Authors: S. Hussain Zaidi
Despite being in Pakistan, he still calls the shots in India. Until some time back, Indian movie moguls and gutkha barons asked him to arbitrate
disputes. And in Mumbai, many businesses—from real estate to airlines—carry the invisible Dawood logo. In that sense, he has not let go of Mumbai. He operates several real estate projects and companies in Mumbai via remote control. The police and politicians from India are still in touch with the don; many policemen in Mumbai have in fact lost their jobs after they were exposed as having links with his gang.
Dawood is 5 foot 11 inches with a menacing gaze. So what makes the man tick? He has presence; there is the way he talks, a kind of charm with a convincing quality about it; our very own Al Pacino.
Born on 26 December 1955, Dawood is now 56 years old. His look has undergone a sea change—he has lost a lot of hair and he does not sport a thick moustache anymore due to the constant threats on his life and its easy recognisability; it had earlier earned him the nickname of ‘Mucchad’ in the Mumbai underworld. Affluence and age have increased his waistline and the paunch is visible though not overly offending. For a man of 56, he looks fit.
The boss of the D Company is a billionaire many times over and it is said that his parallel economy keeps Pakistan afloat. It is also said that he bailed out Pakistan’s Central Bank during a crisis in 2000. His net worth is allegedly more than 6 billion rupees.
Dawood’s mafia connections are extensive and his business interests span many countries including India, Nepal, Pakistan, Thailand, South Africa, Indonesia, Malaysia, United Kingdom, the United Arab Emirates, Singapore, Sri Lanka, Germany, and France, and areas such as ‘franchises’ in the fields of drug trafficking and gambling dens.
In Karachi, Dawood Ibrahim is the uncrowned king, controlling the city’s gun running business, the stock exchange, the parallel credit system business, and many real estate holdings in the city. He trades in the Karachi bourse and in the
hundi
(hawala) system. He has invested heavily
in the Sehgal Group and is very close to Javed Miandad, son-in-law of one of the Sehgal brothers. Dawood has also married his daughter Mahrukh to Javed Miandad’s son, Junaid.
He has thirteen aliases, one of them being Sheikh Dawood Hassan. In Pakistan, this is his identity. Some of them also call him David or Bhai. In Mumbai or Delhi, when he used to call friends, the person who made the call for him introduced him as Haji Sahab or Amir Sahab.
The D Company has many businesses in Mumbai and, it is believed, carries out billions of dollars of operations in Mumbai alone, much of it in Bollywood and real estate. Dawood is believed to control much of the hawala system, which is a very commonly used unofficial route for transferring money and remittances outside the purview of official agencies. Its turnover is much bigger than Western Union and Moneygram put together.
Dawood is the ultimate twenty-first century businessman: ruthless with his competitors but generous to those who are loyal. He knows how to manipulate relationships with his cadre, the mafia, the terrorist networks, and with the bigwigs in the Pakistan government and the ISI.
Strange that a man with so much talent and potential ended up being an antelope on the savannah, a prisoner of another country, a pawn, one that is being played by both Pakistan and many other countries including the USA, who are aware of his activities in Pakistan. Strange that the man who had the guts to take on the might of the humongous Pathan syndicate has botched his chances for a life. Dawood has managed to turn the tide in his favour on several occasions in the past. It is said that now, he is deliberately lying low.
In retrospect, perhaps Dawood’s status as a fugitive and an outlaw beyond the reach of the Indian legal system suits many back home in India. Empires built with his money would collapse and many skeletons would tumble out of the closet if he was ever brought back home. The powers that be would rather have Dawood Ibrahim stuck in Pakistan. And so the cult of Dawood will be perpetuated. Movies with his trademark moustache and the cigar tucked in between his lips will continue to be made, and Dawood will be discussed between India and Pakistan forever. The man, of course, will forever be elusive; the real Dawood may remain a myth. This book is an attempt to understand what is known of him and his world.
