Jagatsingh handed over to Kanha a small earthen plate—around four centimetres long and an equal four centimetres wide. On the face of the plate was written a Sanskrit shloka. On the reverse side were four squarish holes.
‘What is the significance of this plate, father?’ asked Kanha.
‘It is taken from a temple. In that temple lies an ancient secret. This plate indicates the location,’ replied the teacher.
‘Why are you giving it to me?’ asked Kanha.
‘Because I am worried about the future. Hindu-Muslim tensions are running hi and they could escalate into full-scale riots any day. I have lived my life but you still have yours ahead of you. Promise me that you will guard this with your life, my son,’ said Jagatsingh as he hugged his son.
‘I promise, Father. You have my assurance that I shall not let you down,’ said Kanha, proudly examining the ceramic plate.
The next day Besnagar had erupted in flames accompanied by an orgy of violence. Kanha had run through the village streets looking for his father but had been unable to find him. Violent gangs of Hindus rounded up Muslim clerics and teachers and set them alight while Muslim gangs targeted Hindu tradesmen and shopkeepers. At the end of the day, Jagatsingh’s body had been found floating in a well. He had been beaten over the head by a brick.
There was no time to shed tears and Kanha found himself running towards Vidisha junction, the closest railway station to Besnagar. He had clambered aboard the first train that he saw leaving and was just in time. All the remaining trains were eventually set alight. He had no clothes, no money, and no food. All that he had was the small ancient ceramic plate that his father had given him.
The railway guard took pity on the boy and allowed him to remain on board until the train reached Bombay Central. Kanha had stepped onto the platform only to find himself adrift on a sea of humanity. He spent the entire day at the railway station, begging passers-by for food, but the city seemed to have residents that were deaf, dumb and blind. By the time night fell, he dropped down in a corner of Bombay Central—hungry, exhausted and dehydrated.
When he awoke the next morning, he was surprised to find a kind face staring at him. In his hands the stranger held a small glass of hot jagger enclosed within a circle.ic saiy-tea and in his other hand was a newspaper packet that held a few luscious samosas. ‘Eat,’ he commanded Kanha, who gratefully gulped down the tea in between mouthfuls of the spicy samosas.
‘What’s your name?’ asked the young man who had fed him.
‘Kanha,’ he answered.
‘That name will never work in this city—it’s not powerful enough to inspire fear. I’m giving you another one—Khan. My name is Rahim. I shall teach you everything there is to know. You may call me Dada, because I’m the big dada in these parts. Got it?’
‘You’re Muslim?’ asked Kanha nervously, having just witnessed Hindu-Muslim riots in his hometown.
‘No, I’m an English Protestant. What kind of stupid question is that?’ asked Rahim indignantly.
‘But my new name—Khan. How can I use that? That’s a Muslim name and I’m Hindu,’ said Kanha.
‘There’s hardly any difference between the sound of Kanha and Khan! In any case, you won’t be Muslim simply by adopting a Muslim-sounding name!’
Kanha nodded and smiled shyly. Thus began his life as Khan instead of Kanha.
Tormented by the fear of losing her children, Kunti went to the riverbank where Karana was in meditation. Kunti stood behind him silently and waited. When he finished and turned around,
he noticed Kunti and bowed down before her. ‘The son of the chariot-driver Adhiratha bows to you. What can I do for you, O Queen?’ he asked. Kunti told Karana of the true circumstances of his birth. She also requested him to join his brothers, the Pandavas, instead of fighting for Duryodhana. Karana was sad but firm. ‘What you are asking me to do, respected Mother, is against my dharma. You deprived me of a mother’s love and threw me—a helpless baby—into the river, and you now talk of my duty? You kept quiet all these years but have chosen to meet me today, when you are worried about your five acknowledged sons, the Pandavas. No, I cannot forsake Duryodhana—the one who stood by me. But since you have come to me with a request, I promise you that I shall not kill Yudhistira, Bhima, Nakula or Sahadeva. The fight shall be between Arjuna and me, and irrespective of which one of us dies, you shall be left with five sons alive.’
‘Today I’m going to teach you the two-finger snag,’ said Rahim. ‘You will need to stand behind the person, make a “V” with your index and middle finger, and insert them ever so slightly into the rear pocket. While you are behind the mark, I shall be in front causing a distraction. During this distraction, your mark will not sense you snagging the wallet and jerking it out. Here’s a wallet that I stole yesterday. I’m placing it in my own back pocket. Now, try the technique on me.’
