“Voovi!” Bheema roared. “Last chance. Say yes, or I break your door down.”
Bheema’s men shuffled. One of them—his own cousin—muttered, “Bhai, the old man is right. Let’s go.”
And so began the legend of Mardana Sasur.
Voovi looked up calmly. “Bheema-ji,” he said, “you are strong. But tell me: can you fight fifty people at once?”
Voovi smiled, handed him a jalebi. “That’s Mardana Sasur to you.”
Bheema sneered. “Easily.”
“Voovi!” Bheema roared. “Last chance. Say yes, or I break your door down.”
Bheema’s men shuffled. One of them—his own cousin—muttered, “Bhai, the old man is right. Let’s go.”
And so began the legend of Mardana Sasur.
Voovi looked up calmly. “Bheema-ji,” he said, “you are strong. But tell me: can you fight fifty people at once?”
Voovi smiled, handed him a jalebi. “That’s Mardana Sasur to you.”
Bheema sneered. “Easily.”