You’re crazy, people told him. A man can’t change a mountain. It’s there before he’s born and after he dies. But Manjhi could see something they couldn’t: the parting of the mountain into two great halves with a road in between. A road where people could get to work, to market, to school, even to the hospital more easily. Nothing could stop him. Not words. Not time. Not even the mountain, which sent chips and powder tumbling down his shoulders, whitening his hair.
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