Punjab today is home to over 500 criminal gangs and modules, with nearly 2,000 active members. Their reach extends far beyond state borders—from the alleys of Moga to the suburbs of Brampton, from Bathinda to California and Melbourne.
***
Many were once promising athletes—wrestlers, kabaddi players, sprinters. They had talent, ambition, and dreams. But somewhere along the way, they were abandoned—by their families, by the system, by the very institutions that were meant to nurture, protect, and guide them. None of them turned to crime out of hunger or poverty. They did not pick up the gun because they had no food on the table. They did it for power, for pride, for revenge—and sometimes, simply because no one stopped them. Their descent into this quagmire was not inevitable. It was preventable.
Lawrence Bishnoi
Sometime in August 2011, Jarnail Singh, weathered with age and endless rounds of courts and police stations, stood under a tree in the premises of a Panchkula (Haryana) court. His son, Shera Khuban, his lifeline, had become a shadow. A gangster, Shera’s name echoed as the ‘Badshah’ of the underworld after the infamous Panchkula bank robbery case.
***
Singh moved towards his son; the police also allowed them to chat. The men in khaki understand that a few minutes with the family will help the ‘beast’ they had brought in handcuffs, to be at relative peace for several days in the lock-up or, more urgently, on the way back to the jail. So, sometimes, out of humanity, they allow a brief chat with a family member. Other times, a few pieces of coloured paper bearing Mahatma Gandhi’s face do the persuading
***
Among the youths crowding his son, one boy stood apart. Fair-skinned, with a neat haircut, expensive clothes and sports shoes, and muscular arms; though of medium height, he had a towering presence. There was a special spark in his eyes—a hunger for purpose, a longing to belong. He sat close to Shera, slowly cracking open pistachio shells and feeding him with his hands. Who is he? Singh wondered, keeping an eye on him even when the police whisked Shera away to the courtroom. As the group dispersed, the handsome youth waited. ‘Who are you, son?’ Singh had to know him. ‘Uncle Ji, I am from your area only. My name is Lawrence,’ he said, smiling. The smile touched something deep within Singh.
***
‘I am like a brother to Shera bhaaji. He is a legend, a superhero,’ Lawrence insisted. ‘Our villages are but a whisper apart. Dutaranwali and Khuban—they share the same soil, the same blood.’ ‘I am studying in Chandigarh,’ Lawrence continued. Singh heaved a sigh of relief. Would he follow the path of Law? ‘We have about 110 acres of land. We are Bishnois,’ said Lawrence.
***
Lawrence, undoubtedly the most talked-about gangster in Punjab in present times with nearly 80 cases against him, has spoken through a number of posts on social media, besides audio messages and even a TV interview from police custody. Sometimes, he has done a U-turn in the court of law, denying all those claims. Following his media interview, the government banned all media interaction with him. His diary, whose authenticity has been confirmed by Lawrence’s uncle Ramesh Bishnoi besides Punjab Police officials, provides a glimpse into the gangster’s mind. The author is in possession of the diary pages referred to in this chapter.
My parents pampered me from day one. They fulfilled all my wishes, bought me anything I wanted. It could be clothes or a motorcycle, or even a car or a school, a college [where] I wanted to study. Perhaps, that is why they gave in to my persistent demands to join a school and later a college in Chandigarh [about 350 km from his village, Dutaranwali]. And that is where began the new chapter of my life. I look back and would say I wasn’t ready for the big city, coming from a village; its flashy high-flying [life]style. I had not seen my schoolmates back home going to pubs and discos and hookah bars. I was a simple guy who wore what my mother chose for me and was happy with the monthly pocket money I received. My life pace was slow, like a bicycle till the big city happened. My parents wanted me out of the village for a better education. And at the tender age of ten, I was sent to boarding to get the best education and make them proud, at my aunt’s house (Bua ji—father’s sister). Instead, and contrary to their dreams, I became a criminal.
Dimpy Chandbhan
Over the years, Sukhna Lake became home to several species of birds, besides serving as a temporary abode for migratory avians from far-off Siberia as well. The atmosphere has remained serene despite the presence of a couple of hundreds of locals, besides tourists from various parts of India and abroad.
***
On July 6, 2006, gunshots shattered such a poetic evening at the lake. Birds who had settled well in their homes on the trees, flapped about their wings in panic, screeching loudly. The shots were fired near the Sukhna Lake Club (Lake Sports Complex today), a hangout for the elite of the city, who enjoy drinks and dinner sitting on the lush lawns, if not inside. The club extends from the lake on one side to the Kansal green belt and the famous Nek Chand Saini’s Rock Garden on the other.
That evening, there were no visible signs of rain. Unknown at that time, sinister clouds were hovering above. These would not bring rain; instead, these would raise the temperature of the state again, setting off a chain of events that continue to this day. Two killers were on the prowl, waiting behind one of the bushes separating the club from the lake. And they kept watch on a Sikh youth, easily identifiable by his trademark teddi pugri (tilted turban) and large vulture-like eyes, dining on the lawns of the Lake Club with his friends, some of whom belonged to Punjab’s powerful echelons.
