How Dawood Ibrahim almost got arrested from his hide out in Madurai

When I was in Madurai recently, I was reminded of an incident sixteen years ago when I almost arrested Dawood Ibrahim single-handedly.

Now that I have your interest, let me share the story of how I missed getting India’s biggest bravery award for civilians – the Ashok Chakra.

It was 2010, and I had successfully managed to put work aside and plan a three-day trip from Gurgaon to Madurai. It wasn’t an easy trip – I had a layover of three hours in Chennai and then had to take a flight to Madurai.

The main purpose of the trip was to offer prayers for my father on his fifth death anniversary at the seaside temple in Tiruchendur.

I was booked on Jet Airways, my second favourite airline. Thanks to Vijay Mallya and his air-hostess selection process, Kingfisher Airlines has always been my favourite.

The journey was uneventful until a young air hostess walked up to me and asked, “What would you like for breakfast, sir?”

I loved the way “sir” rolled off her tongue. There were only a few things that could have rolled off it better.

“Please call me Jammy,” I told her.

“What would you like for breakfast, Jammy?”

“I will have whatever you give me. Even if it is poison,” I replied, with my trademark smile.

“Sir, the rules that apply to you also apply to us. We can’t carry poison on the flight. The closest thing I have is this crimson lipstick, which is only for external use.”

I noticed a tinge of disappointment in her voice. Perhaps she was upset that she couldn’t test my love for her by offering me poison.

To lift her spirits, I agreed to have the chicken sandwich and the chocolate brownie that came with it. It wasn’t poison, but it came close.

Nowadays, I get the same feeling when I eat IndiGo’s Chicken Junglee Sandwich.

Once she had served me, she got on with her job as if nothing had happened. If she was disappointed – and I was certain she was – she didn’t show it.

Women in love can be remarkably professional.

While leaving the aircraft in Chennai, we got unlucky yet again. Her supervisor was standing right next to her, thanking passengers. Even now, my girl couldn’t express her feelings freely.

When I gave my flirty smile and said, “Thank you…it was a wonderful ride!” she could only offer a curt “Thanks.”

I understood. Her career was at stake.

At Chennai airport, I bought a copy of ‘The Week’ and sat beneath a television to while away the three hours before my connecting flight.

The advantage of holding a magazine is that people mistake you for an educated gentleman and expect you to know things.

People kept stopping to ask questions.

“Sir, where are the washrooms?”

“Sir, could you direct me to Gate No. 6?”

“Sir, I am going to meet my girlfriend. In movies, when a boyfriend and girlfriend meet at the airport, flowers are exchanged. Know where I can buy them?”

“Sir, where did you buy that magazine? I also want to look educated.”

By the time boarding was announced, I had started regretting the magazine. If I had bought a packet of Lay’s chips instead, I doubt so many would have stopped to ask questions.

I boarded the airport shuttle that would take us to the aircraft parked on the tarmac.

Inside was a loud lady who looked well over ninety, and she was accompanied by her teenage great-grandson, who seemed too embarrassed even to stand next to her.

I moved towards the old lady and asked, “First time on a flight?”

“Yes, indeed,” she replied.

She smiled, showing me her out-of-work gums. Without teeth, what were the poor things supposed to work on?

“Are you excited?” I asked.

I had decided to make her feel comfortable. I had also decided to teach the teenager a lesson – travelling with an elderly person was nothing to be embarrassed about.

We made small talk, and soon the shuttle began moving.

After about five minutes, it stopped beside our aircraft.

The moment we stopped, the old lady exclaimed, “That was so fast! Who would have thought air travel would be so quick!”

Everybody looked at her and then they looked at me and gave me sympathetic smiles.

I desperately wanted to say, “No, no…I am not with her.”

But I held back. Only five minutes earlier, I had been the local authority on respecting elders.

The teenager walked towards us and whispered in my ear, “Now you know how I feel, don’t you?”

Then he turned to her.

“No, Grandma. We haven’t reached Madurai. We have only reached the aeroplane that will take us to Madurai.”

I slowly detached myself from the old woman before she could do the next embarrassing thing and got onto the flight.

There is something interesting about flights to small towns.

You meet men and women who have broken free of their small-town lives but haven’t quite settled into their big-city identities. They are in transition. I recognised them because I had been one myself.

Once seated, I messaged my wife and my mother to say I was on my way, then put my phone on Airplane mode.

That’s when the man next to me messaged Dawood.

Yes, you read that correctly.

His message said: “In the flight. Hope you will bring the car. All excited to see the small bomb. When is it due?”

Now, I know one shouldn’t read another person’s messages. But when national security places itself within your line of sight, what can you do?

The whole World was looking for Dawood and here I was, sitting beside a man who had his mobile number.

He wasn’t merely in touch with him but was also going to meet him.

And since a bomb…however small…was involved, I had to act.

But I also had to be careful. What if this man was armed?

I couldn’t call 100. The moment he heard me speaking to the police, he would know that I knew more than I should.

I couldn’t borrow somebody else’s phone either. What if the ignorant person asked loudly, “Why do you want to call the police?”

This was the kind of moment we Rajans are made for. In case you are a new reader, you must know that we Rajans are built like cockroaches – with enough fortitude and resilience to last a lifetime.

If you also want to use such impressive words, a thesaurus is a good place to start.

Thankfully, my high IQ came to my rescue.

I took the banana out of my pocket, covered it with my handkerchief and pressed it against the man’s side.

