“Come!” whispered the guide.
Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which was lit up by the torches. The ground was covered by groups of the Indians, motionless in their drunken sleep. Men, women, and children lay together.
In the background, among the trees, the pagoda of Pillaji loomed distinctly. The Parsee, now convinced that it was impossible to enter the temple, led his companions back again. They lay down at the foot of a tree, and waited.
The time seemed long, the guards watched steadily by the glare of the torches, and a dim light crept through the windows of the pagoda.
They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the guards. The other plan must be carried out.
“We have nothing to do but to go away,” whispered Sir Francis.
“Nothing but to go away,” echoed the guide.
Meanwhile Passepartout, who had perched himself on the lower branches of a tree, was resolving an idea which had struck him like a flash. He had commenced by saying to himself, “What folly!” and then he repeated, “Why not, after all? It’s a chance—perhaps the only one!” Thinking thus, he slipped to the lowest branches.
The hours passed, and the lighter shades now announced the approach of day, though it was not yet light. This was the moment. The hour of the sacrifice had come. The doors of the pagoda swung open, and a bright light escaped from its interior, in the midst of which Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis saw the victim. Sir Francis’s heart throbbed; and, convulsively seizing Mr. Fogg’s hand, found in it an open knife. Just at this moment the crowd began to move. The young woman passed among the fakirs, who escorted her with their wild, religious cries.
Phileas Fogg and his companions followed; and in two minutes they reached the banks of the stream, and stopped fifty paces from the pyre, upon which still lay the rajah’s corpse. In the semi-obscurity they saw the victim, quite senseless, stretched out beside her husband’s body. Then a torch was brought, and the wood, heavily soaked with oil, instantly took fire.
At this moment Sir Francis and the guide seized Phileas Fogg, who was about to rush upon the pyre. But the whole scene suddenly changed. A cry of terror arose. The whole multitude prostrated themselves, terror-stricken[73], on the ground.
The old rajah was not dead, then, since he rose of a sudden, like a spectre, took up his wife in his arms, and descended from the pyre in the midst of the clouds of smoke.
Fakirs and soldiers and priests, seized with instant terror, lay there, with their faces on the ground, not daring to lift their eyes and behold such a prodigy.
Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis stood erect, the Parsee bowed his head. The resuscitated rajah approached Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg, and, in an abrupt tone, said, “Let us be off![74]”
It was Passepartout himself, who had slipped upon the pyre in the midst of the smoke and had delivered the young woman from death! It was Passepartout who had passed through the crowd amid the general terror.
A moment after all five of the party had disappeared in the woods, and the elephant was bearing them away at a rapid pace.
Chapter XIV
Passepartout laughed gaily at his success. Sir Francis pressed the worthy fellow’s hand, and his master said, “Well done!” which, from him, was high commendation. Passepartout laughed to think that for a few moments he, the ex-gymnast, ex-sergeant fireman, had been the spouse of a charming woman, a venerable, embalmed rajah! As for the young Indian woman, she had been unconscious, and now, wrapped up in a travelling-blanket, was reposing in one of the howdahs.
The elephant, thanks to the skilful guidance of the Parsee, was advancing rapidly through the still darksome forest, and, an hour after leaving the pagoda, had crossed a vast plain. They made a halt at seven o’clock. Sir Francis told Phileas Fogg that, should Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fall again into the hands of her executioners. These fanatics were scattered throughout the county, and would, despite the English police, recover their victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta. She would only be safe by quitting India for ever. Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.
The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o’clock, and, the interrupted line of railway would enable them to reach Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours. Phileas Fogg would thus be able to arrive in time to take the steamer which left Calcutta the next day, October 25th, at noon, for Hong Kong.
The young woman was placed in one of the waiting-rooms of the station, whilst Passepartout was charged with purchasing for her various articles of toilet, a dress, shawl, and some furs; for which his master gave him unlimited credit. Allahabad, that is, the City of God, one of the most venerated in India, was built at the junction of the two sacred rivers, Ganges and Jumna[75], the waters of which attract pilgrims from every part of the peninsula. The Ganges, according to the legends of the Ramayana, rises in heaven, whence, owing to Brahma’s[76]agency, it descends to the earth.
The influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda began gradually to yield, and she became more herself[77]. Aouda was a charming woman, and she spoke English with great purity.
The train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg proceeded to pay the guide the price agreed upon for his service, and not a farthing more; which astonished Passepartout.
“Parsee,” said he to the guide, “you have been serviceable and devoted. I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion. Would you like to have this elephant? It is yours.”
The guide’s eyes glistened.
“Your honour is giving me a fortune!” cried he.
“Take him, guide,” returned Mr. Fogg, “and I shall still be your debtor.”
“Good!” exclaimed Passepartout. “Take him, friend. Kiouni is a brave and faithful beast.”
And, going up to the elephant, he gave him several lumps of sugar, saying, “Here, Kiouni, here, here.” The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping Passepartout around the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high as his head. Passepartout caressed the animal, which placed him gently back on the ground.
Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passepartout, installed in a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat, were whirling at full speed towards Benares. During the journey, the young woman fully recovered her senses[78]. What was her astonishment to find herself in this carriage, on the railway, dressed in European habiliments, and with travellers who were quite strangers to her! Sir Francis narrated to her what had passed. Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears than words; her fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better than her lips. Then she shuddered with terror.
Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda’s mind, and offered, in order to reassure her, to escort her to Hong Kong, where she might remain safely—an offer which she eagerly and gratefully accepted. She had a Parsee relation, who was one of the principal merchants of Hong Kong, which is wholly an English city, though on an island on the Chinese coast.
At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares. The Brahmin legends assert that this city is built on the site of the ancient Casi[79], which, like Mahomet’s tomb[80], was once suspended between heaven and earth; though the Benares of today stands quite unpoetically on the solid ground.