Sufi - The Invisible Man of The Underworld

by Aabid Surti

  Iqbal had taught some new tricks to even DK. One of them was—how to make the most of the bill of exchange. This was somewhat similar to the slump and boom of the capital market, but was safer than speculation. (That's what Sufi says.)

  Whoever has an account in the Swiss bank can multiply his capital rapidly just sitting at home, without lifting a finger. To master this skill, it is necessary to know the currency rates of different countries published every week in Time magazine because the prices of foreign currency keep on fluctuating.

  Iqbal had called for the last six months' issues of the Time weekly and closely studied them. He had acquired a fairly good idea about the circumstances under which the rate of the currency of a country tumbled.

  For example, when the Japanese currency yen became stronger, the rate of the American dollar would fall and subsequently affect other countries as well.

  Based on this study, Iqbal could tell DK which currency's rate was likely to go up. Immediately, DK would place a call from Bombay to Switzerland and instruct his bank to convert 25 per cent of his capital from dollars to yen. In a couple of days, when the price of the yen rose, DK's capital invested in the bank would increase by two to five lakh dollars. Iqbal’s accuracy gave him goose bumps.

  When Iqbal informed him that the rate of Germany’s deutsche mark would shoot up, DK would make a long-distance call and pass on the instruction – Convert the currency from yen to mark.

  Iqbal and the captain grew close quite soon. The captain felt that it was time to test Iqbal because in their last meeting he had claimed that by making simple calculations he could predict which horse would win the next race.

  “You will accompany me to the racecourse this Sunday.” The captain had not asked but commanded him. “And, I’ll bet on the same horse on which you will put money.”

  “Very sorry, Sir,” he said politely. “I don't gamble.”

  The Captain was naturally surprised. “You can predict with certainty which horse is going to win and yet...”

  “Sir, my religion considers gambling a sinful act.”

  “All right,” said the captain, rolling his eyes, “I’ll play alone; but you must be by my side. Don’t forget, if I lose, I’ll extract the last penny from you.”

  “Take double, Sir,” he said so casually that the captain was floored.

  In fact, Iqbal did not know much about horse racing. He had accompanied DK a couple of times to the Mahalaxmi racecourse, that was all. But, he had seen DK winning both the times. He guessed that there must be some ploy.

  After a few days, he found out the secret from DK. The winning horse was the one which DK's jockey secretly fed some powder mixed in jaggery before the start of the race. Sufi was not clear as to what that concoction was.

  He only surmised that the mixture must contain some kind of strong drug that dishonest sportsmen are known to take before participating in international games.

  “It can’t be detected on examining the sweat of the horse after the race?” I asked.

  “Of course. Prima facie, there would be a medical test of the horses in case of doubt; but there wasn’t much awareness in those days. Moreover, DK didn’t make his horse win every race.”

  The Captain did not have full confidence in Iqbal even on the day of the race. Iqbal may be right, or he might not! He hesitatingly played a thousand bucks on a horse.

  “This is chicken feed, Sir!” Iqbal blurted out, “you won’t get such a golden opportunity to win. Play at least five figures and be a crorepati.”

  He laughed, “where would I get that fat sum to bet on a horse! I’m an ordinary captain of a ship.”

  “I thought you would pawn your house and jewelry.”

  “The house belongs to the government and the jewelry to my wife.” Sighing he told the truth, “In fact, I’m still not on solid ground...”

  The result was out in an hour. The Captain's thousand rupees turned into three thousand, as if someone had touched them with a magic wand. Now, he came under the complete spell of Iqbal. Moreover, he was hooked to the races. Just as a dog follows its master wagging its tail, the captain became Iqbal's loyal pet.

  Now, both of them met every weekend at the CCI club. The Captain guzzled beer, while Iqbal sipped his limejuice. Both chatted for hours. DK would watch them from a distance. In fact, he was the member of CCI. Iqbal used to come as his guest and the captain as Iqbal's friend.

  In his obsession to become a millionaire overnight, a greedy person generally forgets that even a mother does not feed her baby unselfishly.

  Before revealing the name of the horse for the next race, Iqbal made a shrewd move, “Sir, can I ask for a small favour?”

  “You don't have to ask, just shoot! You want to fix someone in the navy, or want somebody's promotion?”

  “I believe it's not ethical to interfere in government's affairs.”

  Delighted, the captain chirped, “If all Indians were like you, our country would beat China to pulp.”

  He came to the point, “I’ll be obliged if you could take delivery of a parcel.”

  The Captain stared at him unblinkingly. Iqbal did not have to clarify that the parcel meant a large gunny bag of jackets. Wise that he was, captain understood; but his dilemma was: to become a millionaire overnight or stick to his principles!

  A dilemma signified a weak moment. Iqbal had created it using his sharp brain. “Sir!” He realized the fish that had come near the hook, “You don't have to pawn your wife’s jewelry to bet in tomorrow's race. All the same, if you wish to turn down my request, be blunt. I won’t mind it at all.”

