Our Sasti Charan, just for fun, keeps elephants to toss around
Clocks a hundred hundredweight, his thews are truly ionbound. 
They say that once a highwayman attacked him with a bamboo pole
He lightly jut his elbow out, the bamboo snapped and down did roll.
The other day upon the street he stood beneath a falling tile 
It hit his head and smashed to smoke, while Sasti smiled a modest smile.
But why, he'd storm a mansion down if he should choose to cut up rough.
Or overturn an ox and cart with just a gentle moody puff.
He'll rip up like a paper strip the thickest knotted oaken plank, And draw a hundred bucketfuls of water for his bathing-tank.
He breakfasts off three baskets piled with almonds, raisins, prunes and spice, And tops this up with fourteen bowls of curds and cream with sugared rice.
His lunch is brought by teams of men in large tureens all fit to burst, 
And nineteen kegs of flavoured drink are put on ice to quench his thirst.
For tea he nibbles frugally a score or two of home-made cakes, At dinner-time a double pile of pudding roll his hunger slakes.
At night he calls his pupils in to soothe his limbs with soft massage, So ten young giants mount his chest and baste his limbs with cudgels large.
I really musn't tell you more, for you might think it's all a story.
Why don't you simply cross the town and view the man in all his glory?