M.P. Jayaraj – Ruthless criminal of Indira brigade

Let’s talk about M.P. Jayaraj . But let’s be clear. Let’s strip away the myth, the stories, the “first don” nonsense. What’s left is a very simple, very ugly blueprint.

Read our previous article – Brutal Story of Bangalore Gangsters : A Bloody Historical Timeline

This wasn’t a rise to power. It was a career change. A man gets fired from HAL—from a real job—for not showing up. And he looks around and thinks, “What’s in demand?” In 1970s Bangalore, the answer was muscle. Simple, brute force. He didn’t fall into crime. He applied for the position. And he got the job because the biggest political family in the state was hiring.

That’s the first dark reality. The most dangerous criminals aren’t the ones who defy the system. They’re the ones the system employs.

Now, let’s look at his work. His signature. It wasn’t taking on other tough guys. It wasn’t some clever heist. It was couples in parks. Young kids, hiding in the shadows, thinking they’re invisible. That was his target. The most defenseless people at their most vulnerable moment. The violence wasn’t just robbery. It was… humiliation. It was about demonstrating total control. It was the act of a predator, not a king. A king wants to rule a kingdom. A predator just needs a dark corner and something weaker to tear apart.

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And then the courtroom. 1977. People call it “fearless.” It was the opposite. It was the ultimate act of a coward who believed he was untouchable. Walking into the heart of the law with a sword? That’s not strategy. That’s the arrogance of a man who thinks his political masters are a suit of armor. It’s what a child does—smashing something to prove they can. And like a child, he got the timeout of his life: ten years in prison.

That’s the second reality. In this world, your so-called “power” is on loan. And the interest is paid in blood.

His power was never his own. He was a tool. A hammer in the hand of M.D. Nataraj and Devaraj Urs. The “Indira Brigade” wasn’t an army. It was a janitorial service for political problems. They were the mop used to clean up opposition. And when the tool gets too bloody, too conspicuous, the hand lets go. When he finally wanted to be the hand, to run for MLA, his own patrons laughed in his face. His campaign? A caged tiger. A perfect, sad metaphor. The animal he identified with, pacing behind bars, while he roared on the streets. He was always the caged animal, poked and prodded by politicians.

And his violence? Let’s be precise. Kotwal Ramachandra, 1986. This is the core of it. Jayaraj didn’t fight him. He didn’t challenge him. He sent men to a farmhouse. They found Kotwal… sleeping. Or resting. And they hacked him to death. Then they burned the body. This isn’t a duel. This is extermination. It’s pest control. That’s the level we’re at.

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His own end writes the final sentence of his story. November 21, 1989. Not in a blaze of glory. In a car, on a routine morning drive to sign a police register. Gunned down by a younger, hungrier man, Muthappa Rai, who brought in shooters from Mumbai. It was a corporate takeover. A hostile merger. Jayaraj, the old CEO, was removed by the board.

So, what’s his legacy? He didn’t build an empire. He ran a protection racket. He didn’t command loyalty. He rented fear. And when his rent was up, his tenants—his gang, his politicians—evicted him. Permanently.

His story isn’t a chapter in history. It’s a footnote. A case study. Proof of a simple equation: Political Corruption + Willing Brute = Temporary Terror. The result is never power. It’s always a name on a police file, a few years of whispers, and then a hole in the ground. Or in his case, a bullet in the head on a sunny morning near Lalbagh. No myth. No glory. Just a finished contract.

Information sources-M.P.jairaj