Within months, Mastan realised that his measly salary of 15 rupees had now become 50 rupees. He began to enjoy his work with Ghalib and soon became known as the Arab’s blue-eyed boy. He was now a coolie to watch out for. Importantly, his reputation and the fact that he enjoyed special treatment by an influential and affluent Arab caught the attention of local hoodlums.
One such dada or local goon was Sher Khan Pathan, who at the time used to have his way at the Mazgaon dock. These were the days when there was no unionism at the dock. He would extort money from coolies and anyone who refused to pay would be beaten up by Pathan and his men.
Mastan witnessed this day in and day out. He wondered why someone like Pathan who did not belong to the docks and was not even a coolie or a government servant should be allowed to come to the docks and threaten and extort money from hard working coolies. Enterprising lad that he was, he decided to take on Khan.
Mastan gathered a couple of other strong people, sat with them, and told them that Sher Khan Pathan was also a human being like them. If Sher Khan could beat them up with his own hands, they had the stronger hands of labour: they were tougher and used to hard work. If their strength could collectively be channelled to beat up Pathan and his goons, the coolies could ensure that their community was relieved of the goons.
Next Friday, when Pathan came for his weekly round of extortion, he realised that ten people were missing from the huge queue. Before he could get a grip of the situation, Mastan and ten of his men attacked Pathan and four of his cronies. Pathan had his Rampuri knife and guptis (stiletto) and Mastan and his people had lathis and rods. Pathan had only four men, while Mastan had ten. Despite the Pathan’s guptis andrampuris, Mastan managed to overpower him. Finally, a bleeding and battered Pathan and his acolytes had to run for their lives. This occasion of triumph further added to Mastan’s fame and growing clout within the coolie community.
And Ghalib’s admiration and respect for Mastan grew and he started giving him a percentage of his profit, rather than tipping him. Mastan became Ghalib’s 10 per cent partner and the Arab began to teach him how gold was to be valued and tested, as well as how it should be imported or sold off in local markets.
Soon after, in 1950, Morarji Desai, the chief minister of Bombay presidency, imposed prohibition of liquor and other contraband in the state. With such imposition in place, the mafia had a brilliant opportunity to increase their profits—provide the illegal goods not available to interested customers at exorbitant prices.
This was the time when Ghalib and Mastan came into their full form. Within months of the imposition, they started raking in money. Mastan bought himself a bicycle. Soon, he managed to buy a house of his own. He became the leader of the coolies in the early fifties, but his joy did not last long. Ghalib was arrested by the police and customs authorities for smuggling and evasion of duty, and Mastan’s dreams of success were shattered prematurely.
A legendary tale is told about Mastan’s rise after the years of Ghalib’s arrest. Mastan, who at the time of Ghalib’s arrest had just taken delivery of a box of gold biscuits on behalf of Ghalib, toyed with the idea of disposing of the box and decamping with the money. The thought of whether he should use the money to get more material from Eden or whether he should leave the box intact for Ghalib to return tormented him for a while. Finally, his father’s lessons showed him the path to take. Tempted as he was, Mastan did not embezzle the money. The box remained in his house—hidden and untouched.
Ghalib had been sentenced to three years imprisonment. Mastan returned to his life of helping small-time coolies and smugglers for these three years. Ghalib, after he served his sentence returned a broken man. In those three years, he had suffered huge losses fighting his case. His family was also in trouble. He was contemplating investing in horses for the derby, or starting a hotel or even relocating to Dubai, which was his hometown. He could not make up his mind, on which would be the best option.
For weeks Ghalib remained confused and he tried to sell off his property to support his lifestyle. It was in this confused state of affairs, that he met his old employee one day. Mastan caught hold of Ghalib’s hand and took him to a small house in the Madanpura ghetto, where Mastan showed him the wooden crate that had remained unopened for three years. It was very discreetly hidden below heaps of dirty clothes.
