Dawood relocated to Dubai for good, leaving no scope of a return. He recreated Bombay in Dubai, importing all his favourite people there, including film stars. The year 1993, however, changed his life. After the March 1993 serial blasts in Bombay, helmed by Tiger Memon, Dawood became a fugitive and had to soon leave Dubai and shift to Karachi. Once in Pakistan, the dynamics of his business plans and everything else underwent a sea change as he was no longer free in the real sense but watched always by the eagle eyes of the Inter-Services Intelligence, better known as the ISI. For Dawood, the world had become a very small place, and he rued all his past mistakes as he pined for his motherland.
As they say, much of this was due to his own undoing.
But for Khalid, of course, the going was a little less rough.
25
Deception Point
Madhav Thakkar was totally confused, and desperate to save his own life. He had everything that a man could want to enjoy life comfortably. He had lots of money and nothing to fear from the underworld as he was well connected. Thakkar had an understanding with the underworld as well as with the police. Karim Lala and Dawood’s former aide, Ejaz Pathan, were his close friends and, in fact, there were several Bombay Police officers in the top echelons who were on his speed dial. Thakkar had cultivated relationships with police officers in such a way that they responded to him promptly. This was quite a feat for any police informer.
Thakkar had nothing to worry about in his otherwise uneventful life until, one ordinary day, a few men barged into his office, sprayed bullets around indiscriminately, shattered each and every window and glass object in view, and then, just before decamping from the spot, lobbed two hand grenades into his office, which blew everything to smithereens. Thakkar was left frozen in horror for a long time after the attack.
The business district of Masjid Bunder in south Bombay, which is the hub of grain, spices and other grocery items and a wholesale market, was shaken by the attack. Such a ravaging assault was unprecedented in an otherwise chaotic but peaceful area of the city.
Thakkar was thanking his stars for surviving such a lethal attack completely unhurt, albeit by the skin of his teeth. When he saw the men whipping out their guns and opening fire at him, he dived and took cover behind a table, later rolling behind a steel almirah. This not only saved him from the volley of bullets but also the grenades. Incidentally, one of the grenades turned out to be a dud and did not explode. The other grenade that exploded did not injure him as it detonated at quite a distance.
Thakkar could not believe that he was completely unscathed in such a violent attack. He immediately began snooping around to find out who could have put out a contract on his life. He was utterly baffled when he found out that none of the dons wanted him dead, including Dawood, Chhota Rajan and even Arun Gawli. Then who did this? And why? Thakkar had no answers to any of these riddles.
Thakkar had been a police informer for years. This business of providing information to the police had given him plenty of clout. There are three kinds of snitches in the world. The first one provides information for money; this kind is considered unreliable. Then there is the reluctant informant, who is actually planted by the police or forced by them to share information. The informant has to provide tip-offs under duress and does it only for his own safety and the well-being of his family; this type of informer is not very useful but once in a while his information can help in gathering intelligence and getting vital leads in ongoing investigations. The last type of informer is the one who wants to take revenge on the enemy gang. This type of informer is the most reliable asset for the police. Ironically, Thakkar did not belong to any of the categories. The cops were, however, quite happy with him and he had them eating out of his hands.
Thakkar revelled in his connections and strutted around calling himself ‘Madhav Bhai, mama ke mama’, which loosely means ‘the uncle of the police’. (Policemen were pejoratively referred to as ‘mamas’ by everyone.) Madhav Bhai had no worries as his network was functioning smoothly. Thakkar kept obliging everyone and thought he was a big shot in the making.
However, sometimes, one small, unrelated incident can snowball into a major catastrophe and affect several lives. Thakkar could never have dreamt that his intervention in a business dispute would actually put him on the warpath against Khalid and sound the death knell for him.
An entrepreneur had procured an investment to the tune of half a million US dollars, which was the equivalent of more than 1 crore rupees, from a businessman named Kailash Agarwal. Agarwal had liked his business proposal and had raised the sum after mortgaging his house and car. Agarwal expected him to return the money with a handsome interest in a year’s time, so he could repay his loan commitments. However, when the payment could not be made, Agarwal was pushed to the brink of bankruptcy and penury. The banks wanted to attach Agarwal’s properties.