2
In the Beginning: Bombay 1950–1960
E
ven in the fifties, people from all over India were drawn to Bombay like a moth to the flame. The city had earned a reputation for its nurturing abilities, in the way it welcomes in all newcomers who get the opportunity to grow in their lives. It never seemed short of resources and, despite the influx, it was growing in affluence, power, and importance. Like in New York of yore, which drew the masses into its embrace, poor youth from all parts of the country were landing in Bombay by the droves. From the north, boys from India’s more rural states like Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh began descending on the city. There were few Biharis though, because until then, the Biharis regarded Calcutta (present day Kolkata) as the golden bowl and refused to look beyond the eastern capital of the country. Uttar Pradesh residents however, were sharp enough to figure out the difference between Calcutta and Mumbai. After all, Calcutta was more of a socialist set-up, where new enterprises would find it difficult to flourish, unlike in Mumbai. Also, Mumbai has always been the financial capital of the country, and has always been known as the land of opportunity. Escaping a life limited to ploughing their fields, these north Indians rooted for Mumbai hands down. The boys were mainly from Allahabad, Kanpur, Rampur, and Jaunpur in UP. At the time, the population of south Mumbai was pegged at a meagre two lakh.
The north Indian migrants began living in ghettos of their own, divided on the basis of the cities and villages back home. But slowly the boys realised that without education they could not make much headway in the city of gold; thus a few frustrated youth turned towards the task of acquiring easy money. As Napoleon Hill said, necessity may be the mother of invention but it is also the father of crime.
In those days, the easiest crime to perpetrate was accosting late night travellers or families and relieving them of their valuables. The art of picking pockets was yet to be learnt and perfected. Wielding a shiny blade of a knife, sword, or chopper was enough to send shivers down the spine of peace-loving citizens of Mumbai. The criminals were emboldened when a few crimes went undetected; it was regarded as the success of their modus operandi. And soon, other players entered the fray.
According to records maintained at the Byculla Police Station in south Bombay, Nanhe Khan, who hailed from Allahabad, was the first history-sheeter, who threatened people with a long knife and robbed them of valuables.
Soon, sometime in the fifties, other natives of Allahabad joined hands with Nanhe Khan and the group came to be christened the ‘Allahabadi gang’. Nanhe Khan found lieutenants in Wahab Pehelwan and Chinka Dada. Moreover, Chinka Dada was technologically savvy and possessed something his boss never even dreamt of; two country-made revolvers at the either side, tucked in his belt.
Byculla was regarded as the epicentre of criminal activities at the time. Even in those days, Byculla residents were either Christians or Muslims. The Byculla Police Station divided the stronghold of two communities: the left hand side, that is the east side, which comprised the Byculla zoo and railway station, was the Christian dominion, while the right side, which includes the present day Sankli Street stretching till Byculla station west on one side and Nagpada on the other, was predominantly Muslim.
You cannot have a gang without an adversary gang. While Byculla don Nanhe Khan and Wahab Pehelwan were busy getting their names permanently embedded in the pages of police rosters, three Christian brothers from the Christian portion of Byculla were giving them sleepless nights. The brothers leading the Johnny gang were known as Bada Johnny, Chhota Johnny, and Chikna Johnny; the youngest was fair and good looking, hence the epithet ‘Chikna’ Johnny. The Allahabadi gang and the Johnny gang often engaged in skirmishes and a miniature turf war soon broke out between them.
But when the gang graduated from street-level crime to drug trafficking with the Pathans, they left behind a void in the Byculla area which soon turned into more turf wars between two budding gangs in the area: the Kanpuri gang and the Rampuri gang. These two gangs, however, could never make it big because they lacked the required chutzpah; the police and the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) soon neutralised them with quick arrests and an intensive crackdown. The Rampuri gang—before beating a hasty retreat from the Mumbai crime scene—left behind a relic: a long foldable knife with sharp edges on one side. The knife could be folded and hidden in the trouser pockets and it was meant to be thrust in the rib cage to savagely tear apart the innards of the stomach from one end to another. This lethal knife became known as
‘
Rampuri Chaaku
’
. And to date, the Rampuri Chaaku is the first weapon of the neophyte gangster in Mumbai.
