To save time, the guide chose a shortcut through the forest. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis sat in baskets on the elephant's sides. The ride was incredibly bumpy, but they endured the discomfort with true British calm and barely spoke. Passepartout sat directly on the beast's back. He bounced around like a clown on a trampoline, careful to keep his mouth shut so he wouldn't bite his tongue. Despite the rough ride, he smiled and frequently fed sugar cubes to the elephant, who happily took them without slowing down.
By noon, the landscape became wilder. They passed through dry plains and dense forests. This remote region was ruled by local leaders, far away from British control. As they traveled, Passepartout worried about what Mr. Fogg would do with the elephant when they reached the train station. The animal was too expensive to transport. Would Fogg sell him? Or set him free?
By evening, they had traveled twenty-five miles. They stopped at a ruined building for the night. The guide lit a fire, and the travelers ate a quick dinner before falling into a deep sleep. Wild animals growled in the distance, but the elephant stood guard, and nothing disturbed them.
They started again at six in the morning. By afternoon, they entered a thick forest. Everything was going perfectly until the elephant suddenly stopped. It was four o'clock.
"What's the matter?" asked Sir Francis.
"I don't know," the guide replied, listening to a strange noise in the distance.
The sound of singing and loud brass instruments grew closer. The guide quickly tied the elephant to a tree and disappeared into the bushes. He returned a moment later.
"A religious procession is marching this way," he warned. "We must hide."
The guide moved the elephant deeper into the trees. The travelers stayed completely still, safely concealed behind the thick leaves. Soon, the large group of people appeared. Priests in long robes walked in front, singing a dark, heavy song. Behind them, people pulled a large wooden cart carrying an ugly, frightening statue.
"The goddess Kali," Sir Francis whispered. "The goddess of love and death."
Next came a group of wild men covered in paint. After them, priests led a beautiful young woman. Her pale skin and European features stood out. She was wearing a heavy dress covered in gold and jewels, but she could barely walk. Fierce guards walked behind her, carrying the dead body of an old prince dressed in magnificent silk and pearls.
Sir Francis looked sad. "A suttee," he whispered.
The guide nodded and told them to be quiet. Slowly, the musicians and guards passed by, and the forest became silent again. Once it was safe, Mr. Fogg asked what they had just seen.
"It is a human sacrifice," Sir Francis explained. "That young woman will be burned alive tomorrow at dawn."
"The monsters!" Passepartout cried angrily.
"And the dead body?" asked Fogg.
"That is her husband, the prince," the guide answered.
Mr. Fogg's voice showed no emotion. "Do these terrible traditions still happen? Can't the police stop them?"
"The British have no power in these wild territories," Sir Francis said. "If a widow refuses to die with her husband, her family will treat her worse than a dog. But the guide is shaking his head. This is not her choice, is it?"
"No," the guide agreed. "Everyone in the region knows the story. They gave her powerful drugs so she wouldn't fight back."
"Where are they taking her?" asked Sir Francis.
"To a temple two miles from here. She will be killed at the first light of dawn."
The guide led the elephant back to the path. He was just about to signal the animal to move when Mr. Fogg stopped him.
"Suppose we save this woman," Fogg said quietly.
"Save the woman, Mr. Fogg?" Sir Francis was shocked.
"I am exactly twelve hours ahead of my schedule. I can spend that extra time on her."
"Why, you are a man with a good heart!"
"Sometimes," Fogg replied calmly. "When I have the time."