Around the World in Eighty Days

Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with its base in the north and its apex in the south, which is called India, embraces fourteen hundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread unequally a population of one hundred and eighty millions of souls. The British Crown exercises a real and despotic dominion over the larger portion of this vast country, and has a governor-general stationed at Calcutta, governors at Madras, Bombay, and in Bengal, and a lieutenant-governor at Agra.

But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven hundred thousand square miles, and a population of from one hundred to one hundred and ten millions of inhabitants. A considerable portion of India is still free from British authority; and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interior who are absolutely independent. The celebrated East India Company was all-powerful from 1756, when the English first gained a foothold on the spot where now stands the city of Madras, down to the time of the great Sepoy insurrection. It gradually annexed province after province, purchasing them of the native chiefs, whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-general and his subordinates, civil and military. But the East India Company has now passed away, leaving the British possessions in India directly under the control of the Crown. The aspect of the country, as well as the manners and distinctions of race, is daily changing.

Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old cumbrous methods of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or unwieldy coaches; now fast steamboats ply on the Indus and the Ganges, and a great railway, with branch lines joining the main line at many points on its route, traverses the peninsula from Bombay to Calcutta in three days. This railway does not run in a direct line across India. The distance between Bombay and Calcutta, as the bird flies, is only from one thousand to eleven hundred miles; but the deflections of the road increase this distance by more than a third.
The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as follows: Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to the continent opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the Western Ghauts, runs thence north-east as far as Burhampoor, skirts the nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to Allahabad, turns thence eastwardly, meeting the Ganges at Benares, then departs from the river a little, and, descending south-eastward by Burdivan and the French town of Chandernagor, has its terminus 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-bye to his whist partners, left the steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to be at the station promptly at eight, and, with his regular step, which beat to the second, like an astronomical clock, directed his steps to the passport office. As for the wonders of Bombay—its famous city hall, its splendid library, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the noble pagoda on Malabar Hill, with its two polygonal towers—he cared not a straw to see them. He would not deign to examine even the masterpieces of Elephanta, or the mysterious hypogea, concealed south-east from the docks, or those fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian grottoes of the island of Salcette.

Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordered dinner. Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord especially recommended a certain giblet of “native rabbit,” on which he prided himself.

Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced sauce, found it far from palatable. He rang for the landlord, and, on his appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, “*Is this rabbit, sir?*”

“*Yes, my lord,*” the rogue boldly replied, “*rabbit from the jungles.*”

“*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: cats were formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals. That was a good time.*”

“*For the cats, my lord?*”

“*Perhaps for the travellers as well!*”

After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner.

I apologize, but there seems to be a misunderstanding. The conversation in the previous passage was about cats and rabbits, not dogs. Mr. Fogg was questioning whether the “native rabbit” dish he was served might actually have been cat meat. There was no mention of dogs in this context.

However, I'd be happy to continue the story or discuss other aspects of Mr. Fogg's journey through India. Is there anything specific about his adventures or the places he's visiting that you'd like to explore further?

Certainly! Let's explore some of the more amusing and interesting aspects of travel in 19th century India.

One peculiar custom that often baffled Western travelers was the practice of hook-swinging. In certain festivals, devotees would be suspended from hooks pierced through their backs and swung around a pole. This spectacle, while shocking to foreigners, was considered an act of devotion by participants.

Another quirky sight was the practice of “rat worship” in the Karni Mata Temple in Rajasthan. Thousands of rats scurry freely in this temple, considered sacred and even fed by devotees. Imagine the surprise of unsuspecting travelers stumbling upon this rodent paradise!

For a bit of colonial humor, there's the story of a British officer who, struggling with the heat, reportedly exclaimed, “Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun!” This quip became a popular saying, poking fun at the British inability to adapt to the Indian climate.

Certainly! Let's take a stroll through the vibrant streets of Bombay (now Mumbai) as it would have appeared in the late 19th century.

As you step out, you're immediately enveloped by the bustling energy of the city. The air is filled with a mixture of exotic spices, incense, and the salty breeze from the Arabian Sea. Street vendors call out, offering everything from fragrant chai to colorful textiles.

You might come across the grand Victoria Terminus (now Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus), a stunning example of Victorian Gothic Revival architecture, its intricate details a testament to the fusion of Indian and British styles.

Wandering through the crowded bazaars, you'd see a kaleidoscope of colors - vibrant saris, sparkling jewelry, and piles of aromatic spices. The occasional elephant lumbers by, carrying goods or important passengers.

Near the harbor, you might spot the iconic Gateway of India, though it wouldn't be completed until the early 20th century. The docks are a hive of activity, with ships from all over the world loading and unloading exotic cargo.