You may ask why I had a banana in my pocket. But I can also turn it around and ask why you would focus on such a trivial matter when the whole country’s security was in trouble.

Anti-national!

Before he could react, I asked, “How are you connected to Dawood?”

I used the stern voice teachers reserve for students they have already decided are guilty.

The man looked down and asked, “What is that you are pressing against my side?”

“That’s a loaded gun, you dumbf*&ck!” I shouted.

Being an Army man’s son, I had learnt early that the louder you yelled, the scarier you seemed.

You have also probably heard Sunny Deol in ‘Border’ and ‘Gadar’ shout his dialogues at the top of his voice so that the Pakistani Army can hear them across the border.

Of course, that theory had its limitations. When Jawaharlal Nehru and Krishna Menon’s Indian Army fought the Chinese in 1962, loud cries of “Bharat Mata Ki Jai” and “Har Har Mahadev” hadn’t frightened the Chinese into retreating. Could also be because the Chinese didn’t understand Hindi.

Anyway, my tone seemed to have the desired effect. The man shrank into his seat.

“What do you want?”

“How are you related to Dawood?” I repeated.

By now, a few frightened passengers had stood up and were staring at us.

To avoid angering me further, the man came up with a story.

“He is my brother-in-law. He has married my sister.”

“Yeah, right!” I scoffed.

“No, seriously. My sister is pregnant and due to deliver at any moment. I am travelling to Madurai to meet her. My brother-in-law Dawood is picking me up at the airport.”

“What is his second name?”

“Ibrahim.”

That sealed it. So Dawood Ibrahim was indeed hiding in Madurai.

How intelligent. While everybody was looking for him in places like Mumbai, Lahore and Dubai, he had quietly settled in a city where the first thing people asked you when they met you was, “Have you eaten?”

I asked myself what my father would have done in this situation.

The answer came immediately – I must help the country arrest Dawood, even if it meant losing my life in the process.

“We reach Madurai in forty-five minutes,” I told the man. “Until then, you don’t move an inch. If you move, I will shoot.”

He nodded, then tried again.

“But he is not the Dawood you think he is.”

“Yeah, right!”

I had to stay strong. I couldn’t allow his story about a pregnant sister to weaken my resolve.

As somebody who cried during every Karan Johar movie, I knew this would be difficult.

But I held the banana firmly and continued staring at him. He also stayed still.

With my free hand, I took out my mobile and SMSed Rekha. Back then, WhatsApp was yet to get popular in India.

“On the verge of arresting Dawood Ibrahim. Pls inform Madurai Airport that Dawood will be coming to pick up his guest. His guest is sitting in seat 23A.”

I felt better after sending it.

A successful operation requires reliable support on the ground. Unfortunately, I had outsourced mine to a woman who sometimes left her phone in another room.

The man argued with me for another fifteen minutes before falling silent.

His last words were, “What an ass.”

I chose to interpret that as frustration at being caught.

After a tense forty-five minutes, we landed in Madurai.

I made him walk ahead of me, keeping the banana pressed against his back.

I was shocked by the police’s casual attitude. Nobody was waiting to welcome me, which was all right, but at least there should have been someone to arrest Dawood.

I hadn’t expected a band, but surely somebody could have come with handcuffs.

I decided to handle it myself. We collected our baggage and walked out of the airport.

And finally, I saw the most wanted man in the whole world – Dawood Ibrahim.

Dawood was a clever man. He had lost weight. He had also undergone what I could only assume was extensive plastic surgery and now looked like an ordinary local Madurai man with a darker complexion.

The transformation was so complete that a less intelligent person might have concluded it was somebody else. But of course, he couldn’t fool a Rajan.

As we approached, being the ‘good actor’ that he was, Dawood wished me good morning and turned to his wife’s brother.

“You never told me you were bringing a friend.”

The man at the end of my banana said nothing.

Dawood turned back to me and said, “You should come home…it will be fun.”

I refused to be distracted by his hospitality.

I was sure Dawood had a tank of Nitrogen Oxide in his house, and 1970s villain Ajith’s famous dialogue came to mind, “Nitrogen isse jeene naheen dega, aur Oxygen isse marnay naheen dega!”

“Dawood, you are under arrest,” I said, turning the banana under the kerchief towards him.

A commotion followed. Soon, at least twelve people had surrounded us, and no one believed that this man was the Dawood I was looking for.

I explained about the weight loss, the plastic surgery and the change in complexion, but nobody believed me. That day, I learnt that good doesn’t always win over evil.

After an hour, even my mother, who had come to pick me up, began losing patience.

The woman who had spent my childhood telling me to always do what was right was today getting scared of a criminal and backing off.

Finally, I gave up. If the government wasn’t interested in catching him, why should I bother?

A deeply disappointed Rajan got into the white Ambassador waiting for him and headed home.

On the way, I called Rekha.

“Can you believe it? The Madurai airport people didn’t arrange any extra security. Such a casual attitude!”

“Extra security for what?” she asked.

I was stunned.

“You saw my SMS, didn’t you? The one about Dawood?”

“Which SMS? I was cooking dinner, and my phone was in the living room.”

I hung up in frustration. What was the use of blaming the government when my own family wasn’t interested in making the world a better place?

If only I had married a woman who preferred ordering from Zomato or Swiggy, Dawood may have been behind bars and I might have won an Ashok Chakra for my bravery.