Compounder hesitated. Munna, watching from the shadows, stepped out. He looked at Sweety—her defiance, her beauty—and something ugly twisted in his grin.
Guddu’s fists clenched. “We are weavers, not mules.”
Guddu Pandit and his younger brother, Bablu, ran a small wrestling akhada and a handloom business. They were respected, not feared. Their father, Bauji, had always kept a safe distance from the carpet smuggling syndicate of Kaleen Bhaiya. But the old man was ailing, and the brothers’ bank account was thinner than a monsoon creek.