Sufi - The Invisible Man of The Underworld

by Aabid Surti

  At the dock, fishing boats and steam launches were anchored at the jetty. The sea was calm. The reflection from the lights emanating from the lanterns in the boats was dancing in the water. The sky was dark. It was the beginning of the monsoon. Dark clouds, turning and twisting in the sky, were floating overhead.

  Rashid walked ahead and the gang followed. (His four brothers were also among them.) After a few steps, they all reached the pier. Below were, the sea, boats and the mild ripples of waves.

  From one of the steam launches up came a wooden plank. Rashid stood on one side. One after another, every member of the gang stepped onto the plank and boarded the boat. The last one to come was Rashid, after that the plank was removed. The launch started with a whirring sound and headed to sea in the dark.

  The moon made a brief appearance from behind a dark cluster of clouds and disappeared again. A mild breeze was gathering momentum. The launch was heading forward cutting through the water.

  The lighthouse came closer. The silhouette of a ship located at a distance from it started taking shape. Iqbal was watching it all wide-eyed.

  He had comprehended a little so far: They were heading for barpani to take the delivery of ‘water’. (Just as the word ‘water’ is used as a euphemism for liquor, barpani is the word used for a place off the coast where they anchor the ships which are unable to dock at the pier due to congestion or for some other reason.)

  After an hour's journey, the steam launch neared the ship. The ship was from Hong Kong. Its Chinese captain was standing on the deck, waiting for the contact. The time for the meeting had been fixed.

  Who had fixed it? Where had it been fixed? For Iqbal these questions remained unanswered. He had to learn and know much about this illicit profession. He was to graduate with flying colours, not from college, but from the underworld.

  A rope ladder was thrown down from the ship. Rashid gave one half of a ten-rupee note to Iqbal and said, “Give this to the captain and tell him to keep the stock ready. We will return at one in the night to take delivery.”

  Iqbal put the piece of bank-note in his pocket and held the rope ladder tightly. Carefully he climbed up to nearly 35 feet and almost reached the deck. The Chinese captain extended his hand. Taking it, Iqbal placed his foot on the brim of the ship and jumped inside.

  It was huge even for a cargo ship. He could see three ghost-like sailors standing at a distance on the deck. All of them were Chinese, like the captain.

  Iqbal pulled out the piece of the bank note and held it before the captain. The captain opened his purse, extracted the other half carefully and compared the two pieces. He was convinced that both the pieces were of the same note.

  He looked at Iqbal and smiled. Iqbal delivered Rashid's message, “We will be back by one. OK for you?”

  He nodded in agreement.

  Iqbal again put his foot on the brim of the ship. Several questions flashed through his mind while he was coming down with the help of the rope ladder. Who had torn the Indian currency note in two and given one piece to the captain? Where and when was it passed on to him? From where did Rashid get the second piece?

  On reaching the last rung of the ladder, he stepped onto the roof of the steam launch. From there he jumped down.

  “Everything went off well?” Rashid Parkar inquired standing in front of him.

  “Yes.”

  The launch started again. They were to return here after midnight, idling for three hours in the dark. The launch, instead of heading towards the shore, was going in a different direction. Iqbal sat quietly. Piercing through the water and the darkness, the launch was not steady. The whirring sound of the engine was clearly audible. Moreover, when the roar of the sea merged with it, the atmosphere assumed a dreadful dimension.

  The water was not as calm as before. The sea waves were slapping the launch on its side. The sky had become darker. There was the possibility of a storm breaking out soon.

  Chapter 8

  The lantern, spreading a faint light inside the launch, started rocking. There were eight men in addition to Iqbal and Rashid Parkar.

  Along with the lantern, their shadows also started dancing. On seeing the lights of the shore at a distance, Iqbal could make out that they had traveled from Bhaucha Dhakka (Ghadiyal Godi) to Barpani (offshore where the ship had been anchored) and then to somewhere near Uran island. They had spent one more hour on the sea.

  As the launch came nearer, the coastline of Uran became more and more visible. There were six to seven steam launches anchored at the pier. Finding a vacant place amid these launches, Rashid anchored his boat for an hour. The lantern had been snuffed out much before. A pall of darkness had engulfed all the ten men.

  After some time, the light from distant lampposts on Uran Island started percolating through the boat and all the ten passengers emerged like shadows.

  Rashid owned this launch. The boatmen were his employees. They were used to darkness. As soon as the launch stopped, they all got busy. They were responsible not just for the upkeep of the boat but for serving the guests as well.

  After half an hour, a piping hot meal comprising fish and rice was ready. Because of the cold sea breeze, everyone was very hungry. They ate silently and were ready once again to move. Another hour had elapsed.

  In the third hour, the launch returned and steadied itself by the side of the ship. Compared to this giant ship from Hong Kong, the launch appeared like a shark swimming by the side of a whale.

  Iqbal raised his wrist and glanced at the tiny watch. Suddenly, there was a flash of lightning. The ship and the launch too flashed for a moment and vanished like a snuffed out matchstick. It was exactly 1 o'clock in the night.

