Dawood could not remain a spectator any longer. He threw his whistle, flung his cap away and ran towards the boys, hurling himself at the group of boys beating his brother up. It was an uneven fight, in which Sabir and Dawood were outnumbered and outmanoeuvred by their rivals. The struggle continued for a few minutes and both the brothers sustained lot of injuries and cuts on their faces and bodies.
Dawood too had managed to inflict some grievous injuries on one of the boys before they could be separated. Sabir had suffered some injuries too, his lips were torn and his face was bleeding.
The issue had become grave and a group of parents descended on to the school the following day. They wanted a police case filed against the brothers and demanded that they should be thrown in a children’s home. This time, despite Malgi’s intervention, the irate parents were not willing to listen.
In the meanwhile, Dawood, who was too scared to face his teachers, decided to bunk school for a couple of days—which turned into weeks and, finally, months. Eventually, Dawood joined the ranks of school dropouts and began spending the day loafing around the streets. His degeneration towards a criminal life had begun at an accelerated pace.
While Ibrahim Kaskar was struggling to make both ends meet and help his starving, impoverished family, he was unable to focus on his wayward sons, who were too busy with their own delinquent ways.
Ibrahim’s promising young lads thus bid adieu to their academic career and veered towards a life of joblessness and crime. He used to keep receiving complaints against them, and he wanted to ensure their reformation, but he just could not do enough to straighten them out.
Once again, he sought help from Malgi, who summoned Dawood and attempted to admonish him, saying, ‘One fight should not be the reason for abandoning your studies.’
‘We did not start the fight. We were attacked by a whole bunch of boys who had come prepared to beat Sabir up. We were beaten up. We only tried to defend ourselves,’ Dawood told Malgi in an uncharacteristic outburst.
‘You need to just apologize to the parents and the boys. And all this will be over. You will be back to school,’ Malgi tried to convince him.
‘We are the victims. We deserve an apology. Why should we apologize?’ Dawood retorted.
And now that the floodgates were open, Dawood continued, ‘I wish we could have fought like film heroes, where the hero faces several villains at once and still emerges victorious. I wanted to punch that Umar Saand [bull] and Sufiyan Mental. It is only because I am helpless without the requisite fighting skills that I got beaten up. Can you train me in physical combat which might come handy in such situations?’ Dawood asked innocently.
Years later, Malgi is still not able to forget Dawood’s innocence and rage.
Malgi tried to reason with Dawood that there was no reason for him to learn hand combat, and that it was not a career option for him. ‘Such physical violence will lead you to jail,’ he had warned the boy.
Dawood had respect for Malgi, of course. But he knew that he did not like being beaten up or pushed into a corner. He realized he wanted the upper hand in all situations—always. Dawood had already made up his mind to be a fighter. All he needed was a coach to fulfil his dream.
9
Khalid: Bashu’s Acolyte
A gleaming red Mercedes Pagoda was sliding down the road towards the J.J. Junction. In the 1970s, it was a rare sight. Except for film actors, business tycoons and affluent car-crazy Parsis, nobody else thought of importing a Mercedes-Benz to India, what with the added headache of the staggering customs tariff. The car was a true status symbol. And that was exactly what made it a rare sight in this part of town.
From the moment the Pagoda made its appearance on the road, it was a showstopper. Everyone on the street—right from the pedestrians to the shopkeepers, to bystanders and other car drivers—stopped to admire the beautiful two-seater Mercedes coupé. The residents and passers-by knew that Ahmed Khan, better known as Bashu Dada, was on the prowl. Much before other smugglers and businessmen from Dongri had switched to the luxury Mercedes cars, Bashu Dada had cruised around in one and made it a point to flaunt it among the lesser mortals of the area.
Whenever Bashu Dada stepped outside, everybody in the neighbourhood knew it was wise to stay out of his way. Bashu Dada was well known for his foul temper and arrogance. The man was stockily built, broadly muscular, and always wore half-sleeved shirts, or a safari suit, so that his biceps were always visible. He had long hair à la Sunil Dutt in those days, which covered his nape and neck, with long, thick sideburns running down to his lower cheeks. He rarely smiled.