Agarwal began knocking on the doors of the police for help, but they refused to mediate saying that it was a civil dispute and that he should approach the courts for redressal and arbitration. Agarwal knew that the courts would be too busy and that by the time they finally got a chance to look into the matter, he would virtually be on the road with a begging bowl.
Suddenly, Agarwal was reminded of Khalid, who was obligated to him because Agarwal had once helped him financially; Khalid had then, in turn, promised to rescue him from a tight corner if he ever found himself in one. A despondent and desperate Agarwal reached out to Khalid. Khalid felt sorry for Agarwal’s plight and decided to help him. He immediately dispatched his henchmen to the entrepreneur’s house in Walkeshwar. But the man was not at home. Moreover, when he returned home he did not know why some ruffians had come looking for him. He called Thakkar, who immediately got in touch with the senior cops and got police protection for the businessman.
Here’s the cruel twist that neither Thakkar nor his nemesis could have foreseen until it was too late. One of the goons who had gone to the entrepreneur’s house was Shafi Toofani, who had been a dreaded mafia hitman working at the behest of Khalid. Toofani was also Khalid’s ace lieutenant in Bombay.
When Toofani realized the speed with which the entrepreneur got police protection overnight, he understood that it was Thakkar’s handiwork. Toofani was nursing an old grudge against Thakkar. He had heard that Thakkar was squealing on him and the police officers had now put him on the hit list for an encounter. Toofani hatched a clever plot to pre-empt the police action. The idea was so simple that it would not only save his life but would also eliminate Thakkar conveniently from the scheme of things.
Khalid was left stunned when he received a call from an irate Madhav Thakkar the next day. Thakkar showered a volley of abuses on Khalid and then openly challenged him to do whatever he could; the entrepreneur would not return the money. Thakkar’s stinging, insolent attitude had Khalid riled up. He had never had so many expletives hurled at him. Also, the temerity of Thakkar and his audacity to throw down the gauntlet at Khalid was astounding. Ganglords thrive on the business of fear. They always worry that their empire will collapse if people stop fearing them.
Khalid wanted to make an example of Thakkar. He instructed his men to leave the entrepreneur and prioritize killing Thakkar instead; he told them the lesson imparted should be so loud and shrill that even his deaf detractors should be able to hear it. The diktat was clear: kill Thakkar and crush him. It was with this decree that the men used machine guns and grenades in the attack.
Thakkar was running helter-skelter and desperately trying to figure out who could be so furious with him. Who would use a bomb to kill a man after such a burst of bullets, Thakkar often wondered. He also knew that the underworld shooters normally fired at point-blank range and often took headshots, which invariably proved fatal. Thakkar stopped going to office and confined himself to his house in the north-eastern suburb of Ghatkopar East. He hired over forty bodyguards and surrounded himself with enough security at all times. He stopped stepping out of the house except for ext
remely important errands like visiting a doctor.
A panic-stricken Thakkar also began to travel with a helmet on at all times, including in his bullet-proof car. This made him the subject of ridicule in his business and social circles. But Thakkar had survived a brutal attack and he alone knew the ferocity unleashed on him by the assailants. In the meanwhile, Khalid was furious that Thakkar had escaped the attack. This time, Khalid instructed ten men to follow Thakkar and pump bullets into him until he stopped breathing.
Thakkar had not yet recovered from his earlier nightmare, but the incessant mocking from the people around forced him to drop the helmet. One day, in June 1992, at 9.20 p.m., when Thakkar left his house and was passing by Mulund East, his car was intercepted by two handcarts. One man struck the car windscreen with a crowbar, while the other broke a window and indiscriminately fired at Thakkar. The gunmen kept shooting at his body until the last iota of life was drained out of him. The police extracted nineteen bullets from his body. The brutality of the killing sent shockwaves through the city and in police circles.