‘Alhamdolillah, glory to God, it is incredible. How did you manage to hide it for three years?’ Ghalib exclaimed, his eyes popping with disbelief as he stared at the crate brimming with sparkling gold biscuits. ‘Thieves or government officials will always look for valuables in well-protected trunks carefully secured with a lock. They would never think of checking a carelessly abandoned crate beneath a pile of dirty clothes,’ Mastan explained with a triumphant smile. ‘Why didn’t you take this gold for yourself and disappear from the city? Nobody would have missed you. You would have been a rich man, Bambai ka baadshah [emperor of Bombay]!’ Ghalib screwed up his eyes, still trying to understand through the incredulity in his brain. ‘My father always taught me that I could escape everyone, but I would never escape the Creator. I believe I can still become bambai ka baadshah someday,’ Mastan replied quietly.
The words, spoken with faith and confidence, brought tears to Ghalib’s eyes. He realised that in a world plagued by distrust and deception, there were still men, albeit very, very few, who were trustworthy and honest despite the strongest temptations. ‘I will accept this only on one condition. We shall both share it equally and become partners,’ Ghalib proposed in a rush of gratitude.
Mastan smiled. ‘There is nothing else that I would love more at this moment then to be your friend and partner for life,’ he said, and held out his hand.
The two partners shook hands.
It is a known fact in the world of business and crime that gold in any form could have impurities, but the yellow metal in its biscuit form is regarded to be in its purest. It was a crate full of these yellow biscuits that changed Mastan’s life and made him an overnight millionaire.
In 1955, Mastan was richer by 5 lakh rupees. He did not need to be a coolie or a dockworker any more. He immediately quit his job and decided to take up smuggling as his full-time business. He, along with Ghalib, came up with a scheme of importing gold. Ghalib had already told Mastan that they were now 50 per cent partners in the business. Ghalib went to Eden, Dubai, and other African countries and started sending gold, wristwatches, and other valuables to Bombay.
Mastan, by this show of ‘honesty’, had become quite popular in the smuggling community. His clout had grown and he was growing richer.
In 1956, Mastan came in touch with Sukur Narayan Bakhiya, a resident of Daman and also the biggest smuggler in Gujarat. Bakhiya and Mastan also became partners and they divided certain territories among themselves. Mastan used to handle the Bombay port and Bakhiya used to handle the Daman port. The smuggled items would come to Daman port from UAE and to Bombay from Eden. Bakhiya’s consignment was taken care of by Mastan.
Mastan recognised early on in life that money alone was not enough to remain powerful in the city. He also needed muscle power if he wanted to establish his supremacy across Bombay. And it is in search of this muscle power that Mastan is later found forging friendships with two of the most renowned musclemen in the city—the unlettered but influential Pathan Karim Lala and the don of central Bombay, Varadarajan Mudaliar alias Vardha bhai.
Haji Mastan.
Photo courtesy: Press Trust of India.
Haji Mastan with his adopted son Sundar Shekhar (right).
Photo courtesy: Retired Assistant Commissioner of Mumbai Police (ACP), Ishaq Bagwan.
Photo courtesy: Retired Assistant Commissioner of Mumbai Police (ACP), Ishaq Bagwan.
Dawood Ibrahim with the Pathans after their truce in the eighties.
Photo courtesy: Retired Assistant Commissioner of Mumbai Police (ACP), Ishaq Bagwan.
Dawood Ibrahim in later years.
Photo courtesy: Press Trust of India.
Babu Reshim (above), Rama Naik (left), and Arun Gawli (right) of the BRA Gang.
Photo courtesy: Retired Assistant Commissioner of Mumbai Police (ACP), Ishaq Bagwan.
Dawood Ibrahim’s elder brother Sabir after being killed on 12 February 1981.
Photo courtesy: Retired Assistant Commissioner of Mumbai Police (ACP), Ishaq Bagwan.
Dawood Ibrahim’s younger brother Anees Ibrahim.
Photo courtesy: Press Trust of India.
Manya Surve after being shot dead in an encounter on 23 January 1982.