  The Captain flickered a faint smile. The fish had swallowed the hook; but the problem was, DK’s horse was not participating in next Sunday's race. (Only last week, he had gotten his horse to win.)

  Next Sunday was this season's last race. It was essential that the captain win that race. Because the very next day the launch coming from Dubai with gold biscuits worth one point twenty-five crore rupees was to be unloaded onto the naval ship.

  If the captain lost the race, the entire game may turn turtle. He might also get a hint of the design. In that case, he would huff and puff in frustration. It wouldn’t be surprising if he decided to avenge himself on Iqbal.

  That night, he put forth this riddle before DK. After all, DK was a maestro. He made phone calls to two jockeys in Iqbal's presence and announced the name of a horse - Wonder Prince. “Tell the captain to play on it. There are ninety nine per cent chances of winning the race.”

  How was it possible? Before Iqbal could ask this question, he got the answer, “It’s Wonder Prince’s turn to win the closing race.”

  When Iqbal delved deeper, he learned that there was not much difference between the way the results of Bombay's infamous matka gambling were manipulated and the outcome of the betting of millions of rupees on horses at the racecourse.

  In Bombay's matka, people gambled on numbers ranging from zero to nine. Those days, Ratan Khatri was known as the Matka King. Every evening, he used to open three cards from a pack. (The pack did not contain the jack, queen and king.)

  The numbers on the three open cards were added and the figure thus arrived at was made public. Those who had placed a rupee on this figure would get nine rupees. The middle class and the working class people of Bombay were addicted to it and every day millions of rupees were played.

  Now, suppose an overwhelming majority of people have betted on the number five and the same number is made public, then the bookies running the joints would go bust and jump into the Powai Lake. It is but natural that this number will never be made public.

  The same principle applies to horse racing. The doyens of racing, after going through the breed and the track records of every horse, select one as the hot favourite. When the word spreads, hundreds of punters will bet on that same horse. If that horse really wins, the bookies too will be seen mourning with the club.

  Albeit, those betting on a horse with the highest possibility of winning g
et lesser returns, that is at the rate of one and a half to twice the amount. For the horse which is likely to come second and yet comes first, one gets three times the amount placed on it. Similarly, if a horse likely to stand third comes first, those who have put their bets on him would get eight to nine times their money. In other words, those who have played a thousand would get eight to nine thousand rupees.

  Suppose a horse named Aflatoon is likely to win the race. Knowing this, only a fool would gamble on the horse that is likely to come second or third. And yet, those new to this game or crackpots habituated to do the exact opposite of what society does – place their bets on such a horse and by the sheer dint of their luck become millionaires overnight.

  The information DK had obtained from the jockeys was – the jockey, of the horse on which the highest bets were expected, was instructed to keep his horse ahead of the rest until the very end of the race. During the last bend, he was to loosen the rein and give a slight jerk. His horse, running at full speed, would miss a few steps. Taking advantage of this, the horse in second place would overtake it.

  That’s exactly what happened.

  Iqbal had whispered the name of the horse to the captain and generously offered him fifty thousand rupees. (In fact, this amount was an advance for the service that the captain was to render later.) He did not have the courage to throw the entire amount on a horse. Hesitatingly, he placed only half. As the chosen horse came first, his twenty five thousand became one hundred thousand. Overnight, he had become a millionaire.

  I asked Sufi, “I can now imagine how you enticed the captain of the naval ship, but how you used the naval ship to your advantage is yet not clear.”

  He explained to me the most shocking modus operandi of the traffickers. The launch from Dubai carrying gold biscuits worth 1.25 crore entered the Indian waters in the dead of the night and returned after unloading the consignment on the naval ship. The captain, with the help of his two confidantes, hid the consignment in his cabin.

  Some of the naval officers have their residential quarters on Madh Island, at one end of Bombay. This is where their families live. The naval officers go there by motor boat to spend weekends and holidays.

  The captain and his two confidantes became the ‘carriers’ of the gang. They would stuff the jackets in their bags and take them to their residence on the island. From there, the members of the gang would take the consignment and deliver it to the Sagar Darshan house. After leaving Usha Sadan, Iqbal had made this apartment the main storage center.

  I have already mentioned that Iqbal had expanded his frontier of activities from Kashmir to Kanyakumari. There was a compelling reason for this – A strong rumour had been in circulation for the past few weeks that there was going to be a great upheaval in the gold market. The future of smugglers looked dim.

  All smugglers, small or big, were playing their last innings. Iqbal was no exception. The customs officials Rustomji and Khan were shadowing his every move.

  “Iqbal,” DK suggested, “please see that the captain doesn’t land in trouble because of us.”

  “He will go down not because of us but for his greed,” said Iqbal. “Just today he called up to ask why last month had gone dry.”

  “Maya hooks even the saints and Sufis. But it has failed to seduce you.”