Khalid was satisfied with his sharpshooters’ execution. But he did not gloat over the killing and instead experienced a strange nagging feeling, one he had never felt earlier. Khalid began to wonder why he wasn’t getting that feeling of satisfaction on punishing an intransigent man. There was no history of animosity between the two of them. Why would Thakkar, without provocation, behave in such a haughty and disdainful manner? Khalid spent days digging for answers; he subsequently gave up and occupied himself in other engagements. However, one day, the answer himself walked into Khalid’s life when he received a call from Madhav Thakkar.
Khalid felt the earth move beneath his feet. Madhav Thakkar was dead. His army of shooters had killed Thakkar. His body had been identified by the police and reported extensively by the newspapers. Thakkar could not possibly be alive, let alone make a phone call to Khalid. Even stranger, Thakkar seemed to be bawling over the phone and begging for his forgiveness. The non-stop crying was making it difficult to decipher what Thakkar was trying to plead for, until it suddenly started making sense to Khalid.
‘I am not Madhav Thakkar but Talha Ansari; I masqueraded as Thakkar on the phone and challenged and abused you. Please forgive me,’ said the caller, full of guilt.
Khalid began to turn blue with rage, when Talha’s parents came on the line and began imploring him to spare the life of their young son. Khalid then controlled his anger and started asking questions. Why did he behave in this irresponsible manner? Why play a prank that put someone’s life on the line?
Talha told Khalid that it was Shafi Toofani who had forced him to call Khalid and impersonate Thakkar. Talha had not known about the consequences of the call. Toofani had assured Talha that they were only playing some mischief on Khalid. Talha did not know about Thakkar and had never anticipated the repercussions. Khalid replaced the phone in the cradle and let out a thundering shriek. He was more contrite about killing a man than being furious about being deceived by his own top shooter, and such a manipulative betrayal at that.
Toofani knew that Khalid did not forgive anyone who used abusive language towards him. Also, if someone dared Khalid to a task, then Khalid would never allow the man to get away after cocking a snook at him. For him, the only convenient and inexpensive way of getting rid of his bête noire Thakkar was to unleash Khalid’s wrath on him.
Toofani threatened Talha at gunpoint in his parents’ presence into calling up Khalid and pretending to be Thakkar. For Talha, it was a matter of making one phone call and saving the life of his parents and himself. But when he read about Thakkar’s violent end, they all got scared for their lives. They shivered at the thought of Khalid ever realizing that he had been fooled by a hoodwinker. After spending days in fear of retribution, they decided that it was better to confess to Khalid than allowing for the possibility of forcing him to hunt them down after he realized the truth.
Khalid wanted to punish Toofani as well, but he had gone underground since the killing. Toofani had miscalculated the whole game plan. He thought that Thakkar’s killing would get him off the radar of the cops. But he did not account for the fact that the Bombay Police would only intensify their pursuit. And if earlier he would have been thrown in jail after being charged under a stringent act, Thakkar’s killing would only multiply his problems manifold.
Even as Khalid was looking for Toofani, the Bombay Police got to him and killed him in an encounter.
Thakkar’s killing had singed Khalid so badly that he spent months in remorse. Khalid also vowed to never order anyone’s killing again and bid adieu to all involvement in mafia activities. Until 1992, Khalid used to make incognito trips to Bombay, but after the Thakkar–Toofani debacle, Khalid retreated into his shell and sought to be a recluse, though he remained in touch with his relatives.
Khalid was in hibernation for over twenty-five years until I decided to establish contact with him and convinced him to answer my questions.
26
The End of the Line
23 April 2018
Park Regis Kris Kin Hotel, Dubai-Karamah
Khalid walks into the lobby and warmly shakes hands with Rayyan and me. Until now, we have been invariably summoned to a venue of his choice, always escorted by some beefy, dour-looking men. Today, Khalid insisted on meeting us at the place where I was staying in Dubai. Initially, I tried to dissuade him, but after initial resistance, I agreed. Khalid reached on time, around 3 p.m., and to my surprise he had no acolytes with him.