He was Prabhjinder Singh Brar, popularly known as Dimpy Chandbhan, and acknowledged by the police, media and in the criminal records as the first gangster of Punjab, or even that part of North India comprising Punjab, Haryana, and Himachal Pradesh besides Jammu and Kashmir. Around 8.15 p.m. that day, the tall, lanky Dimpy walked out of the club unarmed with his cousin Navbir Singh alias Baboo, towards a blue Maruti Swift parked across the road, with the residence of the Chief Minister of Punjab at one end and that of the Governor of Haryana at the other.
***
Dimpy Chandbhan was Numero Uno, the first in a long list of Punjab gangsters that followed. The foremost to emerge as the Punjab ‘gangster’ in the mid-1990s, he set up an organised network of criminals, who had link-ups with notorious gangsters sheltered by politicians in Punjab, Haryana, Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, and South India.
Rocky Fazilka
Rocky was easy-going, with a warm smile, and made friends easily with a firm handshake. Dimpy was the guru, and Rocky the disciple. Rocky did not just look up to Dimpy, he worshipped him to such an extent that he wanted to be him. And somewhere along the way, he wanted to replace Dimpy. Perhaps, that was why Rocky maintained a distinct persona. Did he sense that the future would not belong to street fighters but to smooth-talking dons with networks across the underworld—and among police officers and politicians—even as they played both sides? Ironically, both build their fiefdom around Panjab University students’ politics and elections, and yet, neither of them was even a graduate. Rocky remained a matriculate (according to the election affidavit that he had filed in 2012 when he contested the Punjab Assembly elections) and Dimpy was higher secondary (10+2) pass.
Rocky did take admission in a prominent school for the higher secondary certificate but did not complete it. Both men lost their respective fathers early in life. Dimpy was about eight years old when his father was accidentally electrocuted and died. His widowed mother brought him up. Rocky was the second of three siblings. They lived in Jhuggian village in Fazilka, a district in southwest Punjab sharing an international border with Pakistan, and the state boundary with Rajasthan. The family owned about 70 acres of land. The eldest in the family, a daughter named Rajinder Kaur, was born in 1972, followed by Rocky in 1973, and the youngest, Romi, came along the year after. Rocky’s tayaji (elder paternal uncle) had no child of his own. So he had unofficially adopted Rocky as his son, though Rocky continued to live with his parents. Both Rocky and Romi seemed to have a troubled childhood. They had fast become tall and muscular, and were involved in street brawls. Around 1994, Rocky’s brother Romi and their father, Jaswinder Singh, frequently got into arguments.
During one such argument, Romi shot dead his father. On the basis of a complaint lodged by his mother, Romi was booked for murder and sent to jail to face trial. The worried family decided to send Rocky to boarding school in Chandigarh. It was there that he first met Dimpy. But Rocky was not involved in any criminal activity immediately. He had grown up hearing tales of Dimpy’s exploits. So, he too wanted to become big. But he wanted his name to be feared by people who did wrong or immoral things. Once, when some goons were harassing a close friend’s sister, he beat them in the Fazilka bazar. However, those young goons were politically connected, so Rocky had to flee to Chandigarh under Dimpy’s protection. Did he see his lost father in Dimpy? Only Rocky could have answered that question.
Shera Khuban
When Jarnail Singh, father of Shera Khuban, was told that a shaheed would be born to him, he was overjoyed. ‘I was not even married when a Nihang Baba prophesied the birth of my son. It so happened that I was visiting Nanaksar Thath near Jagraon in Ludhiana. While passing in front of the stalls selling religious symbols besides toys, a Nihang Sikh offered a mouth organ for my children.’ That was in 1974, years before Shera’s birth in 1988. ‘It was a plastic mouth organ orange in colour, which is still popular among kids. He handed it to me saying I will not just have a son but a great one who will earn much fame. He will be a shaheed.’
***
At 5’11”, it wasn’t just Shera’s physique that set him apart. He had developed good looks too—a wide forehead partially covered with a rebellious strand of hair, and small but penetrating eyes with dark-brown irises on a sea of white. His lips were neither plump nor thin, and he had a beard that was neither thick nor imposing. Holding a pistol in his photos, the flexed forearm muscles provided a hint of his physique hidden behind carelessly worn clothes. In short, his face was nothing like the brute force his body suggested. He wore a gentle smile over a calm demeanour.
Vicky Gounder
A few days after Shera Khuban’s death in November 2012, the gang members regrouped for a special ceremony. The venue was a gurdwara. The purpose was to choose a new leader. Jaipal Bhullar was a big name but there was someone bigger—Vicky Gounder. At 5’9”, Vicky—whose parents named him Harjinder Singh—was a muscular youth with a well-knit body, compact and strong. He was named ‘Gounder’ by his teachers in the village school.Historically, Gounders were village headmen, landowners, or chieftains—figures of authority and responsibility in rural governance. In some interpretations, the title also connects to the Kshatriya lineage, suggestive of a martial or administrative lineage.
***
At the investiture ceremony, Vicky was presented with a turban and Shera Khuban’s .38 bore pistol. He was anointed leader of the Shera Khuban group. The group’s immediate task was to avenge the murder of the group’s founder.
