"Sir Francis," said Mr. Fogg quietly, "we will look around for some transport to Allahabad."
"Mr. Fogg, this delay is to your disadvantage!" said Sir Francis.
"No, Sir Francis, it was foreseen," replied Fogg.
"What!" cried Sir Francis. "You knew that the railway—"
"Not at all," said Mr. Fogg. "But I knew that some obstacle would come up eventually.
Nothing is lost. I have two days, which I have gained, to sacrifice.
A steamer leaves Calcutta for Hong Kong at noon on the twenty-fifth.
This is the twenty-second so we shall reach Calcutta in time."
There was nothing Sir Francis could say to such a confident response.
The three men went separate ways to search the village for a vehicle.
Unfortunately, while they had been talking with the conductor,
the other passengers had already hired all the available wagons, carriages, and ponies.
Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg returned to the train with no luck.
Passepartout, however, returned from his search with a suggestion.
"Monsieur, I think I have found transport for us," he said.
"What would that be?" asked Fogg.
"An elephant!" said Passepartout. "It belongs to an Indian man who lives close by."
"Let's go and see the elephant," replied Mr. Fogg.
Passepartout led them to a small hut, near which a tall elephant stood behind a high gate.
The elephant's owner said its name was Kiouni, Mr. Fogg resolved immediately to hire him and offered ten pounds an hour.
The owner, however, refused and kept refusing every time Mr. Fogg raised his offer.
When Fogg offered forty pounds an hour, the owner still wouldn't agree.
Mr. Fogg, without getting the least bit upset, proposed to purchase the elephant completely.
He offered one thousand pounds but was refused again.
Passepartout listened in amazement as his master continued to raise the price.
Finally the man agreed to sell the elephant for two thousand pounds.
Mr. Fogg paid with bank notes from the carpetbag.
Kiouni was led out and equipped for the journey.
After hiring a guide and purchasing a few provisions, they set off at a quick pace.
Instead of following the wide, curving path that workers had cleared for the railway, their guide led them directly through the jungle.
Growls from panthers and the chatter of monkeys occasionally broke the jungle's stillness.
After a day of travelling, they stopped for the night.
The guide lit a fire, and they prepared a supper.
They ate hungrily and were snoring loudly soon after.
The journey started again at six o'clock the next morning.
Kiouni resumed his quick pace, and their guide said they might reach Allahabad that evening.
Fogg and his companions continued without any unpleasant encounters.
The journey seemed on the point of success when the elephant became restless and stopped. It was four o'clock.
"What's the matter?" asked Sir Francis.
"I'm not sure, sir," replied the guide, listening carefully.
A sound was coming through the thick bushes.
The guide jumped down, tied the elephant to a tree, and disappeared into the dense brush.
Mr. Fogg waited patiently without a word. The sound grew closer—it was a rhythmic concert of human voices and musical instruments.
The guide returned in a rush. "A procession of Brahmins is coming this way," he said. "We must hide!"
Through the branches of thick foliage, they watched the procession pass.
Behind a tall leader danced a group of bare-chested priests, their bodies striped with dark red mud or paint.
A young woman followed, led by four men in sumptuous Oriental clothes.
Each was armed with a curved sword at his waist.
The woman's neck, ears, arms, hands, and toes were loaded with jewels, bracelets, and rings.
She seemed weak, as if only half-awake, and two guards held her arms.
Musicians playing tambourines and cymbals followed at the end of the procession.
After the Brahmins had passed, Sir Francis said, "It is a suttee, a voluntary human sacrifice.
The woman we have just seen will be burned alive tomorrow at dawn.
Her husband has died, and she is to pass into the afterlife with him."
"That is true," said the guide. "But not all suttees are voluntary. Everyone in Kholby has heard about this suttee.
This young widow is not willing. She has been drugged so that she won't resist her fate."
The guide climbed onto the neck of Kiouni and prepared to continue their journey.
Mr. Fogg said, "Suppose we save the woman."
"Save the woman, Mr. Fogg?" said Sir Francis.
"I have 12 extra hours, which I can devote to saving this woman," said Fogg.
"You are a man of heart!" said Sir Francis.
"Sometimes," replied Mr. Fogg quietly. "When I have the time."
What a day that was! Riding an elephant through the jungle and finding a young woman about to be burned alive!
Although the majority of Indian widows are not burned, an Indian woman can never marry again if her husband dies.
According to Indian tradition, she has to shave her head and wear a white sari.
And it is quite common for young girls to be married to older men.
So if a young girl’s husband dies, she will wind up having to spend most of her life all alone.
Widows are also seen as a bad omen.
They are usually banished from their families, and many of them go to the city of Vrindavan, where they can work in the city's numerous temples.
Because of this, Vrindavan is sometimes called "the city of widows."