Oil Kumar – had politicians on speed dial. Guess who was more dangerous?

Let me tell you about Oil Kumar.

But forget everything you just heard about Jayaraj and Kotwal. Those men used swords and sickles. They made people bleed. They were scary in the old-fashioned way.

Oil Kumar? He was different. He was worse.

Because he didn’t need a weapon to ruin your life. He just needed a pen, a politician’s phone number, and control over something you couldn’t live without.

Who Was Oil Kumar?

His real name was Benakanahalli Alappa Shivakumar. But nobody called him that. He was Oil Kumar. Or Boot House Kumar. Names that told you exactly where his power came from.

In the 1980s, Bangalore was still under Licence Raj. Things were scarce. Oil—cooking oil, essential oil—was one of those things everyone needed and couldn’t easily get.

Oil Kumar made sure it stayed that way.

He didn’t sell oil. He controlled it. He created monopolies. He manipulated supply. He decided who got oil and who didn’t. And if you wanted to stay in business, you paid him.

Every restaurant. Every hotel. Every home that bought oil from a shop. They all paid a hidden tax to Oil Kumar without even knowing it.

That’s not a gangster. That’s an economic predator.

No Blood. Just Control.

Here’s what made him different from the others.

Jayaraj had a torture room. Kotwal had a sickle. Rajendra had a machete.

Oil Kumar had SK Pictures. A film distribution company in Gandhinagar. Sounds legit, right? It wasn’t. It was a money laundering machine.

He had labour unions. Control over workers meant control over industries. Want to start a factory? Better talk to Oil Kumar first.

He had monopolistic contract bidding. Government tenders? Private contracts? His syndicate won them all. Not because they were the best. Because they were the only option.

He built a network that stretched to Sri Lanka, the Middle East, Russia. Not with guns. With connections. With money. With corruption.

This man didn’t need to stab anyone. He just needed to make sure you couldn’t do business without his permission.

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

The Real Power: Politicians in His Pocket

This is the part that should make you angry.

Oil Kumar’s real genius wasn’t in business. It was in corruption. He didn’t fight the system. He bought it.

He manipulated state bureaucracy. He had politicians in his pocket. He made sure the people who were supposed to stop him were the ones protecting him.

Think about that. The officials who should have raided him? They took his money. The politicians who should have passed laws against him? They took his calls. The police who should have arrested him? They took his orders.

He wasn’t hiding from the system. He owned parts of it.

That’s the most dangerous kind of criminal. Not the one who fights the law. The one who makes the law work for him.

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The Myth of “Non-Violence”

People say Oil Kumar didn’t believe in violence. That he kept bloodshed out of his reign.

Don’t believe that for a second.

His violence wasn’t visible. It was systemic. When you control someone’s ability to do business, when you decide who can work and who can’t, when you strangle an entire city’s oil supply—that’s violence. Just slower. Just quieter.

He didn’t need to break bones. He broke livelihoods. He broke businesses. He broke families who couldn’t afford to pay his hidden taxes.

That’s not peace. That’s a different kind of war.

The End

November 20, 1990.

Oil Kumar was at the height of his power. He had money. He had connections. He had politicians protecting him. He was moving into real estate now—the next big thing.

He thought he was untouchable.

He wasn’t.

Read our previous article – Gopi Thigalarpete He was not a misunderstood rebel. He was a product of fear, ego, and raw street power.

Muthappa Rai was young. Hungry. Ambitious. He looked at Oil Kumar and saw something simple: an obstacle.

Rai didn’t have political connections like Kumar. He didn’t have a diversified criminal corporation. He had something simpler: men with guns and the willingness to use them.

And in the end, that’s all that mattered.

Oil Kumar was killed. Shot. Eliminated. The man who controlled Bangalore’s economy, who had politicians on speed dial, who built an international network—reduced to a body on the ground.

Because for all his power, for all his money, for all his connections, he forgot one thing: in the underworld, violence is the only currency that never loses value.

You can buy politicians. You can buy contracts. You can buy silence. But you cannot buy protection from a man who wants what you have and is willing to kill for it.

Rai wanted what Kumar had. So Kumar died.

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What He Left Behind

Nothing good.

No legacy of respect. No organization that survived him. No son who carried his name with pride. Just a blueprint for how to cripple a city through corruption.

His political connections? They found new friends. His business empire? Divided among those still standing. His money? Spread across accounts that were frozen or stolen.

Oil Kumar thought he had built something permanent. He hadn’t. He had built a fortress on rented land. And when the landlord came—in the form of Muthappa Rai with a gun—the fortress crumbled.

The Real Lesson

Oil Kumar’s story is the most important one to understand.

Because he shows us that crime doesn’t always look like crime. Sometimes it wears a suit. Sometimes it owns a film distribution company. Sometimes it has lunch with politicians.

He was a parasite. He fed on a system that was already sick. He made himself rich by making everyone else pay more. He never built anything. He only took.

And in the end, he learned the same lesson as all the others: you can’t buy your way out of a bullet.

Muthappa Rai didn’t care about his political connections. Didn’t care about his money. Didn’t care about his international network. Rai just wanted his territory. And he took it.

That’s the truth of this world. You can be smart. You can be rich. You can be connected. But if you’re in the game, you’re always one step away from being a target.

Oil Kumar found that out on November 20, 1990.

Final Words

Benakanahalli Alappa Shivakumar.

Oil Kumar.

The man who strangled Bangalore’s economy without ever picking up a weapon.

He didn’t die in a farmhouse like Kotwal. He didn’t die in a car like Jayaraj. He died because a younger, hungrier man decided it was his turn.

And when he fell, nobody cried for him. Because the people he controlled? They were finally free. The politicians he bought? They found new sellers. The empire he built? It dissolved like smoke.

Because that’s all it ever was. Smoke. Mirrors. And stolen money.

Read this article for more interesting crime stories - the bloody timeline

He wasn’t a king. He was a rich target who got hit.

Read our previous article – Kotwal Ramachandra-this story doesnt need any masala.

Read our previous article – M.P. Jayaraj ; Ruthless criminal of Indira brigade

Read our previous article – Bekkina Kannu Rajendra From Gangster to Businessman to underworld