I'm a Master in India

Sanjay Dutt was locked up in Arthur Road Jail, Mumbai's most notorious criminal prison.

Street punks weren't afraid of being put in lockup, but they steered clear of Arthur Road Jail.

You'd live a life worse than death in there, unless you had a big shot covering for you.

Mumbai's gangs also had their branches within the prison, taking care of newly incarcerated members of their respective gangs.

For example, the D-Company, the Gawli gang, the Chhota Rajan gang… their gangs had doctors, lawyers, public relations, reconnaissance teams, logistics for operating safe houses, and personnel to provide comprehensive support for incarcerated gang members.

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

Over time, these gangs became increasingly deeply entrenched in their respective prisons.

The D-Company specifically purchased motorized rickshaws and apartment buildings near the prison, and hired cooks and delivery boys.

The cooks would prepare three meals a day at the apartments, and the delivery men would get on electric rickshaws to deliver hot meals to the inmates.

It was a well-planned, efficient 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 sense of competition still existed among the gangs.

For example, during Ganesh Chaturthi, the Gawli gang would send a box of sweets to the D-Company inmates in Taloja Jail.

The boss of the D-Company inmates in the prison took a look and said, "Hmph, is that all?"

Then he sent back a large plate of Halwa酥糖 to the Gawli gang in the prison.

Of course, only the mid-to-high level members of the gangs would enjoy this kind of treatment. Sanjay Dutt was not a gangster, he was a Bollywood star.

On his first night in prison, he was 'invited' by the incarcerated members of the Chhota Rajan gang to the cell where their boss was located.

This boss had attended university in London and was originally an engineer, returning to Mumbai just to reunite with his brother, who was a gang leader.

Anu's husband, Vidhu Vinod Chopra, had even made a gang film based on these two brothers.

The boss asked Sanjay how he felt about being locked up. Sanjay said he missed his father very much.

So the boss, being righteous, found a prison guard and after some instructions, Sanjay was exceptionally taken to the guard room.

His father was incredibly surprised to receive a call from his son from prison at eleven o'clock at night.

But Sunil Dutt didn't bring Sanjay good news. He told his son on the phone that he was already powerless.

His political opponent, Kamal, had not kept his promise, and because he was involved in the bombing case, Sanjay was not allowed bail.

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

He smoked marijuana, played with guns, and raced cars. He was a complete scoundrel, but after all, he wasn't a gangster.

He was a Bollywood star, earning a lot of rupees and living a luxurious life that ordinary people could hardly imagine.

How could such a rich second generation tolerate life behind bars in prison?

He couldn't see the light of day in prison. The cell where he was held was only two meters square. He brushed his teeth, bathed, ate, drank, and relieved himself in this small space.

His family sent food for Sanjay, but it was quickly snatched up by the others as soon as it entered the iron bars. He could only survive on the unpalatable prison food.

What was worse was yet to come. Sanjay Dutt was a big star, which attracted a lot of attention.

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

So he was put in solitary confinement, with no windows. The silence of the dark room was enough to drive a person mad.

Then Sanjay learned to make friends with nature. Every night, four sparrows would fly in through the tiny exhaust fan.

He held out his large palm, with a little bit of bread crumbs he had saved in his palm.

He greedily and carefully stroked their feathers for the moment the birds pecked at the food. He yearned so much to touch living beings.

Sanjay also made friends with the ants climbing along the sewage pipe. He could observe the ants for hours without moving, and he would help them when they struggled to move food.

He had never observed every corner of his cell so carefully. There were no clocks here, only the sound of his own heartbeat.

He roughly estimated the sunrise and sunset by the regularity of these small animals' appearances.

However, the attraction of insects, birds, and rodents to Sanjay was ultimately limited. He was about to go crazy.

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

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

He yelled and cursed loudly, but no one responded.

The entire corridor, the entire prison, the entire world, it was as if he was the only one.

Sanjay was tired, his eyes lifeless. He lightly tapped his forehead. The pain on his forehead told him that this world still existed.

He tapped again, and the pain became clearer.

Bang, bang, bang, the sound grew louder, and even the steel bars trembled with it.

Creak, the sharp sound of the iron door rubbing broke the silence.

Light came in, blinding light. Sanjay couldn't see anything for a moment, but he desperately widened his eyes.

He didn't dare to close his eyes, afraid that all of this was an illusion.

"Son!" Sunil Dutt rushed over.

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

Is it really an illusion? How could an outsider come into solitary confinement?