Photo courtesy: Retired Assistant Commissioner of Mumbai Police (ACP), Ishaq Bagwan.
David Pardesi, the assassin of Amirzada.
Photo courtesy: Retired Assistant Commissioner of Mumbai Police (ACP), Ishaq Bagwan.
David Pardesi, the assassin of Amirzada.
Photo courtesy: Retired Assistant Commissioner of Mumbai Police (ACP), Ishaq Bagwan.
Abdul Kunju, the assassin of Bada Rajan.
Photo courtesy: Retired Assistant Commissioner of Mumbai Police (ACP), Ishaq Bagwan.
Dawood Ibrahim with Chhota Rajan before they fell out.
Photo courtesy: MID-DAY.
Chhota Shakeel
Photo courtesy: Press Trust of India.
Chhota Shakeel, Sunil Sawant alias Sautya (left), and Abu Salem (right) are a few of the noted members of D Company.
Photo courtesy: Retired Assistant Commissioner of Mumbai Police (ACP), Ishaq Bagwan.
4
Madrasi Mobster
On a scorching afternoon, an industrious young boy from Tamil Nadu was working very hard at the famous Victoria Terminus as the sun shone down relentlessly. Around the same time that Mastan was struggling for his livelihood at the Bombay Port Trust in the dockyards of Bombay, Varadarajan Mudaliar, another coolie, was trying to make a living at the landmark railway terminus.
Both of them were oblivious to the fact that their destinies would be closely intertwined with the other and that their lives would be entrenched in a similarly heady mix of crime, money, and power.
One story in particular precedes the ‘Madrasi mobster’ (‘Madrasi’ is a colloquial north Indian term for a south Indian), alias kala babu. He is said to have changed an institution, and put in its place, another: this was the only time in the history of Bombay’s crime that the ubiquitous cutting chai made way for a cold, dark beverage called kaala paani, across police stations in the city. The fizzy liquid was substituted for chai because of this singular coolie. According to stories from the time, at many police stations across the central belt of Bombay, the chaiwallah (tea-vendor) who brought his daily quota of tea several times a day in chipped glasses would walk in with glasses filled with the fizzy cola instead. The chaiwallah would leave this drink only on the tables of the senior officials in the police station and walk away without charging any money for the drink. In what seemed like an unwritten law, junior officials would immediately clear the room, people who had come to register complaints would be told to empty the premises, and the senior officials would put all other work on hold. The black liquid was a message sent to the officials that kala babu, was on his way to the police station. A policeman, who did not wish to be named, says, ‘Those days, it was his way of saying: I am coming to meet you. Make necessary arrangements. He had the whole force serving him.’ Till date, there is no one who ran the mafia the way kala babu did; and his biggest trump card was that he knew people’s weakness, especially that of the system. He was always heard saying, ‘Keep people’s bellies full and balls empty’.
If the anecdote has any truth in it, it is certainly further evidence of a phenomenal rags-to-riches story. For this kala babu who started his life in the city at the Victoria Terminus station as a cooliewent on to become one of the most powerful Hindu dons to rule over the city.
Varadarajan Muniswami Mudaliar was born into a feudal Mudaliar family with scarce means in the small town of Vellore, in Tamil Nadu. It was 1926 and he had begun working when he was just 7 years old as an errand boy at a photography studio at Mount Road in Madras (present day Chennai). He never completed his studies, but was the only boy who could read and write in English and Tamil in his family.
With nothing but a sheer force of aspiration, Varadarajan moved to the city of dreams and settled into one of the lanes adjoining the then Victoria Terminus. As much as his hard-working nature brought him under the radar of his employers, his name became synonymous with a person with a heart as large as the nameless crowd that he passed every day in the crowded station. The lore of his ‘large-heartedness’ was exemplified in the fact that when he finished his hard day’s work, he went to the dargah to offer niyaz (sacred food) to the devotees.
Varda used to visit the 260-year-old shrine of Bismillah Shah Baba, which was located just behind the main concourse of the long-distance terminus at VT. Starting off with a small amount of food for the poor every day, he began organising food for them at a massive scale as he flourished.
