Punishing slip, the Army way

Raj Kadyan

Every Army battalion appoints a duty officer of the week (DOW) with a charter of duties. Our battalion was in the process of being raised. With only a few officers posted, the DOW turn came every four or five weeks.     

Our Second-in-Command (2IC), a bachelor with obsession for punctiliousness, came down with measles and was hospitalised. As DOW, I went to see him. Being outside visiting hours, I sought permission from the duty nurse. Seeing two stars on her shoulder, I executed a parade-ground salute. The loud clatter of my regulation 13-nail boots on the concrete sent panicked birds scurrying out of trees. Amused, she looked up enquiringly. I told her I had come to see Major MDC. ‘You can’t, he is in the segregation ward.’ Not meeting the 2IC would invite trouble. ‘Please, sister,’ I pleaded, ‘he is my 2IC and I have to see him.’ My entreaty worked. ‘Okay, at your own risk,’ she said.

Opening the door of the 2IC’s quarantined room, I faced a barrage of questions.  ‘How did you come in this ward?’ ‘I took permission from the duty nurse, Sir,’ I said, self-protectively. ‘Who is the nurse on duty?’ ‘I don’t know, Sir.’ Nameplates were not in vogue then. ‘That fair, good-looking, tall girl?’ I nodded. ‘The one whose little finger is as long as the ring finger?’ ‘I didn’t notice, Sir,’ I said, curiously surprised. ‘She has shown dereliction by violating orders. I will sort her out,’ he said threateningly.   

Wishing him speedy recovery, I made my exit. Feeling guilty, I decided to warn the nurse, but she smiled uncaringly. I furtively looked at her finger oddity. The 2IC’s observation was spot-on. I wondered if he was showing more interest in the nurse than a patient should. 

Being the Intelligence Officer, I shared office space with the Adjutant, a senior Major. He was friendly and loved tittle-tattle. I gave him the sub-cheese of the hospital visit. Before I could clarify that it was a mere hunch, he had walked into the CO’s office. Standing by the door, I could overhear: ‘I don’t think the 2IC is coming back in a hurry, Sir,’ the Adjutant began and added liberal embellishment to my report. The CO’s concluding remark, ‘High time Minoo settled down’, made me sweat.

The 2IC was back shortly and the CO asked him when to expect the good news. I don’t know how the 2IC reacted but I was marched up to him the next morning. The proceedings were brief. ‘Do you know spreading rumours is an offence?’ ‘Yes, Sir,’ I said. ‘Being your first time, I’m letting you off lightly. You will remain DOW for the next eight weeks. Dismissed.’ 

 At lunch in the mess the 2IC was a different man. He ordered me a drink. ‘Thank you for visiting me despite the risk,’ he said. ‘My pleasure, Sir.’ ‘You got the poor nurse in trouble, though. She got a mouthful from me. You need to atone by taking her out for coffee.’ ‘I will, Sir.’ We clinked glasses.  

Like a true military professional he punished the fault, not the person.