Attempting to rescue the young widow would be a bold undertaking, maybe even an impossible one.
But Mr. Fogg did not hesitate, and Sir Francis was an enthusiastic ally.
Passepartout was ready for anything, and even the guide was on their side.
"Where are they taking her?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here," said the guide.
"The woman will spend the night there, and the sacrifice will take place at the first light of dawn."
The guide looked at the group of rescuers.
"It is certain that we shall risk not only our lives but horrible tortures if we are caught!"
"That is foreseen," said Mr. Fogg. "I think we must wait until night before acting."
"I agree," said Sir Francis.
Their guide gave an account of the woman.
"She is the daughter of a wealthy Bombay merchant and received an excellent English education.
Her name is Aouda. While still very young, she was left an orphan and was married against her will to an old rajah.
When he died, she escaped, knowing the fate that awaited her.
But she was captured. That is why she is under such heavy guard now."
The guide's story strengthened the determination of Mr. Fogg and his friends.
As soon as night fell, the guide led them deeper into the thick jungle.
They came to an area lit by torches.
A group of Indians were sleeping outside a wide brick wall that enclosed the tall pagoda.
Guards with swords marched back and forth before the doors.
The rescuers hid themselves and waited, hoping the guards would fall asleep.
After midnight, when it was clear that the guards were going to patrol all night, Fogg and his companions sneaked around to the back of the pagoda.
With two sturdy knives that their guide had brought, Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis worked quietly at the loose bricks of the wall.
They managed to dislodge a few and then found they could remove the other bricks with their hands.
Their plan was to open a hole large enough for Aouda to slip through.
Suddenly a cry arose from inside the pagoda.
Mr. Fogg and his friends escaped into the jungle just as the guards ran to the back of the pagoda.
Sir Francis shook his fists, Passepartout was furious, and the guide grimaced with rage.
How could they save Aouda now? The tranquil Mr. Fogg waited, revealing no emotion.
"We can do nothing but go on our way," whispered Sir Francis.
"He is right. We must go," said the guide.
"Stop," said Fogg. "I am not due at Allahabad before noon tomorrow.
We may get another chance to rescue her."
"What is this cool Englishman thinking?" Sir Francis wondered.
"Is he planning to boldly snatch the woman from her executioners at the very moment of the sacrifice?"
It was hard to believe that the calm Phileas Fogg could attempt something so desperate.
They crept around the outskirts of the clearing and made their way back to the doors of the pagoda.
Concealed by the jungle, Fogg and his companions watched through the night.
Passepartout climbed into the branches of a tree.
While he was perched there, an idea struck him, and the more he considered it, the more firmly it lodged in his brain.
The lengthening shadows announced the approach of day, and the Indians sleeping outside the pagoda woke up.
Tambourines sounded and chanting began. The hour of the sacrifice had come.
The doors of the pagoda swung open.
Aouda was led out, struggling in the clutches of two large guards.
Sir Francis' heart throbbed, and he seized Mr. Fogg's hand.
He was surprised to discover that Mr. Fogg's hand gripped a knife tightly.
Phileas Fogg and his companions mingled at the back of the crowd as the funeral procession made its way to a stream.
On the bank of the stream, the body of the rajah who had been Aouda's husband lay on a large pile of carefully stacked wood.
From the back of the crowd, Mr. Fogg saw Aouda.
She was lying senseless beside her dead husband at the top of the funeral pyre. The Brahmin leader brought a torch.
The wood was heavily soaked in oil and instantly caught on fire.
Phileas Fogg let out a desperate moan, and Sir Francis and the guide seized him before he could rush onto the climbing flames.
He pushed them aside and stepped to the front of the crowd.
Just then a cry of terror arose. The old rajah was not dead!
He stood, took his wife in his arms, and, amidst a cloud of smoke, descended from the pyre.
Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis stood in shock.
The guide bowed his head, and all the Brahmins kneeled with their faces to the ground.
To Mr. Fogg's amazement, the rajah who had returned from the dead walked directly up to him.
"Let us be off!" he said. But it wasn't the rajah at all—it was Passepartout!
Ha! Were you surprised? If my plan had failed, I wouldn't be here talking to you now!
Cremation of the dead is very common in Hinduism.
A large funeral pyre is built, usually alongside a river, and the body of the deceased is placed on top.
With the help of a priest, the eldest son of the deceased will then light the fire.
After the cremation the deceased's soul is said to be naked.
Family members must perform various rites and ceremonies to provide the deceased with a "new spiritual body."
Eventually the bones of the deceased are collected and then either buried or placed into a river.