Before Dawood became a ‘Bhai’ and gave a whole new lexicological twist to the word, the local hoodlum and strongman was addressed as ‘Dada’. While in Marathi it meant ‘elder brother’, in several Maharashtrian families the word was used to refer to one’s father. In northern India, ‘dada’ meant ‘grandfather’, while in Bengali, it was used to mean ‘elder brother’. In north Indian households, one would often say, ‘Hum tere baap ke bhi baap hain (I am a father to your father)’ to children and youngsters, reflecting a chauvinistic, alpha male outlook.
So Bashu Dada was, in a manner of speaking, the father of all the humble subjects in his fiefdom. He would never bend down to tie his shoelaces; his acolytes would do the needful. If a police officer had to serve summons to him, he would have to park his vehicle at the entrance of Hujra Mohalla, walk the distance to Bashu’s akhara (wrestling pit)—smack in the middle of the city—respectfully remove his cap and politely convey the court’s order to him. It was left to Bashu’s whim about whether he would accept the summons, respond to the court directive or just dismiss it disdainfully with a wave of his hand.
Bashu used to occasionally ride in his Mercedes to survey the city, catch up with his people and also to make an ugly display of his power and pelf. Khalid was sitting next to Bashu, looking at the hustle and bustle of the city with delight. He was extremely happy to have been seated in such an expensive car alongside one of the most powerful men of Bombay. Like his grandfather, who was a loyal man Friday to the reigning Nawab of Bhopal, Khalid was indispensable to Bashu.
Khalid had witnessed Bashu’s clout in the area, the way policemen saluted him and how even the mighty trembled in his presence. All in all, he was pleased with his decision to accept Bashu’s job offer soon after the Delhi fight. After Khalid defeated Bashu’s favourite wrestler, Mane, Bashu approached him. Khalid, who had grown up watching his grandfather at the service of a rich nawab, thought he could do the same. He thought Bashu was a seth, and Bombay the ticket for a better life. Despite having completed his education, Khalid was not sure about his vocation. Secure government jobs were aplenty for a graduate but Khalid did not want to waste his life as a pen-pusher. He knew that pehelwani would not give him a stable income, but he had been told that his physique and education might help him secure a police inspector’s post. Khalid did his homework and learnt that the Madhya Pradesh government had planned a drive for police recruitment in a couple of months’ time. He made up his mind to appear for the tests and try his luck with the Bhopal Police. At that point of time, he was yet to come to Bombay or experience it. Bhopal was his home and hearth, and whatever plans he had in life revolved around the city. When Bashu Dada made the job offer, Khalid thought it was his chance to see Bombay, all-expenses paid, and return to Bhopal for the police job. There were still a few months left before the recruitment.
Once in Bombay, Khalid realized that Bashu was the uncrowned king of Dongri. But what surprised Khalid was the attitude of the police. He always thought the uniform of the police made them distinct individuals, vesting them with power and authority. But in Bombay he was surprised to see the police being subservient to Bashu. If a police officer wanted to meet Bashu, who happened to be watching a soccer match on TV, the officer would have to wait patiently until the end of the match. Nothing could interrupt the match, not even a uniformed on-duty police officer. This servile and slavish attit
ude of the cops disappointed him, and Khalid’s respect for khaki took a beating.
On the other hand, Khalid was drawn to Bashu’s power. Bashu Dada regaled him with stories of his bravery and of how he had managed to hold his own against all his foes. Khalid was impressed. He was moving away from his goal of becoming a police officer.
On that particular day in August 1971, when Bashu had begun his tour of the area with Khalid in tow, he started telling him about his elder brother, Mohammad Khan. ‘After losing my parents early in life, all I had as family was my brother. But a dada from the neighbouring mohalla, Hassu Maharaj, got him drunk and stabbed him to death when he was alone at night.’
It had been over a year since his brother had been killed but Khalid realized that Bashu Dada’s grief was still very raw. Every time he mentioned his brother his eyes went moist.