  The captain was ready on the deck. In three hours, he had taken out 175 crates of liquor from the storeroom and stacked them on the deck. Each crate contained 12 bottles of foreign liquor of a ‘common brand’.

  Mulling over the past, Sufi was narrating the story of his younger days. Today, instead of on the terrace, we were sitting in his bedroom. He was relaxing on the double bed with his legs bent under his knees. A pillow supported his back. I had pulled a chair from the dining room. “Let me get certain points clarified before we proceed any further,” I interrupted.

  He didn’t object.

  “I want to know whether the ship from Hong Kong you talked about was really a cargo ship?”

  “Absolutely,” he replied, “These ships leave Hong Kong carrying legal cargo. They also keep contraband goods.”

  “If it was a cargo ship, why did it not anchor at the dock?”

  “Because it didn’t have cargo bound for Bombay.”

  “That means if it had cargo for Bombay, it would have come ashore.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Then what about the captain's Manifest?” I asked him again.

  The Manifest is the list which the captain of the ship has to present to the customs official upon entering a port. This list contains details of all goods kept in the ship. Naturally, the list does not include contraband items. If my guess was right, the customs officials were bound to confiscate illicit items if they cross-checked the goods in the ship with the list.

  Sufi proved my guess wrong, “The Chinese captain of the Hong Kong ship had cleverly noted in the list even the prohibited goods, including the 175 crates of liquor. He had listed these crates in the column for the consumption of the seamen. No customs official can object to that.”

  “You mean no one will suspect even after seeing heaps of crates?”

  “There is no scope for doubt because the ship, after stopping at different ports, returns to its country of origin within four to six months. The crates of liquor on the Hong Kong ship were enough to meet the needs of the seamen on a long voyage.”

  Convinced by Sufi's explanation, I asked him to clarify another point. “The seamen of the ship were not ignorant about the fact that their captain was involved in trafficking. If one of them informs the police, would not the captain lose his job?”


  Denying such a possibility, Sufi revealed a shocking truth. “Just as Rashid Parkar and his gang were doing illicit business on land, the captain and his gang were doing the same on the sea. The captain and his crewmembers were partners in the racket. After keeping fifty per cent of the profit, he would equally distribute the remaining fifty per cent among the crewmembers. Moreover, the business did not require investment of capital.”

  Whenever a trustworthy captain was about to leave Hong Kong on a voyage, the local wholesale traders would happily offer him liquor on credit. (Even today, the business of smuggling is run on verbal commitment. There is neither a written agreement nor any guarantee. If someone is overcome by greed and chooses to betray the party, he won’t find a place to hide. He will be hounded out and eliminated.)

  The Chinese captain of the Hong Kong ship too had brought 175 crates of liquor to Bombay by giving a verbal assurance to the suppliers. Here he would trade the liquor bottles for silver bricks. He would then sell these silver bricks at a hefty profit in Dubai and from there buy Japanese fabrics.

  The ship would then proceed to either Mombassa or Dar-es-salam. Here he would sell the Japanese fabrics and lift clove. His profit would multiply again. On his return, he would make one more stop at Bombay where he would unload clove and in return take opium.

  Opium is in great demand in Hong Kong. One gets an idea of how very profitable this zero-investment business is from the fact that in a two-month trip, the captain of the ship earns as much as his two years' salary. On an average, a captain's monthly salary is about Rs. 25,000. But actually he earns Rs 600,000.

  “One last question,” I asked, “You had mentioned in the beginning that the foreign liquor aboard the Hong Kong ship was of ‘common brand’. What did you mean by that?”

  “A consignment that comprises of liquor of the same grade and same price,” explained Sufi. “In this particular transaction, there were bottles of Red Label, Johnny Walker, White Horse, Black and White and Vat 69 whiskey.”

  After my queries were over, he continued with his story. Under the supervision of the captain, the crew members started sliding down a dozen crates held in a net with the help of a rope.

  At the side of the ship was berthed the steam launch. Iqbal was standing on top of the roof of the cabin along with Rashid Parkar. The rest of the men were positioned below. The work had to be completed speedily and efficiently.

  As soon as the net came close, Iqbal and Rashid pulled it and placed it on the roof. Both immediately began working on it. Both held one crate and handed it to the men standing below. They in turn handed over the crate to two others. Thus the crate carrying liquor bottles passed through different hands and reached the last two men standing near the cellar, who stacked it neatly on the floor.

  After the first lot was emptied, Rashid placed in the net a crate prepared by him earlier. (This crate contained silver bricks.) Iqbal shook the rope to signal. Soon it was pulled up.

  Before the next lot could come down with the net, there was another crack of lightning and it started raining.

  There is a vast difference between the rain in a city and that in the open sea. In the city, because of tall buildings, which act as an obstruction, the force of the rain is halved. Here in mid sea, there is nothing to block the wind and rain. Though there was the ship on one side of the launch, the wind blew in unobstructed from the opposite direction.

