Authors: S. Hussain Zaidi
And very soon, Dawood was arrested under Conservation of Foreign Exchange and Prevention of Smuggling Act (CoFEPOSA). For the first time in his life as a don, circa 1980, he was being legally detained for smuggling. But on his climb up to great monetary and muscle power, Dawood had begun to cultivate men in the government machinery. He managed to buy off witnesses and work over the papers, and was acquitted of all charges in 1983.
Emboldened and raring to take back his position as Bombay mafia’s numero uno, Dawood went on a vengeful quest of self-assertion. The Pathan gang seemed like distant folklore, as waves of Dawood’s new campaigns sent ripples all over Bombay’s underworld. He had found his calling and the edge he had always sought over the Pathan gang, and intensified his activities, and kept trying new ways to carry out his old schemes. All the while, he was also on the lookout for the Trojan horse in his outfit.
Soon, Dawood’s men invented new ways of smuggling using the cavities of human bodies that the X-ray machines of those days failed to detect. They began hiding gold pieces in the rectum and named it the ‘godown line’ or ‘underground line’. Passengers were called carriers and in addition to return airfare and a week’s stay in Dubai, they were paid a satisfactory amount of what was relatively easy money. People began to queue up to become carriers and the business flourished. Residents of Bombay no. 3 and Bombay no. 9 (to use Bombay police lingo for areas like Bhendi bazaar, Imam Baada road, Sandhurst Road), in south Bombay became rich by making few trips to Dubai. Of course, if carriers could rake in money in huge amounts, Dawood and his men stood to gain much more.
Bombay became too small, and he had to now look for other avenues, mostly opportunities in Dubai to invest his monies. The Dawood–Sabir syndicate had not only become flush with cash but also clout and connections in the Middle Eastern countries.
The human tendency is to become oblivious to other issues in life when the coffers are filling. Dawood got busy counting cash and stashing his ill-begotten money. Unfortunately, Dawood lowered his guard towards his one-time nemesis, the Pathans, who were watching each and every move of their arch rival. They were witnessing the rapid strides forward that the don and his brother Sabir were making.
There was a distinct difference between the smuggling business of the Pathans and that of the Dawood-Sabir gang. While the Pathans had more or less remained the landing agents or distributors on the coasts of Gujarat, Diu and Daman, Dawood had managed to transcend these lower level operations. He negotiated deals with Arabs directly, fixed prices, and oversaw all operations till the final bit of execution. This benefited him in two ways: his profit margins soared and this gave him a centralised grip over operations. His business grew manifold.
The Pathans could never penetrate the market in such a manner. Despite their best efforts and huge risks they could only incur losses and never managed to break even in the high stakes business of smuggling. They simply did not have the resources, or contacts, and acute business acumen of Dawood and Khalid Pehelwan.
Dawood not only had a sharp mind in the form of Khalid but also growing connections in the police force, something which the Pathans could never manage to approach in terms of tenacity and canny strategising. The frustrations of defeat, losses in business, and their rivals’ unstoppable success had fuelled the fire of jealousy and rancour among the Pathans. They now realised that the famous truce at Mastan’s bungalow had been enacted only to fill his coffers and give Dawood time of around a year and a half to grow in Bombay and Dubai. It had done nothing for their own business.
Amirzada and Alamzeb also thought Dawood was meant to give them a hand in business and treat them as partners, as part of the goodwill inferred in that pact, sharing the spoils with him. However, they felt that Dawood had given them a royal ignore, thereby becoming, in their eyes, the first one to violate the holy pact.
The Pathans got together and began plotting what they did best—violence and bloodshed. As they believed Khalid was a mere manager, they did not accord him much importance. They had to get one of the two brothers, Sabir or Dawood. Or why not both of them? This would effectively destroy the whole of the Dawood-Sabir syndicate.
21
A Don in Love
S
he was the spitting image of yesteryear starlet Leena Chandavarkar. Voluptuous, with a perfect round face and charming dimples, the charms of Sujata Kaur could be resisted by few men. Dawood proved no exception. He was besotted with her, though they were an odd pair. She was a Punjabi
kudi
,
while he was a local lout.
