The Adventures of Indiana Jones and Short Round

12

The land was barren and dead. The ground was hard and dry. Only leafless trunks remained of what once were trees. The three followed the shaman to a village as desolate as the rest of the  wasteland. Wagons were broken and empty, buildings were crumbling, and the few dying fires billowed smoke into the air. 

At first, the village was vacant to match the deadness of it. Gradually, people began to emerge from their houses and surround the travelers, talking quickly in their native tongue. Most of the women pointed at Short Round. They seemed to be crying, thought their eyes refused to spare precious water. After a moment, Indiana realized why: there were no children in the village. Frightened by the attention, Short Round drew closer to Indy. Indiana pulled his hand out of his pocket to grip Short Round's. Although Short Round was his bodyguard, Indy instinctively looked out for his friends in return. The signs making him uneasy for the boy's safety. 

As the crowd grew thick around the adults, Short Round managed to slip away. He watched on, shuddering from claustrophobia. Then a woman gently pulled him closer with affection, jabbering in a language unknown to him. Uncomfortable, Short Round pushed away with polite responses in his own language, which she in turn did not understand.

They were escorted to a small stone hut. Once inside, Indy removed his fedora. Short Round mimicked him with his baseball cap. Recognizing that the kid was still unnerved by the strange attention and lack of peers, Indy placed his trademark hat on the boy's head with an amused smile. His poke at fun made Shorty grin and relax some.

They sat crosslegged on the floor before the shaman and the Chieftain. Three women brought them wooden plates. 

  "I hope this means dinner. God, I'm starving," Willie muttered. 

  "Estuday. Thank you," the archeologist thanked them politely. Upon taking the dish, Indiana discovered that the food consisted of a small pile of yellow rice and some gray gruel. He had no issue with it. Neither did Short Round, who had dumpster dived for his meals on occasion. 

  Willie wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I can't eat this."

  "That's more food than these people eat in a week. They're starving," Indy chided. 

  Abashed, she tried handing it back. "Oh, I'm sorry. You can have–"

  "Eat it."

  "I'm not hungry."

  Indy released an embarrassed cough. "You're insulting them, and you're embarrassing me. Eat it."

  "Eat it," Short Round echoed. 

Feeling the pressure, Willie shoveled some gruel into her hand and shoved it into her mouth. 

  The Chinese boy sensed the heaviness in the room as he whispered, "Indy, bad news coming."

  Indiana ignored him. "Can you provide us with a guide to take us to Delhi? I'm a professor and I need to get back to my university."

  The chieftain nodded. "Sanju will guide you."

  "Estuday. Thank you."

  Then the shaman spoke up. "On the way to Delhi, you will stop at Pankot."

  Puzzled, Jones replied, "Pankot is not on the way to Delhi."

  "You will go to Pankot Palace," insisted the shaman.

  "I thought the palace had been deserted since... the Mutiny of 1857?"

  "No. Now there is a new Maharajah and again the palace has the power of the dark light." His tone turned dark. "It is that place that kill my people."