Even as he progressed in his life—from a simple errand boy to a porter and eventually to a notorious figure in Bombay—the dargah continued to receive food from the Mudaliar household and he continued to rub shoulders with the people with whom he started out his life—the porters. ‘He believed that he owed the dargah his dues. That was the first roof for him in Bombay,’ says his doting daughter Gomathy. Till today, his family has maintained the tradition of giving niyaz every year in June, where over 10,000 people are fed.
The police circles however refute the good Samaritan history. The policemen only recall incidents that involved words like ‘theft’ and ‘mitigator’ when it came to his generosity. The police had never documented that he was a helpful type; for them Varda was only a crook. The positive aspect of his character was, however, highlighted in two movies, Nayakan¸starring Kamal Hasan, and Dayavan, starring Vinod Khanna.
The innocent boy from Vellore with nothing on his side but sheer drive became a man much before his time in the hard and rough lanes of Bombay. His circle of friends went beyond the porters that he worked with every day to include local thieves and he was quick to learn easier means of making money through these friends. The daily toil may have earned him only a few annas and lots of abuse from passengers, but this new route also offered him a circle of friends that was bound by solidarity in an otherwise lonely city.
When Morarji Desai imposed the prohibition of liquor and other contraband in the state in 1952, the ban, especially of liquor, only provided licence to a growing illicit liquor trade. This trade required brawn and this proved to be the first turning point in the life of Varadarajan Mudaliar.
His local network brought him closer to goons who were already engaged in this trade. A policeman who had once caught Varda in the thick of the night recalls, ‘He was a glib talker. It is that attribute of his which made him dearer to the liquor mafia. They needed men who could talk and get the work done. Varda had that in him. He could convince anyone that he was right. Even if he had just killed an army, he could legitimise it.’ It took him just a few days to set up base at Antop Hill in central Bombay. It was this area that was going to turn Varda into Varda Bhai. The little locality witnessed the metamorphosis of the naïve Tamilian boy in his late twenties into the enigmatic outlaw.
The geography of Dharavi, Sion, Koliwada, and Antop Hill was the greatest advantage for the illicit liquor trade with nothing but hutments everywhere. In fact, even the police found it difficult to enter and patrol the area. The poorest people along with illegal migrants had their address in Antop Hill and Dharavi in those days. Like a local policeman narrates, ‘It was a matter of pride to be on a police chargesheet those days for people living in this area. Each boasted of FIRs as one would about awards. Men would be ridiculed if they were caught in silly offences
.’ The area was dotted with small huts where local liquor was illicitly produced. With the help of the local network and bribes to the police, the trade made way to bars in Bombay. Varadarajan started gaining entry into the trade when it was still in its early days.
The area was mostly occupied by non-Brahmin Tamilians who operated and maintained the bhattis (furnace) in khaadis (marsh lands). The number of bhattis ran into hundreds, with each one having a capacity of making around 120 litres of concentrated hooch each night.
The police files detailing Varadarajan’s trade said that he was the only one to plough the profits back into the trade as he looked at a much bigger canvas unlike the locals who were complacent with an area under them. He used his ‘south Indian card’ to his advantage and started creating pockets of mini Tamil Nadu by recruiting people into the illicit trade. He also identified similar pockets across central Bombay and even moved the production of illicit network to Sion-Koliwada, Dharavi, Chembur, Matunga, and some other areas to create a stronger, tighter network. The word regarding Varadarajan’s tenacity spread and those who came from Tamil Nadu for work invariably ended meeting Varadarajan and settling in this highly lucrative trade.
The logistics of work those days were very nominal. The trade, mostly active after midnight, would consist of a few who knew how to mix liquor, and another set of people who provided the security cover and kept vigil. The next set-up was of foot soldiers who, along with retired cops, worked in the nights round the week to provide liquor to many small shops across the city, especially close to the access points of the city.
Dongri to Dubai - Six Decades of the Mumbai Mafia Page 4