Khalid took a seat in the coffee shop and we immediately got down to discuss my last few remaining queries with him as I had to leave for the airport to board a 5.40 p.m. Emirates flight to Mumbai. From my earlier experience of dealing with dangerous men, I had always noticed that they decided to meet me a couple of hours before my departure from the city and then delayed me in such a manner that I missed my flight. However, we resolved to be brief and wrap up the conversation quickly.
The conversation started on an unsettling note. Khalid abruptly began the story of his man Prakash in Bandra in Mumbai.
‘Prakash was my landing agent in Bombay and I used to trust him immensely. But once, when I sent gold in a launch, he played dirty with me. He safely packed the gold biscuits in a bag, tied them in a fishing net and concealed it below the boat, so that it could not be detected by the customs sleuths. His people on the coast were able to see that the vessel had reached the landing spots empty.
‘Prakash then told me that customs has seized the gold. I was disheartened but then I found out through my own intelligence machinery that Prakash was deceiving me to usurp all the gold biscuits on the boat. I could not forgive this treachery of a man I trusted so much.
‘I issued instructions to my hit squad in Bombay to take him out in a manner that it became a lesson for others.
‘Gaddari ki saza maut hai (Death is the punishment for betrayal),’ said Khalid, concluding the story.
This emphatic punchline was delivered with such intensity and purpose that not only a battle-scarred pen-pusher like me but even a young man like Rayyan could interpret it to convey a subtle threat to us. However, both of us pretended to remain calm and unfazed.
Khalid was trying to debate that I should desist from the mention of his unsuccessful foray into Bollywood. However, he agreed when I explained to him the rationale behind the narrative.
He claimed that there was no Red Corner Notice against him and that he had given up smuggling in 1992. He also explained that he had never been involved in any anti-national activities. But Khalid was wary of returning to Mumbai as he did not want to become a trophy for some trigger-happy cop.
I asked him whether he had ever diversified into drug trafficking after quitting smuggling. Khalid vehemently denied having to do anything with the drugs business.
Rayyan showed him a news report about Khalid Ghaswalla’s arrest at the Dubai International Airport last year. ‘I think it must be somebody else. Howsoever rich or infl
uential you are in Dubai, you cannot do business with drugs and remain safe from the law. Look at what happened to Vicky Goswami despite his legitimate front as a hotelier. The moment the authorities found out about his involvement in drugs, he was busted and thrown behind bars.’ Goswami was the owner of the Empire group of hotels, dotting several cities on the globe. He subsequently married Bollywood starlet Mamta Kulkarni. The Thane police recently registered cases against both of them.
If Khalid was not into smuggling, drugs or any illegal activities now, then what were his current businesses? Or was this just a smokescreen? Khalid explained that until last year he was dabbling in the hotel business and had stakes in Hotel George in partnership with the late Abdul Wahab’s son Ilyaas. But when he realized that it was not as lucrative an enterprise as he thought it would be, he moved on to other businesses.
Khalid said he is now associated with the ambitious 40-billion-dollar construction project called the City of Arabia. The project is the brainchild of Wahab’s enterprising sons Ilyaas and Mustafa Galadari. ‘We are still close and have family-like bonds with each other,’ Khalid said.
What about Khalid’s own family then? He is reluctant to talk about them. ‘My sons are well-educated men settled in European capitals and have got nothing to do with my past,’ Khalid avers mysteriously.
What about his relationship with Dawood? ‘Oh, he is still dear to me, like my own brother. We both share a special bond and he has profound respect for me. I was invited for his daughter’s wedding in Pakistan but I could not make it. We do keep in touch occasionally for old times’ sake,’ he said.
Khalid claimed that his last meeting with Dawood was in 1990 and that they have not met since then, though they have spoken over the phone a couple of times.
The conversation had become longer than I expected and Rayyan got anxious that I would get late for my flight. He indicated that I should wind up and leave. There were still so many questions and so many intricate puzzles that needed to be answered. But I did not want to miss my flight.
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