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Around the World in Eighty Days
Chapter 10. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS ONLY TOO GLAD TO GET OFF WITH THE LOSS OF HIS SHOES
Everybody knows that the large triangle of land, with its base in the north and its point in the south, is called India.
It covers fourteen hundred thousand square miles and has about one hundred and eighty million people.
The British Crown controls most of India, governor-general at Calcutta, governors at Madras and Bombay, lieutenant-governor at Agra.
But British India covers only seven hundred thousand square miles and has one hundred to one hundred ten million people.
A large part of India is still outside British rule.
And there are some fierce rajahs inside the country who are totally free.
The East India Company was powerful from 1756, when the English first took land where Madras stands, until the great Sepoy rebellion.
It slowly took one province after another, buying them from the native chiefs, who it often didn't pay.
And it chose the governor-general and his civil and military officers.
But the East India Company is now gone, and the British lands in India are under the direct control of the Crown.
The look of the country, and the ways and differences of the people, are changing every day.
In the past people had to travel in India by slow old ways, on foot or on horse, in palanquins or heavy coaches.
Now fast steamers run on the Indus and the Ganges.
A large railway with many branch lines goes across the land from Bombay to Calcutta in three days.
This railway doesn't go straight across India.
The distance between Bombay and Calcutta as a bird flies is only one thousand to eleven hundred miles.
But the turns of the line make the trip more than one third longer.
The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is like this.
Leaving Bombay, it goes through Salcette and crosses to the land opposite Tannah.
It goes over the Western Ghauts and then runs north-east to Burhampoor.
From there it goes along the nearly independent territory of Bundelcund and climbs to Allahabad.
It then turns east and meets the Ganges at Benares.
It leaves the river briefly and goes south-east by Burdivan and the French town of Chandernagor, ending 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 saying good-bye to his whist partners, left the steamer and gave his servant several errands to do.
He told him to be at the station by eight, then with steady steps like a clock walked to the passport office.
As for the sights of Bombay, its famous city hall, its fine library, its forts and docks, and its bazaars.
He didn't want to see mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the temple on Malabar Hill with its two many-sided towers.
He wouldn't look at the works of Elephanta or the secret underground chambers south-east from the docks.
He also would not look at the old remains of Buddhist buildings, the Kanherian grottoes of the island of Salcette.
Having done his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg quietly went to the railway station, where he ordered dinner.
Among the dishes given to him, the landlord especially suggested a certain bit of "native rabbit," which he was proud of.
Mr. Fogg then tried the dish, but, despite its spicy sauce, found it not pleasant.
He rang for the landlord, and, on his arrival, said, fixing his clear eyes on him, "Is this rabbit, sir?"
"Yes, my lord," the man boldly answered, "rabbit from the jungles."
"And this rabbit didn't cry when he was killed?"
"Cry, my lord! What, a rabbit cry! I swear to you, "
"Please, landlord, don't swear, but remember this. Cats were long ago thought of in India as sacred animals. That was a good time."
"For the cats, my lord?"
"Maybe for the travellers too!"
After that Mr. Fogg calmly continued his dinner.
Fix had gone ashore a little after Mr. Fogg, and his first place to go was the office of the Bombay police.
He told them he was a London detective and explained his business at Bombay and the situation about the supposed robber.
He asked, worried, if a warrant had come from London.
It hadn't reached the office, for there hadn't been time for it to come.
Fix was very disappointed, and tried to get an arrest order from the director of the Bombay police.
The director refused, because the matter belonged to the London office, which alone could legally give the warrant.
Fix didn't push it, and had to wait for the arrival of the important paper.
But he was determined not to lose sight of the mysterious man as long as he stayed in Bombay.
He didn't doubt, any more than Passepartout did, that Phileas Fogg would stay until the warrant arrived.
Passepartout, however, had hardly heard his master's orders on leaving the "Mongolia"
Than he saw at once that they were to leave Bombay as they had left Suez and Paris.
He understood the trip would go at least as far as Calcutta, and maybe beyond.
He began to ask himself if the bet that Mr. Fogg spoke of was really serious.
He wondered whether his fate wasn't forcing him, despite his love of rest, to go around the world in eighty days.
Having bought his usual supply of shirts and shoes, he took an easy walk about the streets, where crowds of people of many nations.
Europeans, Persians with pointed caps, Banyas with round turbans, Sindes with square bonnets, Parsees with black mitres, and long-robed Armenians, were gathered.
It was the day of a Parsee festival.
These people, who come from the sect of Zoroaster, are the most careful, civilised, clever, and strict of the East Indians.
Among them are the richest native merchants of Bombay, and they were having a kind of religious fair with processions and shows.
In the middle of this, Indian dancing-girls wore thin rose-coloured cloth trimmed with gold and silver.
They danced lightly with modest moves to the sound of string instruments and the ringing of tambourines.
Passepartout watched the strange scenes with wide eyes and an open mouth, his face looking green and foolish.
Sadly for his master, and for himself, his curiosity took him farther away than he meant to go.
At last, after he had seen the Parsee fair move away in the distance, he began to walk back to the station.
He saw the fine temple on Malabar Hill and felt a strong desire to see inside.
He did not know that Christians may not enter some Indian temples, or that religious people must leave their shoes outside.
It must be said here that the wise rule of the British Government punishes a failure to respect the ways of the native religions.
Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple tourist.
He was soon full of praise for the fine Brahmin decorations he saw everywhere.
Suddenly he found himself falling on the sacred stone floor.
He looked up to see three angry priests, who at once attacked him.
They tore off his shoes, and began to beat him with loud, savage cries.
The quick Frenchman was soon on his feet again.
He then knocked down two of his long-robed attackers with his fists and by using his toes.
Then, running out of the temple as fast as he could, he escaped the third priest by joining the crowd in the streets.
At five minutes before eight, hatless and shoeless, Passepartout, his package lost, rushed into the station out of breath
Fix, who had followed Mr.
Fogg to the station, and saw that he was really going to leave Bombay, was there on the platform.
Fogg to the station, and saw that he was really going to leave Bombay, was there on the platform.
He had decided to follow the supposed robber to Calcutta, and farther if needed.
Passepartout didn't see the detective, who stood in a dark corner, but Fix heard him tell his adventures in a few words to Mr. Fogg.
"I hope that this won't happen again," said Phileas Fogg in a cold way as he got into the train.
Poor Passepartout, quite sad, followed his master without a word.
Fix was about to get into another carriage, when an idea came to him which made him change his plan.
"No, I'll stay," he muttered.
"A crime was done on Indian ground. I've got my man."
Just then the engine gave a sharp cry, and the train moved out into the dark night.