I am a master in India

Chapter 309 The Godfather of the Daoud Gang

"How is Mumbai?" This was Shakir's first question after exchanging pleasantries.

“Mumbai is very well built,” Ron said with a smile. “Fifty-five skybridges! You can get from Antares to Kolaba in the fastest time.”

“What a big change!” Shakiel nodded with satisfaction.

He has fond memories of hopping on a train from Miraru to Polivari, then to Antares, and finally to Dadar.

He remembered that the road was lined with lush trees, while Dubai was always full of skyscrapers.

He had been away from Mumbai for six years, and every time someone came from there, he would ask this question so eagerly.

Even the men behind Shakir pricked up their ears, listening for news about Mumbai; they couldn't go back.

They longed for Mumbai. Apart from their work in the underworld, they had no real life. In their spare time, they would go to Pizza Hut for juice or buy Bollywood DVDs to watch all night.

They always think about their hometown and wonder how their elders and brothers will celebrate traditional festivals.

Shakir played the cassette tape of "I Love My India" in his room so many times that the magnetic powder was almost completely worn off.

“I can tell you care a lot about Mumbai.” Ron gestured for the waiter to bring over a few glasses of whiskey and juice.

“There is no other Mumbai in the world. I miss my compatriots, my homeland, the air and blue sky there, the familiar faces, my loved ones.” Shakir expressed his longing for Mumbai in an almost poetic way.

He made no attempt to hide his feelings, speaking in a refined, literary style in English. His years in Dubai had even changed his accent.

"Mumbai is like a delicious delicacy; once you've tasted it, you'll never forget it. I miss all my family, but more importantly—I miss Mumbai because that's where I was born."

A person will never forget their birthplace, their childhood, the paths they played on, the neighborhoods, the picnics in the countryside when they were in school, the movies, the laughter with friends—they cherish those little moments. My story is just like that. "Shakir said, as if a movie actor were meticulously reciting narration.

Ron didn't disturb him; this was a rare opportunity.

Look, Karuna is writing with lightning speed over his pen.

This is the Daoud gang's second-in-command, a gang godfather who strikes fear into the hearts of many. Which reporter in Mumbai would have the opportunity to sit in front of him and listen to him express his homesickness?

What great material! Ron and Mary both kept silent, lest Shakir lose his talking point.

At this moment, Shakir appeared approachable, relaxed, and confident. He never hesitated; he was a man accustomed to giving orders.

Ron heard no intimidation in his voice, only openness.

"I'm in my first year of high school and I want to continue my studies. My wish is to join the army or go into politics when I grow up."

You know, when we were kids, everyone would write essays titled "I Want to Be XXX". I wanted to be a military officer, so that's what I wrote in my essay.

I want to die on the battlefield for my country. Some people have strong feelings for their country, but others just talk about it. I am the latter.

"Unfortunately, fate played a cruel trick on me. I didn't become an officer; instead, I became the commander of the Daoud gang." Shakir blamed the police: "They indirectly ruined my life. I was forced to get involved with the underworld, and ended up becoming the person standing before you today."

"Then how do you remotely control such a massive organization from so far away?" Karuna couldn't help but ask, just like a reporter.

“I told my subordinates in Mumbai about the plan, and they implemented it in their own way. Of course, we have ways of communication. You don’t need to write my name or go into too much detail about this.”

When such troublesome matters are brought up, Shakir chooses to give a roundabout answer, just as seasoned politicians always do.

“But Mumbai is currently embroiled in gang warfare, with the Daoud Gang, the New Union, the Rajan Gang, and the Gori Gang all in chaos.” Ron shrugged.

“The culprit is Rajan’s gang,” Shakir’s tone turned grim. “All of Mumbai knows that Rajan’s break with the Daoud gang was not because of the bombing.”

A year before the incident, around 91 or 92, he had already harbored rebellious intentions; this man was indeed ungrateful. We dealt with three of his henchmen at the time, and he was the fourth one we needed to take care of.

For more than ten years, Daoud raised him to adulthood, treating him better than a biological son.

When Rajan realized his mistake had been exposed, he hurriedly performed a foot-touching ceremony to Daoud, crying and saying he would repent. So Daoud did not kill him in the end, but chose to forgive him.

Seeing that his delaying tactic had worked, Rajan left Dubai six months after the bombing and never returned.

He needed a reason to betray his country, so he told people it was because of the bombing. But he knew he wasn't clean either; what was the truth?

"He was also involved in the bombing?" Ron raised an eyebrow; Rajan was a Hindu.

“It’s best we don’t talk about this right now,” Shakir advised.

He knew that Ron was sitting next to people from the TV station, so he allowed them to ask questions within reasonable limits.

Karuna asked if, as the rumors suggested, the herders would definitely support the Daoud group, while all the Hindus would join the Rajan or Gauri groups.

Shakir stated that the rumors were untrue, adding, "There are quite a few Hindus in our gang."

He set the ratio at fifty percent, with herders and Hindus each making up half.