  “Really?” He was startled.

  “You are not withdrawing anything from the pool.”

  “Who said that? I’m taking five thousand rupees every month.”

  As was his habit, DK laughed like a maniac. Five thousand, in a game of billions, was like a grain of sand in a desert. After a while, suppressing his mirth, he tried to tempt Iqbal, “Don’t you feel like blowing a few millions ever?”

  “Blowing millions on what?” he snapped.

  That was also true. After all, how much does a parsimonious person need? He had no addiction and no expensive hobby. There had been a slight increase in his pocket expenses when he was in love with Kiran. Sometimes, he used to take her out for dinner to a five star hotel. There was no love in his life now.

  Out of the five thousand that he withdrew every month, he sent half the amount to his mother for household expenses. Towards the pocket expenses of his younger brother Firoze, who was in college, he kept aside five hundred rupees. Only two thousand remained with him. From this amount too, some notes remained unspent at the end of the month.

  “OK,” said DK and added, “whenever you feel like, you can remove as much money as you like. You don’t have to take anyone's permission. Now tell me, why haven't you given any work to the captain for the last one month?”

  “I’ve heard that he is to be transferred soon.”

  “That means the government has smelt a rat.”

  “Perhaps. And, that fool doesn’t even realize that a sword is hanging over his head.” Iqbal paused for a few seconds, then placed a catalog before DK saying, “Just glance through it.”

  DK picked up the colourful booklet and as he leafed through it he realised that it was a catalog of a helicopter marketing company. “You want to buy one?” he asked in jest.

  Iqbal nodded seriously.

  DK looked dazed. What will this kid, who had not even bought a bicycle with the money from the partnership, do with a helicopter that was going to cost a bomb?

  Chapter 30

  DK glanced at the catalog again and commented, “These are old models of helicopters.”

  “They are from the scrap of the World War, hence very cheap,” Iqbal said. “The cheapest one, an eight-seater, is going for a song, just seven lakh rupees.”

  “The cost is immaterial.” DK put down the catalog on the centre-table, “The problem is how to buy it.”

  “Leave that to me.”

  “But this catalog is from Germany and we can’t buy it without the government’s approval.”

  “Who said?”

  “If you buy it illegally, where will you keep it?”

  “Why should I keep it?”

  “Then what's the point in buying it?”

  Now Iqbal realized, DK was under the impression that he wanted to buy the helicopter for his personal use. He wanted to laugh like DK, but didn’t. Instead, he explained his grand design earnestly.

  On this side of the fence, there were ominous signs of an imminent crash in the gold market, while on the other side, the customs too were tightening their noose on the traffickers. These were the days for daredevils to mint money. The mouse had to snatch away the piece of cheese without falling into the trap.

  Customs had set up its last trap on the naval ship. The officials had spread their net based on concrete information. Now they needed to round them up red handed. Just as a deer gets a whiff of danger in the air, Iqbal got wind of the trap. He had spotted unknown, mysterious faces near the residential quarters of the naval officers on Madh Island from where they used to pick up the delivery of contraband goods. This was enough indication for Iqbal, who was always on his toes. After harvesting crores of rupees, he had snuck away.

  The utility of the naval ship too had expired in the last one month. He had dropped the captain unceremoniously. However, he had opened two new avenues before that – One was to land the smuggled goods by helicopter on the Andaman Islands and the other was to open a new channel at Madras and launch smuggling from there.

  Let us first look at the copter-concept – The Andaman and Nicobar comprise of thirty-five islands of which only eight are inhabited. The remainder are like no man’s land, completely deserted. Tourists from Madras do visit some of these even today.

  (The Elephanta, Uran and other small islands near Bombay too are good for a day's picnic but these islands have a local population. On the deserted islands of Andaman, there is only tall grass, forest, rocks and the swaying ocean all around.)

  Iqbal, after days of intensive study, had presented this unique blueprint. Then effaced himself while the boss made up his mind. DK was skeptical, experienced, cautious – the kind of person who contemplated ten tim
es before a leap – because essentially he was a shrewd baniya. He was not willing to take even a single step without scanning all aspects of the new venture.

  Playing with his thin gold necklace between his two fingers, DK inquired, “Iqbal, a helicopter will bring the consignment to the island, drop it there and then return, is that right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Won’t it be detected by radar?”

  His question was not misplaced. Every aircraft, whether big or small, is bound to get detected on entering the Indian air space by the powerful electronic equipment installed by India's security agencies.

  “No.” Iqbal gave a terse reply.

  “How?”

  “Radar can’t detect aircraft that fly at a low height.. Our helicopter, after entering India's air space, will dive and fly at four feet above the sea level. For your information, I’ve a German pilot in mind. He was an ace aviator in the last World War.”

  “Hmm...” DK felt pleased within. He now asked another question: “The consignment will have to be first brought from the island to the city. What arrangements have you made for that?”