I am a master in India

Chapter 189 Drives People Crazy
Sanjay Dutt was imprisoned in Arthur Road Prison, the most notorious crime prison in all of Mumbai.

Street thugs aren't afraid of going to jail, but they avoid Arthur Road Jail like the plague.

You'll live a life worse than death there unless you have a powerful figure protecting you.

The criminal gangs in Mumbai also have their own branches in prisons, where they take care of newly imprisoned members of their gangs.

For example, the Daoud gang, the Gauri gang, the Rajan gang... their gangs have doctors, lawyers, public relations personnel, investigation teams, logistics staff who operate safe houses, and personnel who provide comprehensive support for gang members who are imprisoned.

To prevent gang conflicts within prisons, the government specifically designated different prisons for different gangs.

Over time, these gangs have become increasingly well-established within their respective prisons.

Daoud specially purchased motorcycle tricycles and apartment buildings near the prison, and also hired a cook and a deliveryman.

The chef prepares three meals a day at the apartment, while deliverymen ride electric tricycles to deliver hot meals to the inmates.

It was a well-planned and efficient food delivery system that made arrested gang members even look forward to their "good days" in prison, simply because all their needs could be fully met.

Even behind bars, a strange competitive mentality still exists between gangs.

For example, during Ganesha festival, the Gori gang would send a box of sweets to the Daoud gang prisoners in Tana prison.

Daoud, the prison boss, glanced at it and said, "Hmph, is that all?"

Then they gave back to the Gori gang in prison, a whole plate of Halva crisp candy.

Of course, only the middle and upper ranks of a gang would enjoy this kind of treatment. Sanjay Dutt is not a gangster; he is a Bollywood star.

On his first night in prison, he was "invited" to the cell where their leader was by inmates from Rajan's gang.

This gang leader attended university in London and was originally an engineer. He returned to Mumbai only to reunite with his brother, who was a gangster boss.

Anu's husband, Vinod Chopra, once made a gangster movie based on the two brothers.

The leader asked Sanjay how he felt about being in jail, and Sanjay said he missed his father very much.

So the leader, showing righteousness, found a prison guard, and after some explanation, Sanjay was exceptionally taken to the duty room.

His father was incredibly surprised to receive a phone call from his son in jail at 11 p.m.

But Sunil Dutt did not bring good news to Sanjay; he told his son on the phone that he was powerless to help.

His political rival, Kamal, did not keep his promise, and Sanjay was not granted bail because of his involvement in the bombing.

Upon hearing this devastating news, Sanjay cried for a long time in prison.

He smokes marijuana, plays with guns, and races cars; he's a complete scoundrel, but ultimately not a gangster.

He is a Bollywood star, earning a lot of rupees and living a life of luxury that is unimaginable for ordinary people.

How can you expect a rich kid like him to endure life behind bars?

He lived a life of darkness in prison, his cell barely two meters square, where he brushed his teeth, bathed, ate, drank, and relieved himself.

His family brought food for Sanjay, but it was all snatched up by the others as soon as he entered the prison, leaving him to survive on the barely edible prison food.

What's worse is yet to come: Sanjay Dutt is a big star, which has attracted a lot of attention.

Judge Patel, who initially presided over the case, was determined to bring down Sanjay. Sanjay's lawyer then requested the presiding judge to recuse himself. Not only was the application rejected, but it also made Judge Patel even more resentful.

So he was put in solitary confinement. There were no windows, and the silence of the dark room was enough to drive a man mad.

Then Sanjay learned to befriend nature, and every night four sparrows would fly in through the small exhaust fan.

He stretched out his large palm, in which lay a few crumbs of bread he had saved.

He greedily and carefully stroked the birds' feathers as they pecked at their food; he longed so much to touch these living creatures.

Sanjay also befriended the ants that climbed along the sewage pipes. He could observe them for hours without moving and would help them when they struggled to carry their food.

He had never observed every corner of the cell so closely before; there were no clocks here, only the sound of his own heartbeat.

He used the patterns in the appearance of these small animals to roughly guess the sunrise and sunset times.

However, the allure of insects, birds, and rodents to Sanjay was ultimately limited, and he was on the verge of madness.

Sanjay gripped the iron bars of the cell tightly, pressing his face against the rusty steel bars.

He tried to look around, but due to the limited space, he could only see a corner of the dark corridor.

He yelled and cursed, but no one responded.

The entire corridor, the entire prison, the entire world, seemed to contain only him.

Sanjay was exhausted, his gaze lifeless. He lightly tapped his forehead; the pain there reminded him that the world still existed.

He bumped into something again, and the pain became even more intense.

Thump, thump, thump, the sound grew louder and louder, and even the steel grating trembled.

The sharp, screeching sound of the iron gate shattered the silence.

A light came in, a blinding light, and for a moment Sanjay could see nothing, but he desperately stared wide-eyed.

He dared not close his eyes, fearing that it was all an illusion.

“Son!” Sunil Dutt rushed over.

