THE MAN WHO COULDN’T FIND THE BANK

THE MAN WHO COULDN’T FIND THE BANK

By

VK Singh

After completing our training at the IMA, Jogi and I were both commissioned into Signals, and proceeded to the School of Signals at Mhow for the young officers’ course. Jogi soon became a favourite with the officers doing the degree course, who were 5 to 6 years senior. He was especially popular among the ladies, whom he complimented shamelessly for their cooking, their looks, their babies – in fact, anything that struck his fancy. As a result, he rarely dined in the mess, and was treated to home-cooked food almost every day.  Of course, he studiously avoided homes that had girls of marriageable age, though these were the ones from which he got the maximum number of invites. Jogi was determined to make the most out of life before getting hooked, and marriage was not in his plans for another 7 or 8 years.

As the time for the course to end drew near, we often asked our seniors about life in the units. One of them told us, perhaps in jest, that if one wished to have a good time in the unit, he should try out a formula that never fails – make a real mess of the first task that was assigned to him. Most of us just laughed, but not Jogi. As we learned later, this became his guiding principle, in every unit he served in.

After the course, Jogi was posted to a signal regiment in a peace station. He behaved himself for a few weeks and his CO had begun to think that perhaps his instructors in the Signal School had misjudged him. Jogi’s arrival had been preceded by his course report, which contained gems like ‘a case of misguided genius’; ‘has bags of initiative, which he invariably uses at the wrong time and place’;  ‘should not be entrusted with independent command involving vital communications’ etc. Naturally, the CO had told the 2IC (Second-in-Command) to keep an eye on him. Jogi’s impeccable conduct, however, charmed everyone. Little did they know that he waiting for their guard to drop before delivering the coup de grace. After he had been in the unit for about two months he was called by the 2IC. It was the first day of the month, and he was detailed to go to the bank and collect the cash for paying the men. Jogi left at about ten, in a Jeep accompanied by a guard of one and two, and a cheque of forty five thousand rupees. When he did not return till twelve thirty, the 2IC rang up the bank, to find out why it was taking so long. He was surprised to learn that the cheque had still not been cashed. An officer was promptly sent on a motor cycle, but he returned after an hour without having located Jogi.

As the CO was getting into his Jeep to go for lunch, the 2IC informed him that Jogi was missing. The CO got out of the Jeep and returned to his office. The unit was in an area heavily infested with dacoits, who were always on the lookout for weapons, and it was possible that Jogi and his men had been kidnapped. At about three, the military police was informed, and a formal report sent to the divisional headquarters.  After an hour, the civil police was alerted. They blocked all roads entering the town, and all trains leaving the railway station were thoroughly searched. Of course, the entire unit was at a stand still, and all officers missed their lunch. At about six in the evening, Jogi drove up in his jeep (he and the men had been seeing a movie, he told me afterwards).  The 2IC pounced on him like a wounded tiger. When asked where he had been, Jogi replied, very sheepishly, “Sir, I couldn’t find the bank”.

The 2IC almost had a stroke and had to be helped out of his chair, spluttering with rage. The CO, when he was told, was so wild with rage that he could hardly talk. Of course, Jogi was the unit orderly officer for the next thirty days, but after that, he lived like a king. He was never troubled with audit boards, courts of inquiry, courts martial and such other demons that plague the life of a regimental officer. Whenever someone who was not aware of Jogi’s history suggested his name for an important assignment, the 2IC would groan, ‘Not him, for God’s sake. I want to retire, not to be cashiered.”