On their hit list was Karmiti Sekhon, who already had a long-standing rivalry with Shera Khuban, Vicky Gounder, and Gurpreet Sekhon. Shera had killed a supporter of Karmiti in Piareana village during the 2012 Assembly elections. This election would feature time and again in the stories of the Punjab gangsters. A number of them emerged as gangsters from these elections. Vicky was the only one to witness the encounter of Shera Khuban. Not the shootout per se, but he was there minutes later as he was scheduled to meet Shera and his girlfriend. He saw the crowd and mingled with it. Later, he would describe the scene to others.
***
He won medals, stood on podiums, and basked in fleeting moments of glory. Seeing potential in him, his father took him to Jalandhar for admission in the Government Senior Secondary State School of Sports there. Jinder was in Class VIII when he started competing at the national level. He won a silver medal in the Under-17 National Championship in Bangalore (2007) and a gold medal in the Under-19 Championship in Hyderabad (2008). He dreamt of participating in the Olympic discus‑throw event. But that was not to be.
***
Another budding sports career was eclipsed. In jail, Vicky met hardened criminals and his group stood together. Soon, they met others like Jaipal Bhullar, Shera Khuban, Sukha Kahlwan, Happy Deora, and Lovely Baba in different prisons. Some bonds turned into lifelong friendships, while others were destroyed due to egos and suspicions. The boy who had once dreamt of sporting triumphs would soon be reduced to a gangster in the eyes of his community, his photograph displayed prominently on crime boards in police stations, instead of occupying pride of place on sports pages.
Davinder Bambiha
The fear he planted in men’s hearts blooms long after he is gone. This is the story of Bambiha—the Sultan of Faridkot, the outlaw who wouldn’t die. Davinder Singh Sidhu—the name emerged from a dusty village on the Moga-Faridkot border and resounded through the gunfire of a hundred feuds. The world would call him Davinder Bambiha. To the police, he was a fugitive. To his rivals, he was their nemesis. To his followers, he was not merely a gangster. For them, the Sultan Bambiha Gang was a badge of honour. This is the story of a boy who entered jail weeping, terrified of the night, and walked out a warlord; the story of a young kabaddi player whose grip on men became a grip on Punjab’s underworld; the story of a name that outlived bullets, betrayal, even death itself.
***
Some were gang members; others, high-profile figures. The most infamous killing was the broad daylight assassination of singer Sidhu Moosewala near his village Moosa on 29 May 2023—a killing that shook not only Punjab but the entire nation. Before him, this enmity had consumed Vicky Middukhera, an Akali youth leader and rising politician, who was shot dead in Mohali on 7 August 2021. In between came the murder of kabaddi player Sandeep Nangal Ambian in the middle of a kabaddi field, and, earlier still was the killing of Ravi Khwajke, a young Congress leader close to anti-Bambiha gangs.
Each killing etched bloody lines across the map of Punjab. And at the heart of them all lay the shadow of a boy—Davinder Singh Sidhu—from a small but significant village—Bambiha Bhai—in Moga District.
***
Davinder was born into a family neither poor nor deprived of tradition. His father, Iqbal Singh, was a respected schoolteacher, and also a kabaddi player admired at local tournaments. Tragedy struck early—when Davinder was just four, Iqbal Singh suddenly died of a heart attack, and the household lost its anchor. Raised by his widowed mother, Paramjit Kaur, alongside two older sisters, Davinder grew quiet, shy, and introverted, restrained by circumstances. The family owned seven acres of land. On the kabaddi field, however, Davinder became something else.
***
Then misfortune struck on 23 November 2010.
That Monday, Amrik Singh—a neighbour and childhood friend embittered by betrayal—came to Davinder’s house. Amrik had once loved a girl in college, but lost her to Harpreet Singh, a friend from Jeoonwala village. Love turned into rivalry; jealousy sharpened into rage. That evening, Amrik convinced Davinder to ride with him on his new motorcycle. Their route wound toward Samalsar, where Amrik planned to ‘talk’ to Harpreet, who was often seen in the company of the girl after the breakup. Davinder agreed. After all, it was supposed to be just words. The encounter ended with anything but words. On the village outskirts, they saw Harpreet walking with his friend Navdeep. Amrik and Harpreet had an argument. Then, Amrik pulled out his father’s stolen pistol. Shots shattered the quiet. Birds scattered from the trees. Harpreet collapsed, and died gasping. Navdeep slumped beside him, blood pouring into the dirt.
***
Amrik surrendered after few days; Davinder did not. For weeks, he hid among relatives, terrified of the lock‑ups he’d only heard about—sodomy, torture, men turned into insects. But nobody can run forever. Police interrogated his kin; they dragged neighbours out for questioning. His mother remembers: ‘He kept telling me, he did not pull the trigger. He just went along. But who would believe him? And the longer he stayed away, the stronger the suspicions grew. At last he had to surrender.’ He was no longer the kabaddi boy of Bambiha Bhai. He was now Davinder Singh Sidhu—an undertrial for murder.