Dongri to Dubai - Six Decades of the Mumbai Mafia

by S. Hussain Zaidi

  Suddenly, he noticed that the wedding party was still following his car. Were they going to the suburbs? What were they doing while he kept zipping in and out of smaller roads looking for gas?

  The flower-bedecked car was, in fact, his cortege. There was no bride or groom in it, only agents of death who were stalking him. They were actually following a well-laid plan, hatched the same evening. The car had Mamoor Khan at the wheel, Amirzada, Alamzeb, Manohar Surve alias Manya Surve, and others. They were carrying assault guns, rifles, pistols, swords, and choppers. Surve used to devour James Hadley Chase paperbacks, and he was the one who outlined the plan to finish off Sabir that night. The trick of decorating the car with flowers and giving it a celebratory look, even, was Surve’s. The pursuers knew they would have to intercept Sabir at some point after tailing him for a while, and the flowers would allow them access to him without his getting suspicious.

  Sabir spotted the Servo Care petrol pump at Prabhadevi and drove his car in. As he rammed on the brakes, his heart went wild, thumping away with alarm and fear as he saw the white Ambassador screeching to a halt behind his car. He asked Chitra to get off, at once, and groped for his gun. But Sabir was seconds too late.

  Five armed men jumped out of the white Ambassador and surrounded Sabir’s car. Slowly one of them opened the car’s passenger’s door and extricated Chitra, who was quaking with fear, her face ashen. Sabir’s limbs were frozen, his throat dry; even as blood rushed into his brains, everything seemed to blur.

  Guns began to spew fire then, shattering the windscreen and piercing Sabir’s body. The gangster’s screams of pain and agony lasted only a few seconds, so powerful was the assault. Years later the gas station attendants and the neighbourhood would recall in horror the cold-blooded killing and the endless screams of a woman. No one could keep a count of the number of bullets fired on Sabir that night, but the autopsy recorded a total of nine bullets extracted from his body, and nineteen from various cavities in the car seats, carpet and metallic frame of the vehicle.

  As Sabir slumped, his forehead on the steering wheel, one of the killers whipped out a rampuri knife and slit his wrist. By then Sabir was beyond any pain or sensation, however. Blood simply gushed out of his wounds like a river in spate. Even his expensive white leather shoes were soaked and softened.

  The slaying of Sabir went down in the Bombay police annals as one of the most violent and brutal mafia killings the city had ever witnessed. One of its witnesses drew a parallel with the mythological Abhimanyu in the battle of Mahabharat, surrounded in stealth and killed without being allowed a proper defence.

  The victorious band of killers got into their Ambassador and headed back towards town immediately afterwards. Within 15 minutes they had reached JJ Square and veered onto Pakmodia Street. It was pitch dark and the denizens of Dawood’s fiefdom lay fast asleep when their car halted outside the imposing wrought iron gate of Musafirkhana. The five gunmen, ready to finish off the Dawood group’s upper echelon, got out of the car muttering ‘Aaj iska kissa bhi tamam kar dete hain [let’s finish him off today itself].’

  The high of shooting Sabir had led them to feel invincible. They began to mindlessly fire at the iron gate, without targeting any particular person or place. The silence of the night was shattered with the hail of bullets. Suddenly, the assailants realised they had emptied their gun, and hastily began to reload. But someone from inside Musafirkhana sprung a surprise on them; a volley of bullets was fired from within the gates. The killers ducked for cover, looking at each other in surprise. They had never expected retaliatory fire at this hour of the night.

  The gunman was Khalid Pehelwan, who was firing from the first floor from behind a pillar. Khalid had been awake since the time Sabir had left. The moment he saw the Ambassador coming to a screeching halt, he had grabbed a gun.

  The Khans were a bit rattled at this rallying. They decided to leave as they had already won a major victory that night; this assault was only a bonus. By then, Dawood and his men had taken their positions and were ready to launch their onslaught. When they saw the Ambassador backing off, they started firing, bullets hitting the boot and the bonnet and breaking its glass windows. Speeding off, the Pathans somehow managed a safe passage.