Hassu Maharaj was a mean, insolent, legitimate street ruffian. He had several murder cases, extortion and cases of attempted murders (in legal parlance known as ‘half murder’ in those days) registered against him. Hassu was jealous of Bashu because of his wealth, his connections with the police and his flashy car, his badam-sherbet machine and his akhara. Hassu also hired more toughies in his gang to convey his power. Gangs are run by muscles and machines, and more men means more power and a bigger fear-factor.
Bashu was the short form of ‘Badshah’, which means ‘emperor’. Not to be outdone, Hassu added the tag of ‘Maharaj’, to signify his status as king. They had several altercations about their men and violations of turf. Finally, Hassu decided to settle scores personally and cunningly trapped and killed Bashu’s brother. Bashu was distraught. For days he did not leave his house and spent most of his time mourning his brother.
‘Why didn’t you take revenge?’ Khalid often asked Bashu Dada.
‘Soon after the murder, the police became proactive. They realized that the murder could escalate into a gang war in the city, so they immediately arrested Hassu and put him behind bars.’
At the Arthur Road Jail, Bashu used all his influence to deny material comforts to Hassu, including good food, blankets and hot water. In fact, some of Bashu’s men serving time in jail also picked up deliberate fights with Hassu and roughed him up. These reports of the continuous harassment and humiliation of his brother’s killer were music to Bashu’s ears. However, all this only made Hassu more vindictive towards Bashu, and he vowed that he would wait for his turn to get back at Bashu.
‘So he killed my brother one day. And I am killing him every day . . . and will keep killing him till he actually dies . . .’ Bashu’s words trailed off.
Thunkkkkk!
A big, loaded handcart had dashed against his car and badly dented the shining bonnet of his Mercedes. He was forced to bring the car to a screeching halt. Bashu was furious. He immediately opened the door and rushed out to see the extent of the damage. Khalid also opened his side of the car door and stepped out.
The sight that welcomed the two beefcakes was daunting in every sense. Some eight men had surrounded the car. All of them had sharp knives and guptis (choppers) in their hands. They seemed to be dangerous and ready to kill. Hassu Maharaj stood at the helm, sporting a devilish grin.
Unbeknown to Bashu, Hassu had managed to secure bail and had gathered all his mean minions to ambush Bashu when he passed by his area.
‘Chal Bashu tujhe tere bhai ke paas pahuncha deta hoon (Come, Bashu, I shall dispatch you to keep company with your dead brother),’ Hassu said and slowly took a step towards Bashu. It was clear that he was ready to assault and kill Bashu. Hassu was slow because he was also wary and alert; he didn’t know whether Bashu had a gun tucked under his belt. But Bashu had nothing.
Bashu, who maintained his aplomb, was extremely nervous from within. Was this the end? However, he leaned towards Khalid and whispered, ‘Aaj mera saath de do, bhai (Brother, stand by me today).’
Khalid had never before been into knife fights. Apart from wrestling, Khalid had only been involved in hockey-stick fights in college, which were more about power play and dominance and not intended to kill. But the men facing him were armed with lethal weapons and had dangerous designs, a situation which was totally alien for Khalid despite all his bravura. But Bashu’s plea jolted him to the core and he felt pity for the loneliness of a bereaved brother who was also his boss and his ticket to a good life in the city. Khalid’s pity turned into anger towards his crony’s enemy, which was further fuelled into rage by the unfairness of it all. Suddenly Khalid felt a sudden flow of high-octane strength streaming into his veins and his muscles felt ready to explode with raw force.
He called out to Bashu, ‘Bhai, aap Hassu ko dekho, main baaki haramzado ko jahannum bhejta hoon (Brother, you take care of Hassu; I will send the others to hell),’ and with that he pounced on the closest adversary. Khalid held the wrist of the man who had the knife but did not twist it, as it would have meant facing resistance and giving the others a chance to attack him while he would be busy pinning the man down. Rather, he pulled the man with full force and rammed his face against the roof of the car. This happened in a blur. Nobody understood what had happened until they heard the loud sound. The man’s skull had hit the red Mercedes and made it redder with the blood that was gushing from his eyebrows and seeping into his eyes.