Sanjay was somewhat dazed. He looked at his father's tear-streaked face and forced a smile.

Was it really an illusion? How could an outsider get into a place where people are kept in solitary confinement?
Then a young man came into Sanjay's view. He was neither a prison guard nor his friend, but he looked somewhat familiar.

Finally, Sanjay slowly realized that it was real; his father was holding him and wailing. "Dad," he said weakly, barely able to speak, tears streaming down his face.

Ron slipped a few rupees into the pocket of the prison guard next to him, then whispered a few words to him.

The fat, chubby prison guard clasped his hands together, bowed obsequiously in thanks, and then hurried out.

I don't know why, but the proportion of fat people among Indian police officers is unusually high.

Almost every precinct Ron saw fat men like this, and often there was more than one.

The Duterte father and son had calmed down; the elder Duterte wiped his eyes, looking sorrowful.

"Mr. Suer, you must help me. He can't stay here any longer, he'll die!" Old Dutt clasped his hands together, his voice hoarse.

"Don't worry, I've already spoken to them, someone will be here to handle it soon," Ron reassured him.

There was a figure moving around near the iron gate; the fat policeman rushed over with the doctor.

Sanjay's forehead was covered in blood, and old Dutt was terrified the moment he walked in.

He thought his son was being abused, which is why he desperately asked Ron for help.

After the doctor came in, he cleaned Sanjay's wound and stitched up about ten stitches on his forehead.

Tsk, that crooked and awkward technique made Ron frown.

That's lousy technology; it's nowhere near as good as his.

“Dr. Suer.” The prison medical staff member stood up awkwardly, seemingly realizing that he was showing off his limited knowledge.

"Remember to clean his wound and change his dressings on time, pay attention to hygiene, and prevent infection."

"Yes, yes." The doctor accepted the tip, bowed and scraped, and left.

Those ugly stitches weren't because Ron had obsessive-compulsive disorder. Rather, it was because, with his current surgical skills, he could truly look down on most doctors in India.

He had too many opportunities to practice; not to mention the slums of Mumbai and the Suer electrical factory, he had treated more than one gunshot wound in Uttar Pradesh.

How many doctors have such extensive clinical experience? Ron's medical license was well-deserved.

"Silly boy, why are you making things so hard on yourself?" Old Dutt, who understood what had happened, couldn't help but scold him.

“No one has spoken a word to me for seven days, I’m going crazy!” Sanjay squatted on the ground, holding his head.

"Mr. Sull, you must take me to see Thackeray. I'll agree to any conditions!" Old Dutt had never been so heartbroken.

Ron didn't answer him immediately, but instead glanced at the two prison guards beside him. They tactfully left, closing the iron gate behind them, leaving only the three of them.

Anil stood guard at the end of the corridor, while Ron took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and handed it to Sanjay.

He took it with trembling hands, picked up one, and greedily held it under his nose to take a deep sniff.

It was just an ordinary cigarette, but Sanjay felt as if he had tasted fine wine, and his tense muscles and mind gradually relaxed.

“You know his personality, right? He’s very assertive.” Ron looked at old Dutt. “You have to completely admit defeat and satisfy his pride, otherwise this will be very difficult.”

“I know, I understand Thackeray, and I’m ready.” Old Dutt made his decision.

"This will cost a lot of money, a huge amount of money, enough to sway Thackeray."

“No problem!” Old Dutt agreed immediately.

“Thackeray was deeply grateful to his deceased wife; his villa was filled with her photographs,” Ron reminded him.

“I know what to do.” Old Dutt’s eyes flashed.

“You too,” Ron said, looking at Sanjay, who was lighting a cigarette. “Do you know what the first thing to do when you get out of here is?”

Sanjay's mind was completely blank, like a rusty machine. It took him a long time to realize that Ron was talking to him.

"What?" he asked blankly.

“If you are released on bail, the first thing you should do is not go home, but go to Thackeray’s villa. This will ensure that you don’t get into any trouble.”

"Okay." The fearless Sanjay was now as docile as a lamb.

“Mr. Suer, we can’t stay here. He has to go somewhere else.”

Old Duterte was still worried about his son; he felt terrified just standing in this hellish place called confinement.

There is no light, no sound. The gradually eroding loneliness will break you.

"I'll give Aijie a call later; he'll help with this."

Ron couldn't help but sigh when he mentioned Ajay Ral.

He was one of Ron's few friends, but he was just too stubborn.

He was selfless, fearless of authority, and straightforward in his work, never knowing how to be tactful.

With his power, he could easily have a long line of people lining up to make money off him.

As a result, old Lars owed two million in high-interest loans and simply couldn't come up with any extra savings.

His salary only increased to seven thousand rupees recently after he was promoted to a first-level police inspector.

This is less than the amount of bribes his subordinates receive in a single day; it's practically the most bizarre news in India.

Ron cherishes his friendship with Ajay, and he feels a little bad about it this time.

(End of this chapter)