Khan clumsily tried to snag the wallet but Rahim swung around and gave him a terrific slap on his face. ‘That’s too slow!’ he snapped. ‘These methods must be executed quickly and with zero hesitation. You are less likely to be caught jerking the wallet out than trying to handle it gently. Remember, the only time that a slow and deliberate strategy will work is if the pockets are very loose. C’mon, try it again!’
The procedure was repeated,’ replied Sir Khan to see on the Kaliyuga several times and Khan’s cheeks were burning red with the number of successive slaps that they received. On the tenth attempt, Khan succeeded in snagging the wallet and Rahim swung around to congratulate him. Rahim ended up on the receiving end of a tight slap from Khan.
Rahim started laughing. ‘Congratulations. You have taken the first steps towards surviving in this city,’ he said grandly.
The next day, Rahim taught him about jacket pockets. ‘A jacket will usually have four pockets: two main outer pockets, an inner pocket and the breast pocket. It’s relatively simple to pick outer pockets because they hang loose from the body and are hence quite safe to pick without detection. All one needs is a little distraction to get the victim to turn his head and you’re done.’
Khan listened, absorbed and practised. Practice makes perfect, he would keep reminding himself each day. On the second day he tasted victory when he succeeded in snagging a wallet that contained four hundred rupees. He had never seen so much money at once. Rahim coolly counted the money, tossed the wallet aside and gave him two hundred rupees. ‘All your takings shall be split fifty-fifty down the middle,’ he said as he pocketed his own share of the loot. I am much more experienced than you and hence shall share twenty-five per cent of my own takings with you.’
Khan nodded in agreement. Dada Rahim was being fair.
‘What is that piece of pottery that you seem to carry with you everywhere you go?’ asked Rahim, pointing to the ceramic plate Khan had brought from Besnagar.
‘It bears an ancient inscription. It belonged to my father. He gave it to me just before he died,’ explained Khan, tears welling up in his eyes. Rahim took his new-found friend into a bear hug and said, ‘Ssh. You may not have a father anymore but you do have a new brother.’
The next day turned out to be a momentous one for Khan and Rahim. A gentleman carrying a briefcase was about to board a local train. Rahim bumped into him, grabbed the briefcase and ran away. As had been planned in advance, Khan ran after Rahim, delivered a couple of choreographed blows and retrieved the briefcase for the eternally grateful man. It was the oldest con trick in the world but its efficacy was unparalleled. The relieved man turned out to be a cashier who had been carrying a few hundred thousands of rupees in cash in his bag, to be deposited in the bank. Hugely happy with the return of his briefcase, he gratefully rewarded Khan with ten thousand rupees.
‘You have brought me luck,’ said Rahim to Khan as they split the earnings between them. ‘This is our opportunity to become big. Are you ready to transition to the big time?’
‘Sure. What do you have in mind?’
‘Well, we now have capital, so w
e can try this on shopkeepers. Have you heard of the short count?’
‘No. What is that?’
‘Let’s role-play. You are the shopkeeper and I’m the customer. I’ve just bought something worth ten rupees from you. I now pay you using a hundred-rupee note,’ said Rahim handing over one to Khan.
‘Here’s your change, sir,’ said Khan, taking out nine soiled ten-rupee notes from his pocket and handing them over to Rahim.
Rahim said, ‘I have another tenner of my own to add to the nine notes that you’ve just given me. Could I request you to give me a hundred in exchange for my tens? exploration a
Khan took out a hundred and handed it over to Rahim. Rahim took the hundred and acted confused. He added the hundred-rupee note that he had just received to the nine tenners and gave it to Khan.
‘You’ve made a mistake, sir. You’ve just given me a hundred and ninety rupees instead of a hundred,’ said Khan.
‘Oh, have I? Here’s another ten, to make it an even two hundred. Could I request you for two one-hundreds please?’ asked Rahim smoothly, as Khan nodded in agreement.
‘Did you understand the con?’ asked Rahim.
‘What con?’ asked Khan.
‘You just gave me two hundred for a hundred that belonged to you, not to me! When I gave you a hundred and ninety, it included a hundred rupees taken from you. It was your money, not mine!’ said Rahim chuckling. ‘Now we need to make a list of all the shops where we can execute this con over and over again for larger amounts.’