None of these turf wars had ever turned very ugly or communal. Eventually, though, in the late fifties, the Johnny gang was sucked into communal frenzy in its engagement with another group—Ibrahim Dada’s gang. After the Allahabadi gang bowed out of petty crime, the new incumbent, Ibrahim Dada managed to fend off other gangs on the rise by the sheer force of his charisma. Rival gangs like Kanpuri, Jaunpuri, and Rampuri had few educated young people in their ranks whereas Ibrahim Dada was the first matriculate amongst them, a well-dressed gangster who could speak English.
Popular gangster lore has it that when Ibrahim Dada had gone to the American Consulate at Peddar Road to meet a friend at the consulate he met the receptionist, Maria. Fair Maria could not resist the raw appeal of the tall, robust, and brawny Ibrahim. It was love at first sight. Soon Maria began visiting Ibrahim at his residence on Sankli Street.
When Bada Johnny’s spies informed him of the budding love affair between Maria and Ibrahim, Johnny Dada was furious. He accosted Ibrahim once and warned him, ‘
Tum ek Christian ladki ko lekar kyun bahar jate ho
[why do you go out with a Christian girl]? Stop seeing that girl at once.’ Ibrahim remained unruffled and in reply began singing the popular Bollywood song from the blockbuster of those days, Dilip Kumar-Madhubala starrer
Mughal-e-Azam
,
Jab pyar kiya to darna kya, pyar kiya koi chori nahin ki, ghut-ghut kar yon marna kya
[Why fear when you’re in love. You have loved and not committed a crime, so why hide?]). It left Johnny fuming and helpless. He tried to scare Maria off by invoking religious sentiments, but to no avail.
Soon Ibrahim and Maria were married and the girl embraced Islam. This enraged Johnny Dada, who saw their union and subsequent conversion as a personal humiliation. This behaviour eventually led to his downfall because until then, Mumbai’s crime lords had never allowed communal feelings to interfere with business.
Muslim boys began deserting Johnny’s gang and joined ranks with Ibrahim’s, weakening the older gang’s muscle power and clout. Johnny’s reputation took another beating when his agents and pimps, some of whom were Muslim, refused to pay up his share of their spoils to Johnny and sought refuge, instead, with Ibrahim Dada.
Johnny decided to take matters in his own hands. One day when Ibrahim was alone, he cornered him with a group of his hoodlums near Bombay Central station, and assaulted him with lathis, iron rods, and knives. Ibrahim was severely battered at first but soon summoned his reserves of strength and rallied, attacking Johnny and his men. Though they all escaped eventually, some of them were injured grievously.
Ibrahim decided to teach Johnny a lesson. He cornered Johnny in the Kamathipura area one day and challenged him to a one-on-one dual. Ibrahim beat his adversary mercilessly, humiliating him, and leaving him on the verge of death. His retaliation was finally effected: Johnny then disappeared from the scene.
Both his brothers also met an equally tragic end. Chhota Johnny used to terrorise the shopkeepers and loot their cash boxes at the end of the day. The hapless shopkeepers, mere traders by profession, could not summon enough strength or resources to retaliate. But, the story goes, a Bohra shopkeeper decided to take care of Chhota Johnny at last, even if it meant losing his life in the process. The shopkeeper devised a crude, makeshift weapon by fitting nails on the end of a stick. Chhota Johnny had become so careless in his confidence that unlike others of his ilk he did not even carry any weapons on his person, and when he staggered in, inebriated, the shopkeeper assaulted him mercilessly. He continued to hit him until Chhota Johnny collapsed on the ground in a pool of blood; witnesses recall that he continued to hit him long after he was dead. Fellow traders were surprised; Bohras are Gujarati Muslims, essentially a trader community found in all corners of the world plying their trade peacefully, simple businessmen who rarely turn violent. But something in the man had broken, it was evident. The shopkeeper was booked for manslaughter but the police made a weak case against him and let him off.
Chikna Johnny, the Casanova of the family, became the ringleader of his own fledgling gang. His story ended when he failed to return from a picnic with his girls. He had gone to the Gorai beach with some girlfriends and drowned while swimming. With even the runt of the family gone, the gang ceased to exist and its members switched loyalties and merged with other gangs like the Jaunpuri gang, the Kashmiri gang, and some other stray ones.