During Hindu festivals, the Daoud community even distributes money to its followers.

“Our principle is—” Shakir emphasized, “everything is people-oriented.”

Whether this is true or not, let's not worry about that for now, but let's make a note of it. Ron and his team will conduct multiple interviews and eventually compile the information together.

Perhaps finding the mob boss too "approachable," Karuna boldly asked him for his opinion on the Mumbai police. Unlike the one-sided attitude of the assassins detained in the police station, Shakir's stance seemed quite objective.

"It is true that some police officers collude with gangs, but that does not mean the entire department is beyond redemption. Even today, Mumbai still has honest and good police officers who are impartial and willing to do practical things for the people."

Ron thought of Ajay; his rise to power would indeed be a good thing for the Mumbai police force.

Shakir could understand the police's predicament, even if they had to eliminate his men while carrying out their duties.

"But chance encounters should be directed at people who have actually caused harm to the public. We must not let innocent people bleed, because that person is also someone else's son, the pillar of a family."

But the police have recently encountered many civilians who are doing this purely out of religious persecution. For the past four months, Hindu police have killed many herders in Malpudan, claiming they are members of the Daoud group.

But in fact, I didn't know three-quarters of the victims, and they had absolutely no connection to the Daoud gang. The police would arrest someone, interrogate them, kill them, and then say they were a member of the Daoud gang or the Rajan gang.

Shakir was particularly unhappy about this, as Aijay's police department wasn't the only one capable of staging these encounters. Other districts in Mumbai also had specialized encounter experts.

They set their sights on Malpundan, known as "Little Baba Sheep," a place where gang members are most likely to emerge, and naturally, a frequent spot for chance encounters.

“It seems you’ve heard about what’s been happening in Mumbai lately. You’re very well-informed there.” Ron gently twirled the glass in his hand.

Do you know what the Internet is?

“Of course.” Ron was somewhat surprised.

"That thing is amazing. With just a click of the mouse, global news will appear right in front of you!"

With the release of Windows 95, the internet truly entered people's lives for the first time.

India remains slow and oblivious, but just across the bay, Dubai is already showing signs of the internet.

Shakir had an email address set up so that someone would scan the pages of major newspapers in Mumbai every day and send them to him.

He pays particular attention to the financial sector, looking at who is currently the market's darling, and spends at least two hours on it every day.

After a brief interview, Ron gestured for Mary and Karuna to leave for the time being.

Only after the two of them were alone at the table did they begin to discuss the day's business.

“You know, I only agreed to this interview because you are Dr. Suer. No reporter has ever sat in front of me like this before. I believe you have no prejudice against the herders, and the expression on your face when you saved them was genuine.”

"Thank you." Ron raised his glass, expressing his sincere gratitude.

“My brother, Anwar, his family has a Sull brand television.”

"What?" Ron was somewhat surprised.

“He’s in the logistics business and has nothing to do with gang affairs. He’s a clean guy and doesn’t get involved in gang stuff. He likes Sull Electric appliances and says they’re genuine Indian products.”

“I’m honored,” Ron nodded.

"Actually, even without Kamal's involvement, I would have been willing to help. I love India and would love to see Mumbai-made appliances sold in Dubai. But I still want to ask, what about Kamal now?"

Without saying a word, Ron took out the satellite phone, dialed the number, and handed it to him.

Shakir heard the response from the other end, chatted for a few minutes, and was completely relieved.

“You are indeed a man of your word, Dr. Sue.” He stood up. “Come with me.”

Not far from their outdoor tea area, in the hotel lobby, a man was sitting there.

He was a local; he wore a cloth on his head, making him instantly recognizable.

Shakir spoke to him in Arabic, and the other man responded, glancing at Ron from time to time.

"He made you set up a company office in Dubai and deposit ten million US dollars in Masriq Bank as collateral."

"That's all?" Ron asked curiously.

"What else do you want? Like you're in Mumbai, trying to find people to give you money? Dude, Indian logic doesn't work here."

Doing business in Dubai is simple; they value the reputation of suppliers and don't have complex or special personal networks.

Your company deals in bulk commodity trading and is a newcomer, which is why it was delayed for so long at the beginning. However, I've provided a guarantee and an additional deposit for you; the rest is up to you.”

“No problem.” Ron immediately agreed; it was no big deal.

Dubai is a great place. There are no trade barriers, no foreign exchange controls or management agencies, and you can obtain foreign exchange without restrictions from authorized banks.

There are no regulations for levying profit tax or business tax on companies or enterprises, and there are no income tax, value-added tax, consumption tax, or various taxes levied on intermediate links. Profits can be freely remitted out.

The best part is that Dubai is a transit port, attracting merchants from nearly 30 African countries who regularly purchase daily necessities, light industrial products, electrical appliances, clothing, and other goods here.

Obtaining the Dubai permit also opened up access to the African market, achieving two goals at once.

Ron was getting impatient.

(End of this chapter)