  The gunfire had woken Musafirkhana and the gang members were now assembled outside the gate. Dawood noticed that one key man was missing—his brother Sabir. Dawood’s first fear was that he had taken a hit from one of the bullets. But Khalid, who was the hero of the night, told him that Sabir had left a while ago to visit Chitra. A strange foreboding took over Dawood. Where was his brother? Sabir lay, of course, lifeless in a pool of his own blood.

  Henceforth, the Dawood-Sabir gang was officially rechristened the Dawood gang. The death of Sabir changed two things: Dawood Ibrahim and Bombay’s mafia. Neither would ever be the same again. Bombay’s mafia opened a new chapter of blood and gore; revenge and broad daylight killings; fresh recruits and new gangs; big money and drugs. Dawood not only turned vengeful but intensely motivated and driven, propelling him out of the small league in the Bombay pool and pushing him into the big sea of crime.

  24

  Dawood’s Coronation

  When Sabir’s body was brought into Musafirkhana, the neighbourhood was reeling with the cries of Dawood’s mother and four sisters. Ibrahim, though, was utterly silent in his shock as he gazed at this eldest son’s bullet-ridden body. The janazah (coffin) of Sabir was laden with flowers and the whole street was heavy, under a pall of gloom.

  Dawood was shattered. The killing of Sabir was like killing off half his own existence. He had no clue how and why it had happened. He had been crying the whole night and had not been able to reconcile himself with the fact that his brother was no more. But he had to take charge of his emotions; he had to complete the last rites and he was the only one who could take care of his family. All his brothers were rallying around him, but in tears.

  Karim Lala, Haji Mastan, and even Baashu Dada who, respectively, may not have liked Dawood or had had a tiff with him, had come for the funeral rites and offered their condolences to Ibrahim Kaskar, and Dawood himself. In the midst of his grief, Dawood took note of the visitors who had come for his brother’s funeral. This scene was to stay in his memory for a long time; Dawood would use it to know who was on his side and who were his enemies.

  The final rites were performed on Sabir and he was given ghusl, the final bath given to a dead body. He was borne away in the coffin, draped in a sheet which bore the holy names, and a huge crowd followed the funeral procession. It wound its way from Musafirkhana on foot and went to the Bada Kabrastan at Marine Lines, Chandanwadi.

  Sabir was buried and the police had to call in extra forces to ensure there were no law and order problems. Shops were closed, if not out of reverence for Sabir, then out of fear of violence. The entire area around Pydhonie, JJ Marg, Dongri, Teli Mohalla, Musafirkhana, Bori Mohalla, Bhendi Bazaar, and Mandvi was closed. This was the killing of a gang leader, and that too the brother of Dawood Ibrahim: a major, unprecedented event. Everyone, from the dons to the cops was on tenterhooks about the repercussions of this tragedy.

  After burying his brother, Dawood returned home and went through the last rites of the dead, at the same time trying to plan his next move. He had, of course, figured out who was behind his brother’s killing. As he sat with his brothers and his cronies, Anees, Jind-ul Haq, Ranjeet, Khalid Pehelwan, and others, there was only one thing on his mind; he wanted revenge, not through the Indian judicial system but death for Amirzada, his way.

  The retaliation would not only settle the score and avenge his brother’s death, it would also send a necessary message to the world; that he was not to be challenged. The harder Dawood thought, however, the tougher he found it was to think straight. He was confused and with each passing day he was getting madder and madder.

  At the same time, his father and his friend Karim Lala, as
well as others, were of the opinion that Dawood should give up the thought of revenge. A shattered Ibrahim Kaskar even met the then Chief Minister A.R. Antulay for expeditious investigation into the case and arrest of the killers. The Kaskars were hopeful of the chief minister’s intervention not only because he was a Muslim, but because he hailed from the Konkan region. But nothing happened.

  And though Dawood knew that Amirzada and Alamzeb were involved in the killing, he did not know where they were. The cops too were hunting for them, but Dawood wanted to beat the cops to Amirzada and finish him off for good.