But if they did not look good together as a couple, they more than made up for it with a potent chemistry, one that made married couples blush. It all began with Dawood’s shop in Musafirkhana in south Bombay. Sujata lived nearby and every time she passed by Manish Market on her way to the shops, Dawood never missed a chance to catch a glimpse of this tall, lithe beauty. Of all the girls that walked that route, this woman was a class apart. Dawood began tailing her, until she became aware of him. He then began wooing her. He tried everything that someone of his standing could do, from meeting at bus stops to waiting hours for the love of his life.
Sujata could not resist Dawood’s charms and after a few furtive meetings, she was inexorably drawn to him. In the next two years, the couple were inseparable. Sujata was the only person who could vouch for the fact that there was another side to Dawood. Most people only saw the violent and brutal man that was Dawood Ibrahim, but Sujata saw and experienced his tender, loving, romantic side.
It was around this time that Sujata’s parents heard of her dating Dawood. Her father was furious. First, Dawood was a Muslim and then a hoodlum to boot. In no time, he got her engaged to a boy from their community. To make matters worse for Dawood, he confined Sujata to their home, banning her from even stepping out of the door.
When Dawood heard about this, he became furious and stormed over to Sujata’s residence, brandishing a Rampuri knife. Seething with resentment and anger at her father’s actions, Dawood hammered on Sujata’s door.
Sujata’s father opened the door diffidently to face a raging bull. Dawood threatened him, adding, ‘Let her choose whom she wants to marry.’
The entire neighbourhood gathered, in the meanwhile, to witness the family’s moment of trial. ‘My daughter can exercise her choice but she will be an orphan if she marries you. My wife and I will jump off this building if she doesn’t leave you,’ Kaur informed him calmly. Caught in a dilemma, Sujata, who was weeping inconsolably along with her mother, decided she could not upset her parents. She looked at Dawood and firmly said, ‘We cannot be together. I don’t want to marry you.’
For a moment, Dawood was dumbstruck. He wanted to hit out at Sujata, drag her down the building by force, and make her pay. But that was a fleeting thought. Dawood was wise enough to know that you cannot force anybody to love you. What he did not understand was the pain, the hot, searing pain that was stabbing at his heart as if he had been just shot. Not even in the savage world he inhabited, where violence was a byword, did such pain exist.
A numb and distraught Dawood walked down the steps of Sujata’s residence. ‘The bitch turned against me,’ he kept muttering.
Soon after the break up in 1983, Dawood was melancholic, mournful because of his failed love. He was often heard humming that famous song from 1966 Dilip Kumar starrer,
Dil Diya Dard Liya
,
‘Guzre hain aaj ishq mein, hum uss maqam se, nafrat si ho gayi hain mohabbat ke naam se
[today, I have passed that stage in love where I cannot bear the name of love]. ‘
He had never been a diehard romantic, but Sujata had turned him into one. And now, a year from his involvement with her, he was back to being a misogynist. He decided women were not worth adoring; they should be just treated as an object of lust, and nothing beyond that.
Dawood’s friends suggested he drink away his pain but he refused to hit the bottle. When they tried to set him up with women in their circle with the intention of helping him get over his grief, he always turned down their offers and foiled their efforts. He had decided not to love any woman with this intensity, never fall in love at all. But then Mehjabeen happened, and all his resolutions were turned to dust.
22
Ageing Dons
M
astan had managed to achieve almost everything in life: money, power, clout, respectability, popularity, and whatever else that matters in life.
He had managed to get his three daughters, Qamrunnisa, Mehrunnisa, and Shamshad, married into good households and as a father he was satisfied with his filial responsibilities. However, he longed for a son who could have succeeded him and immortalised his name. Mastan often looked at Ibrahim Bhai and felt envy at the way the Almighty had blessed him; so many children and six of them sons.
When a man is getting older, he becomes both more devout and desperate. Mastan had become highly religious and apparently philanthropic as well. He made a trip to Mecca and Medina again. Nobody knows how many times he had accomplished Hajj, but with his newfound faith in God, he added a prefix of Haji to his name. He was now known as Haji Mastan Mirza. Muslims normally do this to show the world they have made a trip to the Holy Kaaba, and have in a way repented and given up all the vices in their lives. The prefix is also cited as evidence of credibility and probity.