Time flew as the partnership of Khan and Dada Rahim flourished. One day, the cashier that Khan and Rahim had conned walked up to the two of them. Both boys nervously gulped, fearing that their game was up. Instead of handing them over to the cops, the cashier smiled and said, ‘You two are bloody ingenious. I have a proposition for you.’
Rahim eyed the man suspiciously and reluctantly said, ‘Go on, I’m listening.’
‘I receive payments from my customers but very often a few currency notes turn out to be fake. There’s not much that I can do about it. If I pass these on to you, can you get rid of them for me? Fifty per cent is yours if you do,’ offered the cashier. They shook hands. It was Rahim and Khan’s first exposure to circulating counterfeit notes. Over the years, it would lead them to set up counterfeiting operations of their own.
With Karana at the helm of operations, the Kaurava army once again went back to fighting according to the rules of war. On the sixteenth day, Nakula fought Karana. Karana effortlessly destroyed Nakula’s chariot and cut Nakula’s bow.
Nakula was at Karana’s mercy but Karana did not kill him. Instead, Karana told him, ‘One day you shall be proud of this fight.’ Nakula related his humiliation to Yudhistira but did not observe the smile hovering on my face. Meanwhile, in the Kaurava camp it had been decided that Shalya would be Karan’s charioteer. Shalya had already been given instructions by me to continually praise Arjuna so as to increase Karana’s feelings of insecurity. In spite of this negativity, Karana was able to humble Yudhistira, breaking his bow, his chariot and finally his armour. When Yudhistira was standing helplessly, awaiting the final blow of death, Karana told him, ‘You can never defeat me. You may be a Kshatriya by birth but are more a Brahmin at heart. Now go!’
‘Do you still have that ceramic plate that you had brought with you from Besnagar?’ asked Rahim over breakfast. The two young men were seated in Khan’s apartment in Lokhandwala—a newly-developed tony suburb of Mumbai. They had acquired two apartments side-by-side, as their illegal operations had grown.
‘Yes,’ replied Khan, taking a bite of his masala omelette while completing exercises in written English in the book that lay open next to his breakfast plate. Father, you were un,’ replied Sir Khaner of on the Kaliyugaable to teach me much, but I shall continue to learn even in the absence of a formal education, thought Khan.
‘There’s an international auction house that wants to see it. They say that they could get upwards of a million rupees if they could get to authenticate its age,’ said Rahim cautiously.
‘Tell them not to waste their time,’ said Khan between mouthfuls. ‘It’s a family heirloom and I’m not going to sell it.’
Rahim did not push the point further. Changing the topic he asked, ‘Are we all set for our trip to Dubai?’
‘Yes, tickets and visas are done. I’m still not clear why you want to make this trip,’ replied Khan.
‘Dubai has recently imported over two hundred tons of gold,’ replied Rahim.
‘What does that have to do with us?’ asked Khan.
‘Every Indian family is estimated to hold over five grams of gold. Even the poorest Indian may scrounge in every other aspect of his life but will, without fail, put aside some gold as savings. Add this to the gold ornaments of the Indian rich and the total Indian stock should be well over ten thousand tons! The German Federal bank only has about four thousand tons in its vaults,’ replied Rahim.
‘How does that concern us?’ asked Khan. ‘We’re counterfeiters, not jewellers!’
‘My estimate is that over two hundred million dollars’ worth of gold will be smuggled into India each year, most of it from Dubai. It’s time we got a piece of the action,’ said Rahim.
‘Who are we meeting in Dubai?’ asked Khan.
‘There’s this chap who has perfected the art of melting gold into matchbox-size ingots and sewing them into canvas jackets—apparently, each jacket accommodates a hundred bars. They’re perfect for wearing on fishing boats!’ said Rahim, laughing. ‘Here, try this one on.’
Khan got up and tried on the jacket that had been filled with matchboxes instead of gold. ‘You have now worn the coronation robes, so I now dub thee Sir Khan!’ joked Rahim, as he grandly tapped a fork on Khan’s shoulders.
The joke was eventually shared with all the team members and from that day on, the name stuck—Sir Khan.
Seeing the bravery and chivalry of Karana, Shalya stopped praising Arjuna and began extolling Karana’s virtues. This brought tears of joy to Karana’s eyes. As Arjuna’s chariot approached that of Karana, Dusshasana stepped forward to protect the Kauravas’ star warrior. Bhima engaged him in a duel as he angrily remembered how Dusshasana’s vile hands had pulled Draupadi by her hair. Bhima was able to smash Dusshasana’s chariot and break his bow. As soon as he fell to the ground, Bhima pinned him down and ripped open his chest with his bare hands. As Dusshasana’s blood spurted from his heart, Bhima put his lips to the fountain, thus obeying the terrible oath that he had taken to avenge Draupadi’s insult. He then cupped Dusshasana’s blood in his hands and took it to Draupadi so that she could bathe her hair in it, and fulfil her own promise.