  After many months of chase, the cops finally managed to arrest Amirzada. But this did not satisfy Dawood. He wanted revenge, even if the man was behind bars. Dawood felt that courts could never give justice to the people. He realised that it was quite possible that the lone eyewitness, Chitra, could be bought or intimidated. Due to the lack of circumstantial evidence, Amirzada might well walk free. Even if the lower courts convicted him, he could go to the higher courts and then to the Supreme Court, where he was likely to be released. Years would pass and Dawood would remain indebted to the soul of his slain brother Sabir. In his own eyes too, he would be a weakling who could not avenge his brother’s death.

  Finally it was suggested to him that he should outsource Amirzada’s killing. In this way, he would not only stay clear of the murder but also ensure that the man who killed his brother did not live. Lots of names were thought of, including those of some foreign killers; some even from the Italian mafia. But he could not really decide on the person who would avenge his brother’s death.

  There was a brave man called Rajan Nair, someone soon suggested, in the north-eastern suburbs. He could arrange for the killing of Amirzada even if he were in jail. And since Nair lived in the far eastern suburbs of the city, nobody would be able to connect him to Dawood, achieving the purpose of taking revenge without it being traced back to him. Convinced, a bloodthirsty Dawood decided to give this lead a chance and asked for a meeting to be arranged.

  25

  Mumbai’s Hadley Chase

  ‘Madarchod! Policewala bhadwa log! [Motherfuckers! You cops are all idiots!]’ Manya screamed.

  Sub-inspector Tambat stared down at the bleeding 37-year-old man that he and his squad had been hunting for the last two months.

  ‘Gaddari kiya mere saath [I have been betrayed]!’ Manya snarled before coughing up blood and spitting it at Tambat and his three fellow policemen in the sedan that was racing towards the Lokmanya Tilak Municipal General Hospital, also known as the Sion Hospital. In his final moments, the gangster, infamous for his violent ways and bitter hatred for the police, seemed to be spewing his venomous loathing at the system that he claimed was responsible for making him the criminal that he was.

  The car hurtled towards the hospital, as the policemen kept up their efforts to save the man that they had just shot six times. The victim of Mumbai’s first encounter kept up his tirade against the police till the last bloody hiccup took away his life. At Sion Hospital, he was declared dead before admission.

  The man was Manohar Surve, aka Manya Surve, one of the most feared gangsters of Bombay, who eluded the police for over a decade, before being shot to death in the city’s first encounter.

  Manya Surve had always claimed that he had been wronged by the police and his older brother Bhargav Surve, and he maintained his stand to the very end. Bhargav was in the illicit liquor business, and was always addressed as Bhargav Dada. With time, he began to take his ‘Dada’ tag seriously, and started working as a recovery agent for businessmen and financiers.

  In 1969, Manya was named as an accomplice in a case against Bhargav, in which a businessman from Prabhadevi was beaten to death with hockey sticks and bamboo shoots for not returning the 50,000 rupees that he had taken from a financier. The death of the businessman created outrage among the entire businessmen’s community in the Dadar-Prabhadevi area, and they all went on strike for three days, bringing the bustling commercial area to a standstill. The police, realising the seriousness of the situation, acted swiftly.

  When Manya was arrested, he claimed innocence and to protest the ‘injustice’, went on to stage a hunger strike at the Yerawada Central Jail, where he was lodged after being convicted. He was subsequently admitted to Sasoon Hospital after he developed severe health problems.

  On 24 November 1979, Manya’s close friends Bajirao ‘Bajya’ Patil and Sheikh Munir visited him at the hospital. There, they threw powdered chilly into the eyes of the policemen guarding Manya, who promptly jumped out of his bed and fled.

  A BA grad from Kirti College, Manya had a somewhat unique trait among his fellow gangsters—he was an ardent fan of James Hadley Chase. So much so that before almost every heist, robbery, or murder, he would spend hours working out the details of the job, using ideas and material from the books. From bank heist to orchestrating hits to actually carrying out murders, every single aspect of the job would be meticulously planned by him.

  After his escape, it was time to move on, and establish himself as a name to be feared. Manya went on to build a gang of ten to twelve men, with Sheikh and Bajirao as his two chief lieutenants. Over the next two years, he terrorised the people of Bombay with the most violent crimes that the city had ever witnessed. He robbed banks, held people to ransom, and brutally assaulted those who dared to oppose him. Even his own friends were not safe from his rage.