Mastan had also begun making supplications for a son at the shrines of all the revered saints. He began visiting all the religious shrines in the city and across the country, giving charity and feeding the poor and asking everyone to pray for him to get a son.
His devotion went to a new level when he got interested in Muslim social movies, which focus on religious messages for the family. Mastan saw that films were a powerful medium; and that the masses react to movies more than anything else. So, he became interested in producing these films. The seventies and early eighties subsequently witnessed a spate of Muslim social movies like
Mere Gharib Nawaz, Niaz aur Namaz, Bismillah Ki Barkat, Awliyae-Hind, Dayare-Madina,
and scores of other movies.
In the course of meeting film personalities, Mastan encountered Veena Sharma alias Sona. She was touted as a Madhubala lookalike, and Mastan, like the youth of his time, dreamt of marrying Madhubala, the most beautiful screen diva of Bollywood since the inception of the film industry. They say there will be none like her ever again, but when Sona appeared on celluloid in the late seventies and early eighties in Muslim social movies, some thought she bore a striking resemblance to Madhubala.
Mastan lost no time in sending her a marriage proposal, which she readily accepted. He was a powerful producer, and she a struggling starlet, so the union was almost pre-ordained. He bought a palatial bungalow for her in Juhu and moved in with her. Soon he began flaunting her at public functions. He ensured that he was photographed with Dilip Kumar and Saira Banu with his new wife in town, at all the major dos. Mastan cherished these photographs, often showing Dilip Kumar and Mastan together, and adorned the walls of his bungalow with them. Soon, he gained the reputation of a socialite, and talk of his smuggling activities and offences became history.
In hindsight, it seems like this was Mastan’s ploy for shedding his dark image and going legit. He had always craved respectability and some position in society. The Muslims of Bombay had had no respectable reformist leader in the community who could hold sway in the community, till now. So, Mastan decided to take over the mantle of the community’s leadership. Unfortunately, the masses were not wise enough to resist his attempt to fill the void at the top.
Mastan, who was invited to all respectable gatherings and given a significant spot on the dais of these functions, played to the gallery at times and made inflammatory speeches. The Special Branch (SB)-I of the police, which always went sniffing around occasions like these, realised that Mastan’s emergence could mean trouble. This was duly reported to the top bosses at the Mantralaya.
During the communal riots of 1984, when the government began a crackdown on anti-social elements, the police top bosses decided to detain all mafia head honchos. Senior Police Inspector Madhukar Zende, who had quite a reputation, picked up Mastan and Karim Lala and charged them under the National Security Act (NSA). Mastan was actually in hiding at his Juhu bungalow, but Zende managed to drag him out of it and hauled him to the Crime Branch. Subsequently, Zende raided the Taher Manzil at Grant Road residence of Karim Lala and took him to the police headquarters.
The Police Commissioner Julio Ribeiro, who had heard much about Mastan and his ill-gotten fame, was shocked to see him when Zende produced the smuggler. What he saw was a puny, frail, wiry little man. Zende would not forget the way his police chief reacted: ‘Is
this
Mastan, that famous guy?’
Both Mastan and Karim Lala were convicted under NSA and had to serve several months in the Thane jail. Mastan felt thoroughly humiliated and chastened. All his wealth, money, and hobnobbing with Bollywood and politicians were of no avail. He wanted people who could stage
rasta rokos
(demonstrations) for him, a mob who could subjugate the authorities; hordes of supporters who would become a formidable force on his side, a source of power. After days of thinking and consultation with his think-tank, which also included his mastermind, his police informer and sounding board Jenabai, he came up with a master plan. Why not bring the Dalits and Muslims together? Both of them are downtrodden and oppressed groups of people, he thought, and both have an axe to grind with the system, as Dalits and Muslims both feel the government has been unfair to them. A joint platform as a united force would also be an answer to the Shiv Sena’s muscle. In fact, they would emerge stronger than Bal Thackeray’s Shiv Sainiks, dreamt Mastan.