The other man rushed towards Khalid, heaving the chopper in the air so that he could it bring down on Khalid’s chest and rip his heart out. But Khalid held the armed hand and, using a wrestler’s stance of lowering himself to the chest of his opponent and lifting him over his shoulder, knocked the man on the ground, face down, before he could even figure out what was happening, resulting in a broken nose and several knocked-out teeth.
The two quick casualties in the enemy camp emboldened Bashu. He felt encouraged enough to take on Hassu with more ferociousness. Bashu advanced towards Hassu; using his head as a weapon, he hit hard on Hassu’s chin. Taken aback by this attack, Hassu collapsed on the ground, sprawled on his back. Bashu was blind with fury as he channelled his love for football and began kicking Hassu mercilessly all over his body with his pointed shoes. The air reverberated with Hassu’s screams.
In the meanwhile, like the modern-day Hulk, Khalid had effortlessly lifted a couple of more men on his shoulder and, using his wrestler’s trick, thrown them on the handcart and flung some on the motorcycles parked on the side of the road. Their ribs must have broken from the force and impact of the fall. Hassu’s men were being thrown around like loose gunny sacks by a rampaging bull-like man who seemed to have gone berserk. In a matter of minutes, the whole fight had been overturned to Bashu’s advantage. The last two men from Hassu’s team saw a possessed Khalid with his modus operandi of breaking heads, snapping noses, cracking ribs and spreading blood all over the tar road. They also saw their ringleader, Hassu, being kicked relentlessly and rolling over with pain and agony. They decided not to mess with Khalid that day and instead run for their lives. They pushed away the crowd of spectators and ran off.
Bashu kept kicking Hassu and it seemed like he would kill his rival that day. Khalid warned Bashu, ‘There are too many witnesses and it is not a good idea to kill Hassu in full public view.’
‘I want to kill him today in front of the whole world to teach him a lesson,’ Bashu thundered.
Eventually, Khalid prevailed. There was an air of awe and appreciation at Khalid’s heroics. Khalid was happy with himself and walked with a certain swagger. Winning a duel in the ring with one man, bound by certain rules, is different from vanquishing a group of violent men on the street. Wrestling is a sport, beating street goons single-handedly is heroism.
The spectators had begun dispersing and the crowd was thinning gradually. Bashu turned and hugged Khalid and was full of gratitude and praise for his new acolyte. He felt vindicated at his decision of hiring Khalid. Everyone was gone, Hassu had also managed to get up and slink away from the scene. Dusk was setting in. The traffic on the road was increasing. Some cops had arrived on the scene. They s
aw Bashu and stopped in their tracks.
Khalid was ready to leave and about to get into the car. His mind was racing furiously. Would this ruin his prospects of joining the police force? Should he choose Bombay over his home town, Bhopal? This fight might have given him a high, but would it change his destiny? Khalid could not be more mistaken or wrong. The destiny changer was not the fight itself, it was an absolutely unlikely and unrelated phenomenon standing a few metres away from the spot.
At the mouth of Temkar Mohalla stood a transfixed teenager in an ordinary shirt and shorts, but with an extraordinary glint in his eyes.
Dawood Ibrahim had found his hero, his role model, his paragon of power. He was in awe of Khalid’s agile movements, lightning-quick reflexes and brute strength. And understandably so. What Khalid had displayed was incredible. He had neutralized and vanquished armed and dangerous men. Dawood thought this was only possible in the movies. But this man was real. Dawood wanted to approach him and persuade him to take him under his tutelage. But he was so astonished and inspired by Khalid that his legs felt glued to the spot.
Khalid, who had opened the car door and was getting in, noticed the boy. There was something about him that was compelling. Khalid noticed the boy looking at him with a rapt and unblinking gaze. He decided to break the ice and gave him a wide smile.
Dawood was now totally floored, his hero had acknowledged him with a generous smile.
Who knew this brief meeting was going to be the foundation of a long-lasting and unbreakable bond between them.
10
Dangerous Man, Dangerous Mind
Dawood's Mentor Page 7