  Ashok Mastakar and Papi Patil were two such victims. On separate occasions, Manya asked them for money, a steady supply of which he always needed as he was constantly on the run. Both of them refused, with brutal consequences.

  One evening in 1979, Manya strolled into a gymnasium in Mahim. The gym was just beginning to fill up. Every eye was on Manya as he walked in, then in his early 30s, wearing a tight chequered T-shirt and baggy trousers with biceps and forearms bulging.

  In those days, such a physique was not a frequent sight, and the people inside watched appreciatively as Manya strode in confidently, and stopped and looked around. Everybody expected him to walk over to the weights and start pumping iron; they were all waiting to watch that physique in action.

  Nobody was prepared for what was going to happen next, though.

  Manya cast his eye around until he spotted Patil, who too had noticed the gangster stroll in. Manya walked up to him and stood looking at the anxious man for a moment, eyes locked in a ferocious battle. Then he reached into his pocket, calmly pulled out a revolver, took aim, and without batting an eye, shot Patil’s legs, blowing both his kneecaps out. Then, as calm as ever, almost as if nothing had happened, he looked around at the others, cowering in the corners, and walked out. It was more than a minute before the stunned people could move and rush to help Patil who lay on the floor, bleeding and groaning.

  Mastakar too was dealt with equally brutally and mercilessly. Manya, along with Sheikh and Bajirao, forced their way into his house and savagely assaulted him. His daughter, being held at knifepoint, was made to watch the brutality as it unfolded. Manya then threw acid over Mastakar’s face, disfiguring him horribly, before leaving.

  Mastakar later gave evidence against Manya, and his courage earned him a place on Manya’s hitlist. However, Manya was killed before he could get to Mastakar. The attacks on Mastakar and Patil are significant as both were good friends of Manya’s before he was arrested. Manya was apparently so close to Patil that he had eaten at the latter’s house on several occasions. Apparently, ‘no’ was something that Manya refused to accept from anybody, no matter who he or she was; anyone who said no to Manya automatically became an enemy.

  Manya’s temper was observed on several other occasions, when he was particularly brutal against people who resisted or opposed him. On one occasion, Manya and Sheikh lay in wait for a businessman outside a Dena Bank branch in Prabhadevi. Just as he was leaving the bank with a bag containing 2 lakh rupees in cash — a significant amoun
t in those days — the duo walked up to him, shoved their guns into his face and demanded that he hand over the bag. Instead of complying, the businessman threw the bag into the bank. Enraged, Manya, and following his lead, Sheikh, pumped bullets into the businessman, barged into the bank, picked up the bag, and walked away with the money. Manya’s gang later staged a daring heist in Matunga, and robbed an Ambassador of 7 lakh rupees that was being taken to a bank.

  Manya’s hitlist also included Police Inspector Ashok Dabholkar (name changed) from the Dadar Police Station, who had arrested him in 1969. After escaping from police custody, Manya went to Dabholkar’s residence in the Worli police colony while the policeman was at work and told his family that he was going to finish Dabholkar. He also made several threats to Dabholkar over the phone. So dire were the threats that after his retirement, Dabholkar dyed his greying hair black and grew a beard in the hope that he would not be recognised by Manya.

  Legend has it that Manya was the master strategist in the Sabir Ibrahim Kaskar killing. At the time, Manya’s name, like many other dreaded gangsters, had already become a surefire way to instill terror and fear into one and all, but his ability to strategise was by far what distinguished him from almost everyone of his tier.

  This is what made the Pathan gang single him out to orchestrate a killing for them. They approached a suspicious Manya, known for his paranoia and his singular, universal mistrust for others. The offer, a mind boggling reward that left even Manya smacking his lips, was something that he could not refuse.

  They say even Manya had an axe to grind and was on the lookout for an opportunity to bump off the Kaskar brothers, their power, and with it their fearsome reputation that was growing in leaps and bounds.

  Almost every other gang, including the Pathans, was finding it difficult to check the burgeoning power of the Dawood-Sabir gang. This is what the Pathans wanted to do, and where Manya came in.