  The launch started to sway. The boatmen were trying their level best to keep the launch steady by pressing the boat-hooks on the wall of the ship. Standing on the roof of the cabin, Iqbal and Rashid were dripping and trying hard to keep their balance when the net bringing the second lot came swinging down. Again, the routine of pulling the crates and passing them down to the men below began. However, this time the task was not that easy.

  We were at greater risk than ever of being swept away like an umbrella into the sea by the high-speed wind that accompanied the rain. Both the men were battling with nature and winding up their work with caution.

  By the time the fifth lot came in, Rashid started sneezing. He sat on his knees on the roof and opened a crate. He pulled out the first bottle he could lay his hand on and uncorked it. He gulped down a quarter neat, his body instantly energised.

  “You…” he said getting up, “take a swig or two.” He offered the bottle to Iqbal.

  Iqbal did not take it. The rain was running down his hair and face.

  Rashid growled, “Bugger, I’m asking you to drink…drink it, or you will die here.”

  Iqbal removed the wet hair from his face and replied, “Liquor is forbidden by Islam.”

  “Then take it as medicine, buddy!”

  Iqbal did not budge. For him, even the best of liquor was redolent. Rashid did not insist. He took two more pegs and presented the open crate to his mates below. They were overjoyed.

  In order to withstand the rain and the storm, one bottle each was enough for the men. They had to last two to three hours. The work that had begun at 1 o'clock in the night was to continue until dawn. It was just 2 o’ clock.

  Iqbal and Rashid were busy on the roof battling nature – the slapping of the wind and the pounding of the sea. Rashid was now working less and guzzling more. His sneezing had stopped a while ago. Iqbal started shivering.

  He had been drenched in rain for over an hour now and was still facing the torrent. Simultaneously, he was diligently carrying out the work assigned to him.

  Seeing the net empty, he shook the rope. The net was pulled up. He lifted his head to look up when Rashid lost his balance and fell on him. He fell flat on the roof of the cabin. Rashid lying over him was still holding the bottle in one hand.

  As if nothing had happened, he tilted the bottle in Iqbal's mouth and commanded, “When I say you drink, you have to drink.” He became hysterical under the influence of liquor.

  Lying on the floor, Iqbal threw away the bottle with his right hand. For a moment, Rashid was surprised. “What the fuck…” but the next moment felt embarrassed. Slowly, both of them stood up.

  It was no longer possible for Rashid to maintain his balance and remain standing on the rocking boat. He admitted with a slur, “Buddy, I'm drunk.”

  The net came down again with the new lot. Iqbal caught it quickly and placed it on the roof. His earnestness as he worked touched others deeply. Whatever task he undertook absorbed him wholly. In the meantime, Rashid had climbed down.

  For the next two hours, Iqbal battled alone with the storm in the dark and shivered under the rain, the water continuously dripping from his clothes. The consignment continued to be loaded. When he received the last lot on the rooftop, it was 4.00 am. The work done, he slithered down from the roof and collapsed.

  By this time, Rashid had taken a glass of limejuice and was nearly under control. Thereafter, he had slept for two hours. Now he was looking at Iqbal's body. The remaining eight men were standing in a semi circle. The launch was heading towards the coast of Bombay.

  Rashid got suspicious – is he dead? He moved his hand over Iqbal's mouth. He felt the warm breath. He still had some doubt. He held Iqbal's wrist and was jolted, “He is running fever!” Before the launch could reach the Ghadiyal Godi's jetty, both of Rashid’s Ambassador cars were waiting on the dock in readiness along with a truck. Soon all the men got working again.

  The boatmen lifted the crates from the steam launch and handed them over to the next men who passed them on to others standing in a row. The crates were loaded onto the truck. Lastly, Iqbal's unconscious body also came out the way the crates were brought.

  There was no space in the car to make him lie down. So Rashid placed him on top of the crates in the truck. As a precaution, two men sat beside him.

  When the caravan of three vehicles left the dock and headed towards Dongri, it was already dawn. Rain had stopped but the sun was still not visible. Water was dripping from buildings and trees and flowing down into the sewers.

  As the cavalcade of vehicles turned towards
Dongri from Vadibunder, Iqbal woke up. Above was an overcast sky and below was the speeding truck. His body was afire, shivering and shuddering. Rashid’s two men accompanying him, covered his body with a tarpaulin. That did not make any difference. Along with his body, the tarpaulin too started shaking.

  After reaching Dongri Char Nal, the cavalcade took another turn. In the front was the truck, followed by two Ambassador cars. On entering Pala Galli, the caravan stopped. Here, Rashid had his house as well as the godown.

  Emerging from the car, Rashid rushed to the truck and looking up inquired, “Has Iqbal regained consciousness?” One of the men sitting above nodded, adding, “But he is serious.”

  Instructing his men to unload the goods, he ran in search of a doctor. After about half an hour, he succeeded in waking up a doctor and bringing him there. By this time, the truck had been emptied. The 175 crates of foreign liquor had reached the godown. Iqbal was lifted and made to lie down in Rashid Parkar's house.

  After inspecting Iqbal, the doctor declared, “He has pneumonia.”