It wasn't until a young man entered Sanjay's line of sight. He wasn't a prison guard, nor was he his friend. He looked somewhat familiar.

Finally, Sanjay slowly confirmed that it was real. His father was holding him and weeping loudly.

"Dad..." He was so weak he could barely speak, and tears streamed from his eyes.

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

The fat, big-headed prison guard clasped his hands together, bowed obsequiously to thank him, and then hurried out.

It's hard to say why, but the proportion of fat people among Indian police officers is surprisingly high.

Almost every time he went to a police station, Ron could see such fat people, often more than one.

Over there, the Dutt father and son had calmed down. The elder Dutt wiped his eyes, his expression sad.

"Mr. Sur, you must help me. He can't stay here anymore, he'll die!" The elder Dutt clasped his hands together, his voice hoarse.

"Don't worry, I've already made arrangements. Someone will be here to handle it soon," Ron comforted him.

There were figures moving at the iron door. The fat policeman hurried over with a doctor.

Sanjay's forehead was covered in blood. The elder Dutt was frightened the moment he came in.

He thought his son had been abused, which was why he desperately asked Ron for help regardless of the consequences.

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

Tsk, the crooked stitching made Ron frown.

What kind of terrible skill is this? It's far worse than his.

"Dr. Sur..." The prison medical staff member stood up awkwardly. He seemed to realize that he was showing off his limited skills to an expert.

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

"Yes, yes..." The doctor took the tip and left, bowing and scraping.

It wasn't that Ron had obsessive-compulsive disorder about the ugly stitching. It was that with his current surgical skills, he could truly look down on most doctors in India.

He had had too many opportunities to practice. Not to mention the slums of Mumbai and the Sur Electric Factory, he had treated more than one gunshot wound in Uttar Pradesh.

How many doctors could have such rich clinical experience as him? Ron's medical license was not obtained in vain.

"Foolish boy, why are you so hard on yourself?" The elder Dutt, who understood the whole story, couldn't help but blame him.

"No one has spoken to me for seven days. I'm going crazy!" Sanjay squatted on the ground, holding his head.

"Mr. Sur, you must take me to see Thackeray. I'll agree to any condition!" The elder Dutt had never been so heartbroken as he was today.

Ron didn't answer him first, but looked at the two prison guards beside him. They very sensibly left, closed the iron door, leaving only the three of them.

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

He took it with trembling hands, picked out one, and greedily sniffed it deeply under his nose.

It was just ordinary cigarettes, but Sanjay felt as if he had tasted fine wine. His tense muscles and spirit slowly relaxed.

"You know his personality, don't you? He's very strong," Ron looked at the elder Dutt, "You must admit defeat completely and satisfy his inner pride, otherwise this matter will be very difficult."

"I know, I understand Thackeray. I'm already prepared." The elder Dutt had made up his mind.

"This will also cost a large sum of money, a lot of money, enough money to impress Thackeray."

"No problem!" The elder Dutt still agreed without hesitation.

"Thackeray is very fond of his deceased wife. His villa is full of her photos," Ron reminded him.

"I know what to do." The elder Dutt's eyes flashed.

"You too," Ron looked at Sanjay, who had lit a cigarette, "Do you know what the first thing to do after getting out is?"

Sanjay's entire head was like a rusty machine now. 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 is not to go home, but to go to Thackeray's villa first. This will ensure that you don't have any trouble coming your way."

"Okay." Sanjay, who was never afraid of anything, was now as obedient as a lamb.

"Mr. Sur, he can't stay here. He must be moved to another place."

The elder Dutt was still worried about his son. He felt terrified just standing in this hellhole of solitary confinement.

No light, no sound. The gradually encroaching sense of loneliness would make you break down.

"I'll call Ajay in a bit. He'll help with this."

Mentioning Ajay Lal, Ron couldn't help but sigh.

He was one of the few people Ron could call a friend, but he was too stubborn.

He was selfless, unafraid of power, and did things directly, never knowing how to be flexible.

With his power, there would be plenty of people lining up to offer him money if he wanted to make some.

As a result, when the elder Lal owed two million in high-interest loans, he simply couldn't come up with any extra savings.

It wasn't until he was recently promoted to Inspector that his salary increased to seven thousand rupees.

This wasn't even as much as the bribes his subordinates collected in a day, which was simply the most surreal news in India.

Ron cherished Ajay as a friend. This time, he would have to inconvenience him a little.