Some months later, their new office had been freshly painted in pale gold distemper. It was reflective of the new aside hatred and learn to , b scripturesly-acquired status of the two men who controlled an empire from it. Dada Rahim and Sir Khan sat back in their leather-backed swivel chairs and toasted one another. The decision to start smuggling gold from Dubai into Mumbai had made them rich beyond their wildest dreams. They now had well over a hundred handpicked men working for them. Between Dada Rahim and Sir Khan, they controlled counterfeiting, betting, and smuggling operations in Mumbai.
On Khan’s birthday, Dada Rahim bought a gold chain with a pendant bearing the name ‘Sir Khan’ in gothic letters. Khan had laughed, thanked Dada Rahim for the touching gesture and had immediately worn it around his neck. It was a simple pendant in eighteen-karat gold.
Khan looked at the black and white photograph of his father on his desk. He knew that it was not what his father would have wanted for his son. He would have disowned him if he had been alive to witness the dramatic rise of the infamous Sir Khan. ‘What option did I have, Father?’ Khan would softly whisper to his father’s spirit when he was alone and contemplative. He took out the key from his pocket and unlocked his desk drawer to locate the ceramic base plate. Running his hands over the plate his father had given him brought him comfort. It was
the equivalent of the effect that a pacifying stuffed toy had on a crying child—instant tactile succor.
The drawer was empty. He opened the second drawer, thinking that he may have mistakenly placed it there, but that, too, was empty. He turned to Dada Rahim and asked, ‘Does anyone else have access to our private office? I can’t find my father’s ceramic plate.’
‘You are going to thank me, my friend,’ said Dada Rahim, lighting up a Marlboro.
‘Thank you for what?’ asked Khan suspiciously.
‘You’ve been hanging on to that thing for ever so many years,’ said Dada Rahim. ‘I decided that you needed to move on. I took a photo of it and sent it to Sotheby’s. They did a quick valuation and decided that it was worth over five million rupees in auction. They set a reserve price of four million and auctioned it. It went for six! The money has been deposited in your bank account, not that a trifling sum like that is of any real consequence to you.’
Khan leapt out of his chair, landed in front of Dada Rahim and began raining blows on him. ‘You sold off the last remaining relic of my father! May you burn in hell, you filthy scoundrel!’ he shouted as he caught hold of Dada Rahim’s throat and began to throttle him. Dada Rahim struggled for breath but was eventually able to free his neck from Khan’s grasp. He managed to land an uppercut on Khan’s chin that felled him to the floor. Khan recovered smartly and attacked yet again, head-butting Dada Rahim with a fury he’d never experienced before.
Both men were evenly matched and the scuffle carried on for several minutes before they both lay sweating and bloody on the office floor. It was at that moment that they realised they had not just lost a ceramic plate but also a valuable friendship. It was also the end of a lucrative partnership that would be written and spoken about for many years after their divorce.
Finally, the two greatest warriors on the battlefield—Arjuna and Karana—faced each other. They progressively used more potent weapons—divine astra,’ replied Sir Khan that ’ between is of Agni, Varuna, and Indra. Karana used his guru Parashurama’s Bhargavastra, which inflicted heavy casualties on the Pandavas. In return, Arjuna used his Brahmastra on the Kauravas. Karana fired his Magastra, the deadliest weapon in his arsenal, at Arjuna, but I pressed our chariot into the ground and this saved Arjuna. Now fate began to work against Karana. Karana’s chariot wheels got stuck in the ground. He got down to try and free the wheels and pleaded with Arjuna that, by the rules of war, he ought to be given time to do so. I started laughing, mostly to prevent Arjuna from becoming chivalrous. I said to Karana, ‘You talk of righteousness? You sided with Duryodhana in his evil schemes. You never protested the humiliation of Draupadi. You remained a mute spectator to the killing of Abhimanyu. What righteousness do you talk of?’ I urged Arjuna to kill Karana quickly, while we had the advantage. Arjuna sent an arrow which sliced Karana’s head off his body and soon the great warrior was no more.