Adrenaline pumping through his body, he changed into dark jeans and a black t-shirt and checked that the pocket of the jeans had the cell phone without a SIM card. They would use the torch of the phone. He looked at Badshah, who was sleeping peacefully on the broken sofa. Admiring his friend’s lack of fear, Ghulam shook Badshah awake. A few minutes later, at 2.00 a.m., Badshah and Ghulam stealthily left the latter’s home. Normally, this was the time they went to bed. But, today, sleep was far from their minds. The biggest journey of their lives was about to begin. It was raining but not too heavily. Badshah’s motorcycle, parked close to the wall outside their house, was wet. They had removed the number plates. They didn’t start the engine as the noise would awaken their neighbours.
Ghulam thanked his stars that his new chawl was closer to the main road. His previous tenement had been close to that of his father’s friend, who was a rather nosy guy. They walked the motorcycle along the alley to the Rajendra Nagar main road, where Badshah fired the engine and they sped away. Their destination? The Nizam’s Museum, Purani Haveli, where the biggest art heist in the recent history of Hyderabad was about to take place. It took Badshah and Ghulam exactly half an hour to reach the building, where they had decided to park their bike.
They went to the terrace of the building, and, from there, they had planned to jump from one building to the next until they reached the museum. But, as soon as they parked the bike, they were shocked to hear a voice asking querulously, ‘What do you want? Why are you parking your bike here?’ an old security guard peered at them in the semi-darkness with rheumy eyes. When they had recced the building before, nobody had objected to their parking. ‘Who the hell is this madarchod?’ Badshah hissed in a furious, low tone. He did not like the fact the theft was not going as per plan. Ghulam, a milder and more mature person, said nervously, ‘Don’t pick a fight now. He might recognize you later! Let’s get away from here. Luckily, the lights here are dim.’ ‘What will we do now? Should we abort?’ Badshah asked as they sped away from the building. ‘No, we will complete this today, whatever happens,’ Ghulam said in a determined voice. ‘Let’s take the small lane by the masjid that we took the other day. We’ll park the bike near the masjid and walk the rest of the way.’
So, they went to the roundabout near the sewage canal. ‘Stop here. Let us wear our masks. There are too many CCTV cameras in that lane,’ Ghulam said in a low voice. So, they stopped and wore their masks and gloves. Ghulam was quite satisfied that nobody would be able to recognize them even if they were caught on camera. Soon, they reached the masjid and parked their bike. It was 2.45 a.m. and the world was in deep sleep. The only witness to their presence was a CCTV camera fitted to the wall of the mosque. Ghulam took out his phone without the card and pretended to use it. Grabbing the duffle bags they had brought with them, Badshah and Ghulam walked swiftly, despite the total darkness, to the house adjacent to the museum.
The gate was unlocked. Having surveyed the house before, they were not bothered by the darkness. Switching on the torch of the SIM-less mobile phone, they went up the staircase to the terrace and then jumped to the terrace of the museum. Nobody heard the slight thump they made. They grinned at each other in excitement. They were on their way to becoming rich. They reached the roof of the museum and found the right ventilator easily, thanks to the arrow marks Badshah had made on the parapet wall. Badshah and Ghulam carefully removed the ventilator with the tools they had carried. They made very little noise. They had decided that Ghulam, who was slimmer than Badshah, would go down the ventilator.
Badshah tied one end of the rope to the parapet wall and the other end to Ghulam’s waist and lowered him slowly into the museum hall through the ventilator. He looked at the time on his phone. It was already 3.20 a.m. and getting lighter. They should have started earlier, he thought regretfully. Ghulam quickly grabbed the artefacts and Badshah pulled him back onto the terrace.
Ensuring that their masks had not slipped from their faces, they rushed back to their parked bike. The sun was up by this time. Ghulam pretended to talk on his cell phone again while Badshah started the bike. Then, he got on the bike, and they sped away with gold worth crores of rupees in their old and dusty duffle bags. ‘Mubarak ho, bhai (Congratulations, bro)!’ Badshah said, merrily waving his hand victoriously. ‘Now we can live like badshahs.’ ‘Careful!’ Ghulam said as the motorcycle wobbled. ‘Picture abhi baki hai, Ustaad (There is still a lot of work to be done),’ Ghulam said.
‘Take the lane next to the toy shop. We’ll reach the gully of the museum. That’s a quiet corner. There, we will remove our masks and gloves and also change our shirts.’ ‘Yes, good idea,’ Badshah said, chortling merrily. After that, to avoid being tracked by the police via CCTV cameras, they avoided main roads and drove at random, taking by-lanes whenever they could. Finally, they reached Muthangi of Sangareddy district. A mild drizzle had started. They parked the bike and entered a small café. ‘I am feeling tired and hungry now,’ Badshah said with a loud yawn. He put a huge piece of dosa in his mouth and started chewing. Ghulam, who was feeling sick with nervousness and tiredness was unable to eat and pushed his food around on his plate and said, ‘Ustaad, we have come so far. We need to remain calm.’ Badshah laughed. ‘Bhai, I’m calm. You look out for yourself.
This excerpt from Sharmishtha Shenoy’s ‘The Hyderabad Heist: The Untold Story of India’s Biggest Museum Theft’ has been published with permission from Rupa Publications.