to enter certain Indiantemples, and that even the faithful must not go in without firstleaving their shoes outside the door. It may be said here thatthe wise policy of the British Government severely punishes adisregard of the practices of the native religions.
Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simpletourist, and was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahminornamentation which everywhere met his eyes, when suddenly hefound himself sprawling on the sacred flagging. He looked up tobehold three enraged priests, who fell upon him, tore off hisshoes and began to beat him with loud, savage exclamations. Theagile Frenchman was soon upon his feet again, and lost no time inknocking down two of his long-gowned adversaries with his fistsand vigorous kicks. Then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast ashis legs could carry him, he escaped the third priest by minglingwith the crowd in the streets.
At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless,and having in the squabble lost his package of shirtsand shoes, rushed breathlessly into the station.
Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that hewas really going to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform.He had resolved to follow the supposed robber to Calcutta, andfarther, if necessary. Passepartout did not observe thedetective, who stood in an obscu
re corner; but Fix heard himrelate his adventures in a few words to Mr. Fogg.
"I hope that this will not happen again," said Phileas Foggcoldly, as he got into the train. Poor Passepartout, quitecrest-fallen, followed his master without a word. Fix was on thepoint of entering another carriage, when an idea struck him whichinduced him to alter his plan.
"No, I'll stay," muttered he. "An offence has been committed onIndian soil. I've got my man."
Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the trainpassed out into the darkness of the night.